A month has passed since I arrived home. My beard needs trimming and Dude has become a wild mustang once again. Two days ago he jumped the fence and spent half an hour putting on a bucking show around the farm. Frenchie and Bruiser watched unimpressed.

For the past 803 days I have lived as a vagabond… a saddle tramp. Riding from ranch to ranch. Pitching my tent on top of mountains and in national parks. Carrying everything I own in my packsaddle. Bathing in cold rivers. Sharing meals with those who have nothing and those who have it all. I have felt the gut-wrenching fear of facing off against grizzly bears and drug cartels. I have slept on top of my saddle blankets hundreds of times – many nights thirsty and hungry. I have woken up drenched from heavy rains. Ridden through snow, sandstorms, and earthquakes… These past 803 days have been lived intensely.

I arrived in Barretos on August 23rd and for the next seven days I played a part in the largest rodeo in Latin America. Everyday after the rodeo ended, and before the shows began, I entered the arena to sold-out crowds. It was an amazing experience I will never, ever, ever forget!

A helicopter flies overhead as we push forward. With a spotlight under its belly, the chopper illuminates our path. It is 9:30pm. We ride towards the lights and sounds spewing out of the largest rodeo in Latin America. My ponies’ manes blow uncontrollably in the breeze…