You can plan a trip like this for hours upon hours upon hours, pouring over maps, making telephone calls, writing hundreds of emails, speaking to dozens of experts, and putting in decades of riding experience. And yet, there’s always something that can pop up that you didn’t plan for at all.

And I happen to be really, really good at finding the things that never happen. I know that.

That’s why I’ve programmed a few FBAG stops into this trip. FBAG as in: Fall Back and Regroup. I don’t mean retreat back where I already came, of course. But I mean, stop advancing for a few days. Find a safe haven to spend some time reflecting on the lessons I’ve learned and how to make things better, and catch up on anything that needs catching up on.

We’ve made it to our first FBAG stop, one week into the journey. I’m glad we’re here; we really needed this FBAG because one week has taught us an awful lot. Like packing. It seems simple: anyone who travels a lot (like an international correspondent) has done lots of packing, and anyone who camps a lot (like me and my family) has done lots of camp packing. But packing a pack horse is a whole different scenario. Sabrina is tall: 17 hands. Believe me, that makes a difference when you’re 5’2 and packing and trying to attach everything so that it’s all evenly distributed and not moving.

We’ve also learned that cows are really curious, and they can move. Fast. Towards us. In big numbers. This was a hard lesson. My horses have been exposed to cows in the field and go past them surely but cautiously. What they haven’t been exposed to, though, is an entire herd of young and excited Charolais barrelling full speed towards us and ending up just inches away on the other side of a tree. We fortunately avoided a serious accident, but the experience made me reconsider the importance of ensuring that my horses can be controlled even in such unexpected scenarios–especially since there are no other riders.

I’m grateful for the hospitality we’re getting at our first FBAG site, a mounted archery center in a cute little village about 30 minutes from Disneyland Paris. Here, I’m catching up on writing, and I’m reworking my daily routine and practicing my packing skills. I’ve also gone to the desensitization expert, Marc Pierard in Belgium, for guidance on ensuring that the horses stay safe and happy during this trip, even in the face of running-towards-us cows and other unanticipated events. Marc is both a researcher and a practitioner, and he’s the go-to for the Belgian mounted police for training their police horses to be afraid of absolutely nothing.

The cow incident, which also involved a low-hanging branch meaning I had to be on the ground instead of in the saddle, and a thick line of trees pushing us close to the fence line, was “a perfect storm,” Marc tells me. It was a rare combination of events that isn’t likely to happen again. But even so, it’s important to be prepared for whatever comes our way. And since this trip is supposed to be fun for the horses and for me, I’m ready to take some time to be sure everyone has a great time on this journey.

We’ve also–sadly!–learned that some well-meaning hosts have bed bugs! “Don’t stay in the tent; it’ll rain and you’ll be exhausted,” they said. I accepted their generous offer in their gorgeous pristine home, and I didn’t sleep all night for the bugs I felt crawling on me.

Fortunately I had no bags in the room and took a shower as I was leaving, with my dirty clothes in a sealed plastic bag. So I didn’t bring any of the unwanted guests with me. But it’s miserable riding with itchy bed bug bites all over! They’re worse than chiggers, and I’m immensely grateful for the wonders of modern antihistamines and corticosteroid creams. In the future, I’ll always check mattresses for signs of bed bugs and will keep any bags in plastic and off the floor, just in case.