I look at my bike differently now. In 20,000 miles around the United States and Canada, I’ve never been much more than a couple hours’ ride by car from a bike shop. Now I will be heading where the nearest bike shop is a thousand miles away. A breakdown wouldn’t be too serious, I would not die from being stranded in the middle of nowhere. Even on these middle-of-nowhere roads I could always hitchhike back to civilization. But a breakdown that I couldn’t fix could easily mean the end of this trip by bicycle.

I woke early and got up right away, inspired by the prospect of reaching British Columbia. On the road this morning I saw a wall of black clouds touching the ground a few miles to the north. I hurried the three miles to the next town, where I was supposed to turn north. Where there had been mountains before, I saw only a wall of blackness broken up by lightning flashes. It was moving slowly to the east, so I just sat in a café and read the paper until it passed.

I was high in anticipation when I got back on the road after the storm passed, but seven miles from the border I broke a spoke for the first time since last summer. It was not a good omen for heading into the wilderness. I got it fixed, but it makes me wonder if my bike will just give out on me somewhere up here.

I crossed the border and raised my arms in the air for finally being in Canada. I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time, for the chance to begin the real unknown part of this trip. I have no idea what each day holds in store for me as I head north. I am scared and excited, on edge. I feel sharp and focused, and driven. But I also have little attachment to reaching Alaska, knowing how many little things could stop me. All of this swam in my head my first miles in Canada, and then I settled a little bit and focused on the riding again.

I took back roads along a flat valley past big open farms and fields of cows, with high mountains rising up steeply from the valley. I could see the next few days’ mountains, mere shadow outlines in the thick clouds. It was sunny in the valley, but thick clouds hung over all the mountains. I headed straight for a ridge, until the road turned left at the base of the ridge. I finally found a road going up into the mountains and climbed steeply to a long, almost fruitless search for a place to sleep. I found a small overgrown path to sleep on, though, and enjoyed my first British Columbian dinner sitting on a log in a clearing.

Tomorrow I head for the real British Columbia, where the clouds hung today. The adventure has begun.

Soon I will no longer simply be on the road, I will be on the Road. People will no longer ask where I’m going because the Road only leads one place, a 2000-mile road to the promised land of Alaska, childhood great land visions to come real before me.