On March 20, 1996, I decided to start keeping a journal. The very first lines of that journal read:

Why did I write that? Well, I'd spent the 2 years since graduating from university working in a high-paying, exciting, but fundamentally unfulfilling career. The company I worked for was on the verge of going belly-up, the management didn't seem to give a damn about the employees, and I had just returned from a week of sun and fun at Club Med in the Bahamas. I learned two things while on vacation: first, that life is about more than working. Sometimes, life is about lying on the beach. And second, that there are people who are actually crazy enough to ride their bicycles around North America.

Just before I left, my brother gave me a book to read on the plane: The Cycling Adventures of Coconut Head, by Ted Schredd. Ted left Vancouver, BC with $200, a rusty bike, and a borrowed tent. He cycled all the way around North America and returned home with a wife, lots of debt, and one hell of a story to tell. His book inspired my own epic journey, in the both the literal and figurative sense, and that's what this is all about.

How exactly does one go about making an epic journey? Well, step number one is to pick a time to go. After making many very pretty spreadsheets on my computer at work, I calculated that I would have enough money for 3 months worth of travel if I left at the beginning of June.

Step number two is to pick a destination. Fortunately, in addition to several bottles of Jamaican hot sauce, I had returned from my Club Med vacation with a decent crush on a beautiful Swedish tennis instructor. Even more fortunately, she would be starting at Northern Arizona University in September. Flagstaff, here I come!

Step number three is to research, research, research! I spent the last three months at my old job surfing the web looking for any and all information I could find about bicycling, camping, hiking, and especially about being a touring cyclist (not to be confused with being a cycling tourist). I also bought several books about cycle touring, including my ultimate guidebook, Cycling the Pacific Coast, by Kirkendall and Spring.

Up to this point, the furthest I had ever ridden my bike was to school -- about an hour each way. Let's call that 20 miles. From what I had read on the web, the average touring cyclist does about 50 miles a day, with some of the cross-continent cyclists averaging close to 100. With forty pounds of gear. I had some serious training to do. (I put about 500 miles on my bike during the six weeks before I left.)

So here was the big plan: on June 10, I would ride from my parent's house in Richmond, BC, down the Pacific Coast to Palo Alto, CA, where a friend was attending Stanford University. I would follow the route laid out by Kirkendall and Spring, except for sidetrips to visit friends in Seattle and Vancouver, WA. When I got to Palo Alto, I'd hang out for a bit and decide the next phase of the trip -- Arizona, Yosemite, and/or home (by a different route) were all possibilities.

I would start out slow -- on the order of 30 miles a day -- and gradually work my way up to about 40 miles a day (I actually averaged about 50 miles/day). My plan didn't include anything longer than 50 miles (actual: 90 miles). I planned to spend $20/day (actual: $30/day).

March quickly became June. I said goodbye to my first real job and my first apartment. I moved all my old stuff into my parent's house. I assembled all my new stuff (bicycle, panniers, tent, camera, sleeping bag, stove, pots, clothes, ... you name it -- I bought it) for an overnight test ride: 40 miles out to a provincial park. No problem.

I learned several things on my test ride:

1. Sweatshirts don't make good pillows.
2. Thou Shalt Fear The Headwinds.
3. Noisy forests combined with overactive imaginations do not make for a good night's sleep.

#1 was quickly remedied by one of those stuff-it-into-a-tiny-little-bag camping pillows. My general direction was south, theoretically having the trade winds at my back, so #2 shouldn't be a problem. Unfortunately, I never really did come to terms with #3.

On June 10, 1996, at 7:45 am, I rode my bike out of my parent's driveway and into part 2 of my life.