Maps became more granular after Western Canada. “Eastern Canada” was never available, instead only individual provinces were mapped beyond Winnipeg. We spent the same amount of time traversing Ontario as we did British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba combined. Early on we were told that B.C. is three times the size of Germany, and that Quebec is three times the size of France. All stark reminders that Canada is truly enormous, and that any ride will only show you a small glimpse of it.

At the same time, I remember being surprised how early on in time and mileage we hit the longitudinal centre of the country. It was in the fourth week, and I remember thinking how much more winding the following nine would have to be. Other half ways — time zone, planned mileage, the Atlantic Watershed where water flows toward the Atlantic than the Pacific — provided interesting and sometimes abstract milestones.

Throughout the ride we were guided by free and beautiful accommodation, in that order of priority. A fear of bears and an unexpected need to wean ourselves off of creature comforts (read: showers, reliable toilet access) meant that we paid for a lot of campsites in B.C., but by the time we were in the swing of things we camped everywhere. Lake shores, leisure centres, playgrounds, picnic areas, gardens (with permission), scratty patches of woodland, mosquito breeding grounds, and everything in between.

We operated in a grey area defined by a combination of knowledge that you could camp on Crown Land but not knowing where it was, asking people for permission and assuming they had authority to provide it, and gauging where we’d be able to get away with it. One consistent factor was not camping anywhere that would interfere with people using the land or risk permission for access to be revoked for other people, although we began to ignore ‘No Camping’ signs later in the trip when it became apparent that people had been camping at these places unhassled.

Our grey area led to zero problems with being moved on, offending people, or getting hassled while we slept. Testament again to the size of Canada (most of the time you’re so remote that no one sees you) and the kindness of its citizens (when they do, they don’t care much).

The only problem we encountered was hundreds of dollars of our gear being sent to landfill after we followed the advice of a well-meaning but poorly informed park ranger, who told us that putting your food bags in the section underneath the bin bag at the back of the bear-proof bins was a safe and permitted way to deter bears, without having to go through the farce of suspending your gear up a tree. But the garbage collectors didn’t agree. Instead they took our bags of food, stoves, and utensils, irretrievably, to the dump.

This is the story that has resonated most when recounting the trip to friends and families. Understandable, but each round of their gently-mocking questions still adds salt to the wound.