I started this morning at Mile Zero. With monuments to great Canadians like Terry Fox and Steve Fonyo who much more admirally traversed the country than how I will, I couldn't help but feel a tremour of excitement at the idea that today I'd be off on my own (for a while, at least).

The past three mornings in Victoria have all started out simiarly: a bike ride exploring some of Victoria's bike paths. The first morning, dying for a bit of exercise and waking up to the bright, warm sun, I took off up the Lochside trail, which winds north from Victoria into Saanich. I took a couple of wrong turns, some by my usual mistake, others on purpose (I veered off whenever faced with a long stretch of gravel road, which my bikes slim tires don't generally appreciate). These sidetracks took me up and down hills, around curves and stylish neighbourhoods and helped me get a better feel for the area. I find by driving through a place, you get somewhere; by cycling or walking through, you get to know that somewhere.

The second morning I went with my mom's friend, Cheryl, along the Galloping Goose trail. The Galloping Goose used to be a passenger railway that stretched along the south part of the island from Victoria to Sooke (and maybe a bit beyond). In the good old British tradition that is evident all over Victoria, even today probably more so than in most other Canadian cities, it was used for those classy Victorians of earlier times to get away for a weekend in the country. How civilized. It is now a galloping bike trail, mostly smoothly paved and well marked.

Yesterday afternoon my uncle took me a bit farther afield to some of his old haunts on the newer highway between Victoria and Sooke. After a stopover to tour the grounds of the UWC of the Pacific – Pearson College, as its more commonly referred to as here – we drove his fast little Miata around the winding curves of the predictably gorgeous drive. At one point after one of my “its so beautiful” exclamations, he said something like, “yea, just think, after this year is out you might be sick of beautiful scenery”. Touche. We stopped for a classy lunch at the Sooke A&W (um, yea, not the greatest selection for a vegetarian, but onion rings did the trick), and then we carried on down the (long and winding) road to China Beach, where he used to go with his friends in high school and smoke dope. I'm glad we had all our faculties about us yesterday, though, as it was a lovely walk through a towering forest to a sandy beach on the tip of the island with a view across the water at Washington's Olympic mountains. And a car somehow dumped halfway down the hill, hiding for who knows how long in the forest.

This morning, my last one on the island, I thought I'd be different and do a bit of exercise at the Y. I cycled over there, parked my bike, only to discover that 15 minutes after my arrival there was a fire drill scheduled to take place that would take about 45 minutes. Somewhat disgruntled, I did about 14 minutes of fast weights and situps, Ivar-style for those of you who know what that means, and then got back on my bike. As I cycled off towards the main harbour to try out the third major cycle path on the map, the Seaside route, I heard the fire drill alarm go off. Instead of being stuck in that conundrum, I enjoyed a fantastic early morning cycle along the coast.

Which turned out better for me in the long run, as I cycled right past the Mile Zero marker and was able to flag down a tourist from a nearby tourist bus and ask her to take the the picture that officially begins my journey. Everything works out as it does for a reason, they say. Not to mention that three mornings in a row, and I never tire of the awesome feeling of riding a bike.

I even got an escort out of town; I followed my uncle's car through Victoria and he got me safely on the road to the ferries. I pulled up to the ticket gate a mere 5 minutes before it was scheduled to sail, barely making it on board. This seems to be my pattern rather than the exception, though; out of the past four ferry crossings I've taken in the past two weeks, only for one of them did I have time to sit and wait.

Two weeks ago I arrived back in Canada, at Vancouver airport, where the immigration officer who stamped my passport actually almost smiled and said “welcome home”. My dad got my van here for me, and spent most of the two weeks teaching me everything I need to know to run it and live in it, not to mention how cool it was to travel with him for a week of it around the island. My mom had it fully kitted out so that I didn't need to do it myself. I was able to visit my Grandma, Uncle Pat, and his girlfriend, Wendy. And as they guided me out of the city today and we said our goodbyes, I meant it when I said it had been a perfect way to start this adventure. Love to you all!

I sit now on the ferry, looking out across the Pacific and the surrounding islands and mainland on my way to Vancouver. And I have to say it again, just one last time: I love this part of Canada, its just so damned beautiful.