The plan was Sarajevo. I’d done too little homework and spent the first day pushing the bike up the pass on foot, pitching the tent five minutes short of the border because the light was gone.

I woke up inside an igloo — tent and bike under snow, everything wet, below zero. The first climb nearly broke me; the way down the other side was faster than anything I’d known. And Slovenia simply refused to let me leave. Every time I rolled out of the mountains, a few days later I was heading back up and in.

Sarajevo can wait. I never knew where tomorrow went — and that turned out to be the point.