When we planned this trip, we worried mostly about mosquitos, and a bit about bears. We never imagined having to deal with snow in July.

Yet, here we are. It’s just above freezing and raining heavily in Whitehorse when we wake up at our hotel. And the forecast for where we are headed is for snow. It’s very hard to stay warm on a bike when you are soaked and outside in temperatures hovering around freezing, so we know we have a hard day ahead.

But the thing about bike tours is that they put us into situations that, while occasionally uncomfortable, often reveal the very best of humanity.

Before leaving Whitehorse, we reach out to a woman named Amanda we read about with an eclectic background and beautiful property on Cowley Lake. She’s a photographer, river and cycling guide, educator, organic gardener and artist and occasionally rents out a cabin on her land. We explain our situation and, though she isn’t renting out the cabin, she invites us to stay, warning us that it is snowing at her house.

We leave Whitehorse and it’s nothing short of miserable. We are wet and cold but are comforted by the fact that at least we won’t have to camp out. Allegra has also identified a bakery half way to Cowley Lake that we use as motivation. It turns out that it’s perhaps the most obscure bakery location ever, in an industrial building next to an RV rental business and across from a place that repairs heavy machinery. But, once located, it is aromatic, warm and friendly. We get a fresh baguette with a big hunk of butter sprinkled with sea salt. It’s delicious, with a nutty and slightly sourdough flavor and a pleasantly crunchy crust. Two of the bakers are enthusiastic cyclists and give us big props for our trip and braving today’s horrid weather.

We depart and get on a gravel road that appears to be a low traffic alternative to the highway. It takes us through a beautiful forest, but the road soon gets muddy and we reach a low point (literally and figuratively) where it is completely flooded out. We consider bushwhacking around but the forest is too dense and wet and we turn around, now somewhat muddy and dejected in addition to being cold and wet.

It takes us a few more hours but we slog it out to Amanda’s house. She’s not yet home but has texted to tell us to make ourselves at home. She’s never met us but the generosity of this simple gesture makes us feel so grateful. We dry off and make tea to warm up and when Amanda arrives she treats us like old friends. She sees we are still cold, stokes the fire and lends us each a ridiculous full body fleece bodysuit called a Pooka, which definitely warms us up.

We help her prepare dinner, which includes quinoa, sauteed vegetables and local bacon as well as a delicious arugula salad from her garden, and are joined by four of her friends. The dinner conversation ranges widely, from ski adventures to travel to drum circles and after dinner we sip tea and play a board game.

We are touched to be welcomed in such a warm and unconditional way. Before we go to bed, we thank Amanda again and she tells us a story about bike touring in Europe with her two kids, getting soaked in a rainstorm and being treated with generosity. I guess all we can do is pay it forward.

We fall asleep in a warm bed, listening to the wind and rain outside.