After a few miles on a quiet highway, the border station came into view. We biked up to the border agent, showed him our passports, and he asked us if we were carrying any raw meats or vegetables with us. We answered no (honestly), and he let us through. The whole process took only a minute or so.
It felt good to be in America, but still, with around 2,300 miles to go until Mexico, there was still no clear sense of direction. We took every day as it came, never really paying attention much to long terms plans except to stay roughly on track with our mileage-per-day. That was one of my favorite parts about the trip.
The US-Canada border was clearly visible in the mountains - they had clear cut a stretch to mark the border as far as the eye could see - and it was a reminder of the arbitrariness of country borders. But I digress.