This entry is one that I’ve struggled to write about. It was incredible, and kind of defies description.
At any rate, here are some photos, an interactive map (click on pointers to see notes about each landmark), and a journal entry about the first day of my 5-day trip from May, 2010.
The great yonder
I don’t know where the intense love of cycling that I’ve developed while living in Japan comes from. I know that some of it is the freedom of mobility – I can go farther, faster, but I can also go places a car can’t (not that I could drive myself anywhere anyway). I think this freedom of mobility is something I’ve never really known before, being someone whose never been able to drive. I guess too, that I love it because I move with my own power. I like the independence and feeling of self-reliance.
So, anyway, I decided to ride my bike as far as I could towards the ocean for vacation – maybe not the entire way, but I wanted to go pretty far. The road along the Tone River (Toh-ney Gah-wah), which flows from northwest Gunma to the ocean) is flat and paved (or it is mostly, as I was to find out later), and more or less continuous. I booked my hotels in places I thought would serve as suitable weigh stations, duded out the bike, and off I went.
My supplies included 3 shirts, assorted leggings and tight underwear, a bike pump, compact energy foods, a first-aid kit, a spare tire, and other crap
I thought I’d planned ahead sufficiently with the Japanese cycling book I bought, which featured sections of the trail I was to follow. I also printed out maps of spots where I had to change to the highway, or switch from the north to the south side of the river, and vice versa. On a whim, I bought a couple road maps of Gunma and Ibaraki prefectures, and in the end I used these almost exclusively.
Day 1
Mr. Imai poses with a crab leg
First, I woke up too late, having stayed up with co-workers and my boss at a crab tabehodai, where I managed to light an entire book of matches accidentally. It was really hot.
My Urban Rain matchbook rendered useless in one fell swoop
One of the brain crabs trying to escape through my mouth
It took me far too long to print the numerous maps, which I ended up not using after the first few proved useless – the ink was too light, and many of the roads weren’t labelled. Then, it began to rain, so I had to get some rain pants. My intention was to set out from Tomioka at 8 or 9 AM, but I didn’t make it out until at least 10 or 11.
The map I had printed was mildly helpful, in that I knew the name of the road I wanted to be on: Route 17, but I wasn’t sure how to do that. Route 17 was easy enough to find, but large sections of it had no shoulder and plenty of traffic. I had to settle for riding near to it until I could get onto the next road.
After much confusion, I decided I was where I needed to be, but then I realized my cycling book was not all that clear or helpful. This became especially evident when the Japanese cyclist I asked for help couldn’t make heads or tails out of what it was telling me to do. Incidentally, he was experienced with the cycling roads in the area, AND I assume he could read Japanese, therefore, it was a piece of crap! After puzzling over the damn thing for almost half and hour (as we stood by the road, propping up our bikes with our hips in the hot sun), he eventually decided I needed to backtrack slightly, make a few turns, and then I’d be there – the actual bike trail. He gave me his phone number, and his name, Takasaki, made me promise to call him if I got lost, and then we parted ways.
Sure enough, I made it to the trail and rode down it triumphantly for about three or four hundred meters, only to find that a large section of it was under construction. What the hell?!
Construction
After riding around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, going down various roads only to find deadends, asking construction workers for directions “Just take this road back a ways and then turn at the vending machine”, I managed to find the trail again, and off I went. It was quite nice – lots of cyclists out that day, and part of the trail went through a forested park. I was thoroughly enjoying myself, until I realized I was on the wrong trail.
Sigh… what followed was a lot of riding down roads, turning back, going another way, only to find I was going in circles. Attempting to use my compass only made things more confusing: the Tone was running east or southeast, depending on where I was on the map. Unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was on the map. ANNNND, there was at least one other river running parallel to the Tone, adding to the confusion.
I stopped by a cafe with the cutest dog ever, and the cook came out, despite the fact that she was in the middle of cooking something, and gave me directions to the river. This was done in the usual Japanese style, she making sure I understood things perfectly while disregarding her own concerns and those of her customers. Still, this was only moderately helpful, since I wasn’t sure how to get back on the damn trail. I wasted about two hours riding in circles (see the map), until I finally decided to get back onto Route 17 through Saitama. This would take me to another highway that crossed the river and, I supposed, the bike trail.
On the road again
Sure enough, after checking at a convenience store (a Family Mart with a very cheerful young lady, apparently glad for the novel distraction: “Just head down about one kilometer, and you’ll see another Family Mart right at the intersection! It’s right where you want to go!”) to make sure I hadn’t passed it, I found the highway and the trail, again! At this point, it was about 3:00 PM, or four hours from starting, and the wind was not on my side. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, though, and the bike road was up and away from the car traffic. Oftentimes, I couldn’t see any cars, and between the river and I, the land was turned into parks or left more or less wild. The sheer number of model airplane enthusiasts – all older men in groups of four or more – was a bit baffling. I also saw a young man standing next to his parked car, with a music stand and a saxaphone, practicing.
From here, it was smooth sailing to Ibaraki and my first hotel, or so I thought.
Now, dear readers, I must backtrack a bit.
When I was planning my trip, there was a dearth of hotels in the area immediately near the trail, so I had to look pretty far to the north and south. I found a couple towns with quite a few, but I thought, “I’ll bet it would be smart to go a little more than halfway on the first day, so it’s easier on the second.” And here it was, dear readers, that I made my first major mistake: I picked a hotel that was much more than halfway – it was about 3/4 of the way there, or about 90 miles from my starting point, give or take. Also, it was much farther from the river than it looked on the map.
Returning to Day 1, things were going pretty well, despite the wind blowing against me and the four or five hours I’d wasted trying to find the damn trail in the first place. Round about sundown, 7:00 PM, or 8 hours from starting, I came to the end of the Saitama section of the trail. From there, I needed to take Route 354 up into Ibaraki and to my hotel. And into hell.
Sunset
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I stopped in the bike park to ask for directions. A local family was chatting by their car, and when I asked about the highway, they invited me to use the GPS in their car. No luck, so they asked me where I was going, specifically. They typed in my hotel address and gasped in disbelief when the GPS told them it was 40K away. Since it was getting dark, they were pretty concerned about the distance, until I told them that I’d come from Tomioka that morning. They hemmed and hawed for a while amongst themselves, and then I realized what they were planning to do. They cleared out the trunk of the car and tried to put my bike inside. No dice. I was disappointed, because I could have used the break, but then they told me there was a truck at their house nearby. The mother would walk me to it, while the son and daughter-in-law (I assumed) would drive back.
On the way, I told the mother all about my work and life in Tomioka, and how I’d lived in Saitama before. She was mightily impressed, and spoke slowly so I could understand everything.
At the house, the son hoisted my bike into his truck, and the ladies and I piled into the car to drive to somewhere along the 354. In the end, they drove me about 15K, and dropped me off at a 7-11 in Ibaraki, all the while asking if I’d be okay. It’s alright, I’ve got a jacket. Earmuffs, too. I won’t get cold. I have a map. I’ll ask if I get lost.
It was great.
New friends
From there, I rode along the 354, which was great at first, when the bike lane was as wide as a car lane, separated from and raised above the road, and the street was well-lit. I flew down this with nary a care, dear reader, nary a care.
Soon enough, however, it narrowed and darkened, and instead of a lane there was a shoulder, walled in by a scary cement meridian that jumped up and down out of the road as I passed driveways and parking lots. Sometimes the surface on which I rode was regular pavement, and sometimes it was foot-long cement slabs used to cover the ditches along the road. These ditches are deep – about nine inches to a foot – and the slabs are sometimes oddly spaced, causing gaps. I had before encountered roads with missing slabs, a hazard that, if I encountered, would cause a bad accident. Fortunately, I didn’t run into that on this trip.
Returning to my nighttime slog down 354, the traffic was screaming past, and I thought, “If I can do this, I can probably do pretty much anything.” Right about then, the cement wall jumped up again, and my front tire was too close, sheared the edge, and I fell off my bike sideways. There were multiple things about this that were incredible. First, there were no cars on the road at the time, and second, flew off my bike onto my helmeted head (which made an unsettling loud sound when it hit the pavement), and I didn’t have any injuries. Not even a bruised elbow. It scared the shit out of me, and I was shaking all over, and the moment I stepped off the road a motorcycle doing about 120kph flew past. Lovely!
Back on the road again, this time a bit more cautiously, and a bit more slowly, even though I really wanted to get to my damn hotel.
The road continued on like this for a while, until finally the bike lane/shoulder disappeared all together. The speeding cars were replaced with speeding frieght trucks, and there were no street lights. The car lanes continued right on up to the guardrails, and there were no streetlights. So, that sucked.
Fortunately, I met up with the river again, and I hopped up onto the bike path. I zipped down it, happy to be in one piece, when suddenly, the 354, my path to the hotel, turned abruptly away from me. This was one of the many times I felt the urge to cry or scream or something, but it passed quickly. Really, getting upset served no purpose, since it inhibited my ability to ride, and I was the only one who was going to get myself to my hotel. I pulled out the map, and further up, there was a road that cut across easily to the 354 and came out near Mitsukaido, where I was to find my hotel. Okay, that’s not bad. It can’t be more than, what? Thirty minutes maybe? An hour, tops.
The next hour or so was sort of a blur, but there were almost no lights around. There were silent, dark houses on the edges of the flooded rice fields, and the sound of the frogs was almost deafening. The moon was full, and it was pretty cool, considering.
I eventually found my road, or something like it, and made my way over and up to the 354. I’d called the hotel about three times by this point, to tell them each time I’d be an hour later than the last time I told them.
Sorry, but I’m coming by bike from Gunma.
Be careful, be careful! Don’t worry, we’ll wait for you.
There was a point, under an overpass, and I was pretty sure this was it: follow this road a little while, then it crosses a highway, which leads up to 354. Dark houses, no street lights. Where the hell am I? The road went on and on, and then there was some light. Well, maybe I passed it hours ago. No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.
And then there were more houses, and signs. And intersection that was probably right – it was the biggest one yet, and the right number of roads…
I came to a spot that was pretty rural, but there were a few love hotels and bars. I thought about staying at one of the love hotels, but I’d come too far, and the old couple was waiting for me. I stopped in at one of the bars with lots of trucks parked out front, in the hopes of meeting another kind soul who might shuttle me part of the way. I did find a kind waiter who helped me as best he could, puzzling over my map for a while, making a mark to show me where I was: “The 354 is about 10 minutes north of here, but to Mitsukaido… I don’t know. Maybe 20 or 30 minutes by bike.” The clock said 10:15.
I was so fucking exhausted. For about the millionth time, I imagined myself in my hotel room, or soaking in the bath, laughing about my insane trip. I’d been riding for about all freakin’ day, and I was ready to be done. I think at this point I was moving at a crawl, focused solely on getting one hoof up, over, back, repeat. Blargh.
Going into detail about the state of my body and mind at that point would be redundant. I reached a point where the road rose up in front of me, like it does for an overpass or bridge. The waiter from before had pointed a river on the edge of Mitsukaido – was this it? I pedaled as hard as I could, which was pretty pathetic by then, too afraid to hope, but daring to try, dammit! I was going make there be a river through sheer force of will! Wa ha ha! I climbed to the top of that fucking bridge (as that’s what it was, my dears), and the bluish street lights popped into view. I laughed and laughed. I was so happy. I didn’t know where my hotel was, but I didn’t care. Everything was fine and lovely.
At the hotel (not easy to find, since it looked nothing like a hotel, and the sign was in kanji! Hooray!), a little old man greeted me and rushed me up the steep stairs (the hotel, he explained, was over a hundred years old, all heavy beams and joinery) so I could dump my stuff and make it to the bath before it closed. I was just shy of 11PM.
After my bath, I actually felt pretty good. Tired, but nothing hurt. I was probably energized from the elation of making it all the way there. My friend from work, Dan, called me to ask how I was doing – he’d decided to come out and meet me in Ibaraki in the next two days. I told him about all the crazy shit that happened, and I had a good laugh. He was beside himself, but I guess you had to be there.
My entire course, more or less.
Day 2
The comfiest futon in the world, in the softest, nicest inn I'll ever encounter.
Route 6 and 294 - a major intersection on my trip! I had to commemorate the attaining of this goal with a photo. From here, it was a striaght shot to Chiba. Naturally, I went north instead of south, catching my mistake after 20k or so.
Ah ha! Much better.
Rice paddies - a common sight in both Chiba and Ibaraki.
Itako, Ibaraki. I took the train here from Fusa, Chiba. Itako is known for its canals and iconic canal boats. The locals, dressed in traditional boatman garb, pester tourists for rides.
Crabs!
A famous park in the center of Itako. The flat, dirt sections are actually fantastic iris gardens in June, and the canals wind through the park. The bridges, while old-fashioned, were built very recently.
Day 3
Guess who got suckered into a boat ride.
I guess only the people selling you the boat ride wear the cute costumes. The people that actually steer you around don't. Also, the boats are all motorized. What?!
The train station for the beach where I planned to meet Dan. By far the longest name for a station I'd ever seen.
Cement geodes at the ocean. But don't worry, dear reader - most of the beach was covered in sand and shells.
Close-up of the very pretty beach.
Fugu. Don't touch.
Yay, friends! Dan rode his scooter all the way from Tomioka in one day to meet me out at the coast!
There were a mess of surfers out that day, so Dan and I just sat and watched them for a while. It was especially pretty, with the sun setting behind the mountains, causing the waves to turn orange - something I'd never seen at the beach before.
Sunset. I took the train and he drove back to Itako. My train transfer took and hour of waiting at the station, and the traffic was so bad, we both managed to get back to Itako at almost the same time. Afterwards, Indian food for the third night in a row!!!
Day 4
Dan and I parted ways – he heading north, and I going back more or less the way I came. I took the train from Itako to Fusa, where a tiny festival was transpiring! Naturally, I had to partake just a bit.
Freshly-made kinako mochi at the Fusa-matsuri. Delicious!
Small Fusa-matsuri - reminded me more of a local festival in Oregon than a typical Japanese setup.
Mothra! I think this may have been a plaster model the kid painted himself at the festival.
An incredibly common sight, there were groups of old men model plane enthusiasts up and down the Tone throughout my trip.
Bender? No, it's an irrigation control robot.
Koi-no-bori, or carp streamers, for Boys' Day. Families with sons display them throughout May.
The same park where I met that nice family. They weren't there the second time.
A "highway" station on the border of Gunma and Saitama. Highway stations usually have local goods and specialities, and this one had expensive goldfish in cheap plastic sandwhich bags. I wanted to rescue one, but I didn't think my backpack was any better, really.
Construction site. And this one isn't as gratuitous in its signage as some others I've seen.
The following clip requires a little explanation:
After riding for about eight hours (with breaks), I finally approached what I thought were cities. Here, it would be easy to find a hotel, right?
No, unfortunately not. The “cities” were small towns off in the distance, and I’d have to go pretty far out of my way on a chance that I’d find something. Instead, I headed up into Gunma, departing from the Tone road, to the large city of Ota.
Somehow, I managed not only to entirely miss Ota (I don’t think I went far enough), but I found myself so far away from anything resembling a city, I added another hour or two onto my already overlong day. I finally found a gas station still open at whatever time it was. There were two people working there: a young-ish woman and an older man – they interacted like father and daughter (perhaps they were). At any rate, I asked for directions to a hotel, and the woman was almost aggressively friendly. She said there was a place nearby – a business hotel:
Man: I don’t know of anything like that…
Woman: No, you know the one, it’s called ___
Man: Hm. Oh, yes. Are they open?
Woman: I think so. It’s down this road. Head west, so turn right…
Man: I need some paper. Let me draw a map.
Woman: Here.
Man: Now, where is it?
Woman: On highway __, past the bridge?
Man: Do you think so? Are you sure?
Woman: Yes, yes!
Man: Okay, so from here…
Woman: Turn right, and then get onto highway ___…
Man: What would you say, about 20 meters? (as he draws and writes 20m)
Woman: Yes, that sounds right…
Man: Wait, no. It’s more like 30 meters. (scratches out 20 and writes 30)
Woman: Is that so?
Man: Yes. And then the bridge… this is not totally accurate…
Woman: But you get the idea, right?
Man: Okay, now you be careful. It’s right after the bridge.
Woman: A business hotel, ___.
Man: Will you be alright?
Woman: Be careful! You look very tired!
Man: (Handing me the map) Here you are. Be careful, eh?
To find out what happened next, look at the map, and then watch the video.
