UNite to Combat Climate Change - Ride Japan

Day 67: Cape Sata!

2009-08-30T08:19:00.002-04:00

Sunday, August 30, 2009

We made it! It took us 67 days to ride our bikes the length of mainland Japan: almost 3,000 miles from Cape Soya, the northern most point of Hokkaido, to Cape Sata, the southern most point of Kyushu.

We slept last night in a small hotel in Minami Osumi, about 22 miles away from Cape Sata. We started riding at 8:30am and enjoyed stunning ocean views as we pedaled up and down the challenging coastal road. It was a sunny day, 90 degrees, and we were drenched with sweat when we reached the cape. Akira Saito, a friend we made in Hokkaido, rode with us and took the attached picture.

Sho was nonchalant about the whole thing. As we stared out over the beautiful, sparkling ocean from the cape, I asked him if it had been hard to bike across Japan. He shuffled his feet and said, “Kinda.”

We’ll take a train back to Tokyo on Sep 1 to be reunited with my wife Eiko and 2-year old daughter Saya, and return to NYC on Sep 5. It’s been a great adventure!

Day 66: Kushima to Minami Osumi

2009-08-30T08:13:00.002-04:00

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Biked 70km (43 miles) from Kushima to Minami Osumi with our cycling buddy Saito-san. Stopped at the Kanoya Air Base Museum, which includes a collection of photos of the 800+ kamikaze pilots who took off from Kanoya during WW II. The collection of final farewell letters to their families is moving and a sad reminder of the insanity of war.

Day 65: Miyazaki to Kushima

2009-08-28T17:52:00.003-04:00

Friday, August 28, 2009

Sho and I biked with Saito-san 90km (56 miles) from Miyazaki to Kushima, taking side trips to beautiful oceanside shrines in Aoshima and Udo Jingu.

Day 64: Hyuga to Miyazaki

2009-08-27T18:21:00.002-04:00

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Sho and I biked with Saito-san 70km (44 miles) from Hyuga to Miyazaki.

Day 63: Saiki to Hyuga

2009-08-26T04:14:00.003-04:00

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Biked 85km (53 miles) from Saiki to Hyuga with Saito-san. Hilly ride through some beautiful mountains. Sunny, 85 degrees.

Day 62: Beppu to Saiki

2009-08-25T09:12:00.002-04:00

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Rode 80km (50 miles) from Beppu to Saiki with Saito-san.

Day 61: Taketazu to Beppu

2009-08-25T09:08:00.003-04:00

Monday, August 24, 2009

Rode 80km (50 miles) from Taketazu to Beppu with Saito-san. Stayed in a ryoukan traditional Japanese inn with a great onsen bath.

Day 60: Entering Kyushu

2009-08-23T08:48:00.003-04:00

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Biked 60km (37 miles) from Iwakuni to Shunan, then took 2-hour ferry to Taketazu on Kyushu. Sho and I walked over the Kintai-kyo Bridge and saw the albino snakes of Iwakuni in the morning. We met up with our friend Saito-san in Shunan and rode the ferry together. The three of us are staying in a youth hostel, and had fun shooting off fireworks together.

Day 59: Miyajima and Iwakuni

2009-08-22T07:33:00.003-04:00

Saturday, August 22, 2009

We rode from Hiroshima to Miyajima, taking a ferry to visit Itsukushima Jinja Shrine. It was a hot day, and we threw the ball in the ocean underneath the huge orange torii gate in front of the shrine. We continued on to Iwakuni, where we spent the night.

Day 58: Hiroshima

2009-08-22T07:30:00.001-04:00

Friday, August 21, 2009

Sho and I spent the day touring Hiroshima with our friend Saito-san. We spent an hour and a half at the devastatingly sad Peace Memorial Museum, then cheered up at the Children's Museum and Planetarium. Details coming soon.

Day 57: Onomichi to Hiroshima

2009-08-22T07:27:00.003-04:00

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Biked 80km (50 miles) from Onomichi to Hiroshima on the busy and hilly Route 2, joined by our friend Saito-san. We stayed with Miyuki Nomura, who graciously hosted us in her home in Hiroshima.

Day 56: Shimanami Kaido

2009-08-19T19:41:00.004-04:00

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Biked 90km (56 miles) from Imabari to Onomichi, along the incredibly beautiful Shimanami Kaido cycling route. Tomoko Sagara flew in from Tokyo to ride with us for the day. It was the longest she'd ever ridden a bike, and she did great! Also, Saito-san, our friend we met in Hokkaido 6 weeks ago, caught up with us, and we rode together all day.

Day 55: Matsuyama to Imabari

2009-08-19T19:39:00.002-04:00

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Biked 60km (37 miles) from Matsuyama to Imabari.

Day 54: Kochi and Matsuyama

2009-08-17T19:46:00.005-04:00

Monday, August 17, 2009

Itami-san drove us to Kochi, where we spent the morning playing on the beach at Katsurahama. Sho and I biked 110km to Matsuyama, from 1 - 7pm.

Day 53: Toyohama Friend

2009-08-17T19:43:00.003-04:00

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Biked 60km from Takamatsu to Toyohama. Met Junji Itami, who let us sleep in his community center.

Day 52: Naruto Whirlpools

2009-08-17T19:41:00.004-04:00

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Biked from 110km from Tokushima to Takamatsu, with a side excursion to see the whirlpools under Naruto Ohashi Bridge.

Day 51: Ferry from Wakayama to Tokushima

2009-08-15T21:07:00.006-04:00

Friday, August 14, 2009
Rode ferry from Wakayama to Tokushima. Sho and I danced the night away in Tokushima's famous Awa-Odori.

Day 50: Koya-san to Wakayama

2009-08-13T20:10:00.002-04:00

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Biked 60km (37 miles) from Koya-san to Wakayama.

Sho and I awoke at 5:55am, just as we did yesterday, a monk steadily hammering away at a gong inside the temple to let everyone know it was time to get up. Interested in another round of Buddhist chanting, we shuffled sleepily down the long temple corridors to the ceremony hall to observe the 40-minute ritual with about 15 other guests. The chanting was mesmerizing, and Sho sat snuggled in my lap, enjoying the unusual experience. Afterward, Soeda-san gave an identical talk to the one he delivered yesterday, repeating the story of Kukai’s endless meditation in a nearby cave and culminating with the insistence that this belief was “super rational.” I imagined that Soeda-san must see this daily interaction with tourists as only a mild distraction from the real work of the temple, and an excellent source of income. Perhaps it led to a few converts from time to time.
After our final breakfast in the temple, I used a 1-pound mobile Internet device to upload recent pictures from our ride to an online server run by TV Japan. They were putting on a TV news update about our ride on Saturday and had requested pictures in time for the airing. Sho and I were supposed to check out of the temple by 9am, and the Internet connection in the mountains was weak. I felt pressed for time as the images ever so slowly were transferred over the ether, and as 9am neared, I had to stop before all the pictures were loaded, vowing to try again tonight.
As we climbed aboard our loaded bikes and pushed off, the monks at the temple gave us a hearty farewell and good wishes to complete our cross-Japan ride. A young trainee marveled at our adventure, shaking his head as he walked with us to the edge of the temple and whispering conspiratorially, “I’d love to do something like this!”

After stocking up on snacks in town, Sho and I started the long descent from Mt. Koya toward the coast. Today’s destination was Wakayama, about 60km (39 miles) away. The mountain weather was fickle. It was sunny and hot as we began to ride, sweat beading on top of our sunblock-slathered skin, but soon after we had started the descent, a sudden downpour began. I stopped the bikes and pulled rain covers over our panniers. It was so warm that Sho and I didn’t bother with jackets, rain pants or booties, as we had so often when it started to rain in the cooler weather of Hokkaido and the Japan Alps. It was refreshing to get a good dousing in the 90+ degree temps, and we let ourselves get soaked. I kept a careful, firm grip on the brakes as we made our way down the twists and turns of the wet alpine road, keeping close to the side to let cars pass every minute or two. These mountain descents were the most dangerous part of the ride across Japan, when a slight miscalculation could lead to a scary fall over the edge. I understood the risks and let my hands go numb gripping the brakes in order to keep our speed well within my control. About every 10 minutes, I had to stop briefly to rest my forearms and shoulders, and to shake out my hands until feeling returned. The regular ordeal of managing the heavily laden bikes had taken a toll, and the tips of three fingers on my left hand had been numb for the past few weeks. [It wasn’t until 2 months after the trip was over that I recovered full feeling in those fingers.]
The squall was over soon, replaced by the pounding summer sun, its intense heat combining with the steady downhill wind to dry us off quickly. Small rivulets of rain water trailed down the road’s edge, gurgling softly beside us for a few minutes before evaporating in the heat. Suddenly, I heard a strange sound coming from the rear wheel.
“You got a flat!” Sho announced, and I pulled over immediately.
“At least it’s not raining anymore,” I grumbled, trying to keep a positive attitude despite the annoying, unwelcome delay. There was a pull-out just ahead with plenty of space to work on the bike out of traffic. And the view was stunning, forest-covered mountains stretching out into the distance, painted over by shadows from dramatic cloud formations in the yawning sky. Sho took the delay in stride and started searching for interesting bugs in the brush while I turned my back on the vista and went to work.
This was the tenth puncture of our ride, every one of which occurred on my back tire, made vulnerable by the burden of my weight and the two heaviest panniers. The front tire of my bike and the single tire on Sho’s bike made it through the entire journey without a single flat. Early on, I patched the hole in the tube each time. But after a while, I realized that the weight on my back wheel was simply too heavy for the patches to manage, requiring me to pump up the tire too frequently. I had brought along a number of spares, and half way through our ride, decided simply to replace the tube every time I got a flat. The process was still laborious, as I had to remove the 4 panniers and handlebar bag from my bicycle and disconnect Sho’s trailer cycle from the rear rack before getting to the wheel. Happily, today’s flat tire on Day 50 turned out to be the last one of the 67-day trip.
The heat steadily intensified as we descended Mt. Koya. The cloudy weather we experienced on the mountain was replaced by direct sun and oppressive, humid warmth. We turned west to ride along a river toward the coast and soon spotted an inviting rest stop. We pulled in, navigated around several monstrous tour busses and came to a stop in front of the bathrooms, dripping sweat that quickly evaporated on the steaming concrete. Sho begged for ice cream from a nearby vending machine, and I sent him off with enough money to get one for me too. As I leaned our bikes against a wall, I felt a tickle on my right calf and looked down to see a large, multi-colored, long-legged spider clinging to my skin. About 2 inches in diameter, Sho and I had seen many of this type of spider throughout our ride. Their intimidating size made them excellent subjects for Sho’s photo collection, but I had no interest in finding out whether or not they are poisonous. I quickly, but gently, flicked the creature onto the sidewalk, and watched it scramble away toward the women’s rest room. When Sho returned, I pointed out my new friend.
“Daddy, he’s awesome!” Sho exclaimed, and we spent the next 10 minutes studying the spider and protecting it from being stepped on by visitors, many of whom didn’t seem to share our interest in the big little fellow. Before continuing on, we made sure that the spider had made it safely up a wall, where he could peek in on the ladies.
The Kii Mountain range faded behind us as we made our way to Wakayama, arriving by 4pm. I was interested in visiting the town’s historic castle, but Sho convinced me to go bowling with him instead. Yes, it was unlikely that we would ever get the chance to see Wakayama’s castle again. And yes, we could easily go bowling any time we wanted when we were back in New York. But I suppressed the urge to lecture and tried to empathize with the experience of an 8 year old. And yes, we had a blast.
We would take a ferry to Tokushima the next morning, and I found a cheap single room in a business hotel near the terminal. The clerk tried to make us pay for a double room, but I explained that we usually slept in a tent, and that we considered sharing a single bed to be a luxury. He smirked, annoyed at my quirky logic, and gave us the cheaper room.
Later that night, after Sho had taken a bath and written in his journal, I read to him in bed. One of the effects of biking for many hours each day is the powerful need for a good night’s rest. By 9pm, I was exhausted and started to fall asleep while reading out loud. Sho elbowed me several times, as I lost the text and slipped into groggy babbling. My body ached for sleep, but tonight I felt the pressure of commitments and had to stay awake. I got Sho to sleep by 9:30, then crawled silently out of the bed and settled behind the small desk in the narrow room. I turned on the mobile Internet device, connected to the Internet, and spent the next hour and a half uploading the rest of the pictures I had promised to TV Japan.
Once that was finished, I logged on to the United Nations Environment Programme’s website. Sho and I had been asked to respond to questions for UNEP’s Climate Heroes today, and I worried that there would be a list of a hundred e-mails from around the world waiting for us to respond. But there was only one question, asking whether we were encouraging people to ride bikes even in bustling cities in developing countries, where it could be very dangerous for a cyclist. I answered that staying safe is the most important aspect of choosing where and when to ride. The question reminded me of my experience training for this adventure with Sho. We had spent the previous year riding all over New York City and the northern suburbs of Westchester County. I had been surprised to find that I felt safer on the crowded roads of Manhattan than in the suburbs. Drivers in Manhattan, while often aggressive, were accustomed to the heavy vehicle and pedestrian traffic, and their speed was checked by the many lights and traffic jams. The secret was to follow the rules (don’t bike the wrong way on a one-way street, wait for the light to turn green), be patient (go at a reasonable pace that gives you a chance to react to an unexpected situation, don’t try to do a quick maneuver without braking or checking the traffic behind you to squeeze by a turning truck), and keep an eye out for people opening doors of parked cars. But the suburbs were filled with drivers on cell phones, driving 60+ MPH on narrow roads without a shoulder. The variables in the suburbs felt much more difficult to control.
As I drifted off to sleep, I thought excitedly about tomorrow’s plan. It would be the first time for us to visit Shikoku, one of Japan’s major islands that was often neglected, but offered some wonderful surprises.

Day 49: Koya-san

2009-08-12T08:47:00.002-04:00

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

At 5:55 in the morning, a monk hidden somewhere within the temple began to beat a gong in a slow, steady rhythm.

Bong… Bong… Bong…

The intense, enveloping sound echoed through the quiet morning, sound waves bouncing off of the meticulously crafted sand sculptures and manicured trees of the temple garden.

Bong… Bong… Bong...

The reverberations cascaded through my body, shaking my bones and pulling me out of a deep, exhausted slumber. I rolled over on the futon to see Sho groggily smiling at me from under the thick folds of his soft comforter.

Bong… Bong… Bong…

The sonorous noise drifted out of the mountain valley and dissipated among the surrounding peaks of Mt. Koya.
“Ready for some chanting?” I asked Sho.
“Yep!” he said with enthusiasm and pulled himself up from the futon, hopping around on one foot on the tatami mat as he pulled on his pants.
We shuffled quietly down the long, hard wood corridors, converging with other guests emerging groggily from their rooms to participate in the morning Buddhist ritual. We passed by an opening leading to a beautiful garden in the center of the temple, and felt the warm summer morning air envelope us and hint at the oppressive heat to come. After navigating several turns through the large complex, we left our slippers at the entrance of the ceremony room and quietly found a place to sit on the tatami mats with about 15 other guests. The room was dimly lit and adorned with Buddhist images and paraphernalia, the smell of incense wafting over us. Nine monks with shaved heads and flowing robes sat on mats in the front, legs folded easily beneath them, and each holding a book of sutras. Ryusho Soeda, head of the temple, sat in the middle and led the ceremony, his impressive robes wrapped comfortably around his frame. The chanting began immediately.
Sho sat enthralled throughout the 40-minute session, as the monks intoned with a deep, hypnotizing rhythm. Every so often, one would strike a gong or a clanging symbol or bells. Sometimes one monk would start to drone out the beginning of a new section of the sutra, and the others would join him after a few seconds, their voices merging together powerfully. I closed my eyes and let the chanting envelop me. My thoughts drifted over the past month and a half of riding, and I marveled that we had made it this far without any serious sickness, injury or mental breakdown. I opened my eyes and looked at Sho, who was sitting close to me, attentively taking in the fascinating morning ritual. He was already changed since we began this trip. He had grown stronger and bigger, less apt to complain about minor inconveniences, and patient enough to sit through 40 minutes of Buddhist chanting.
When the monks had finished, they filed quietly out of a side door, except Soeda-san, who turned toward the visitors in the room. His round, middle aged face was serene, and he moved slowly and with purpose, exerting a calming presence over the room. He paused as he silently took in our faces and smiled gently. Accustomed to foreign guests, he spoke in heavily accented English, describing his religious beliefs and the story of Kobo Daishi, the posthumous name for Kukai, the founder of Shingon Buddhism. Kukai chose Mt. Koya as the site of the the sect’s headquarters over 1200 hundred years ago, following a voyage to China, where he studied with a well-known Buddhist master. Followers believe that Kukai is still alive, meditating in a big stone cave underground and watching the world.
“Perhaps it must seem very strange or absurd for you that the one who lived almost 1,200 years before can keep meditation inside underground walls until today,” Soeda-san smiled. “The reason why such an irrational belief could survive for so many years is that still today, many people can experience an encounter with Kukai, mainly in the crisis of their life, physically or psychologically. Kukai has been believed to send his supple body not only to the believer, but also to the unbelievers to make them aware that they are watched by Kukai. So these repeated experiences encountering Kukai over the time and space make this irrational belief [pause for effect] super rational.”
As he spoke, I realized that he gave the same talk every morning to tourists staying at the temple. I wondered if he were bored by it all, or found it mildly interesting to see the attentive wonder in people’s eyes as they heard this story for the first time. Perhaps it felt simply like an extension of the chanting ceremony, but without the promise of transcendence...
Soeda-san concluded his brief comments with the observation that, “the ultimate truth is never static, but dynamic.” Just as I was contemplating the implications of that thought, he abruptly shifted to the mundane, noting that our breakfasts would be ready in five minutes, and that we should reconvene in the dining hall.
“What a cool way to start the day!” Sho commented excitedly, as we shuffled out of the ceremony hall.
After breakfast, Sho and I hopped on our bikes, ridiculously light without our 75 pounds of gear, and explored the town of Koya. We visited the massive Daimon gate that had welcomed us the night before. It was impressive, but in daylight did not have the same mystery and power of the evening before, when its brilliantly lit, towering orange beams represented salvation from our exhausting bike ride up the mountain in the dark. We sat in the shade of the massive structure and talked with Eiko and Saya on the phone for a while, before continuing on to see Koya’s impressive mix of temples and tombs.
Many followers in the Shingon sect choose to be buried at Okunoin, a sprawling collection of many thousands of graves spread throughout the dense forests surrounding Kukai’s mausoleum on the outskirts of Koya. Sho and I hiked along a beautiful, flowing mountain stream, passing countless graves. The varied headstones were everywhere, competing with one another to proclaim the previous existence of the entombed. Some were nothing more than a simple, modest stone marking the spot, while other gravesites were over-the-top. My favorite was a 20-foot tall towering stone rocket ship pointing skyward and threatening to blast off.
“This guy must have really loved outer space!” Sho laughed.
No one knows how many burial sites there are in Okunoin, but Sho did his best to visit every one, running back and forth along the main path ways, then challenging me to find the most creative route through myriad trails that disappeared into the surrounding overgrowth and uncovering yet more graves.
Throughout this ride across Japan, we have passed many grave yards. Usually, they are modest collections of beautifully carved and meticulously cared-for headstones, nestled into a forest by the road or carved into the side of a hill. Early on, I remember pausing while biking up a long climb in the countryside and glancing down to enjoy a sprawling farm stretched out below me, rows of neatly arranged crops covering the land all the way to the base of a set of hills a few miles away. At the edge of the farm, a lone, bent figure moved slowly between two headstones that stood aside from the crops on a small raised plot. The old man gently cleaned the area, lit incense in front of the graves and stared in silence, as Sho and I peered from above. It was a touching scene.
“What is he doing, Daddy?” Sho asked.
“Paying respects to family members who died.”
As we pedaled away, I mumbled to myself, “That’s where you’re headed,” exercising the presumably uniquely human trait of anticipating my own death. Actually, I said that to myself every time we passed a graveyard on this bike ride. Seriously. Not out of a macabre sense of despair, but more in an attempt to provide some context for this crazy adventure. Knowing that I will die, sooner or later; meditating on that truth; appreciating that every day, no matter how full of mundane routine, is precious; sensing that each moment is potentially remarkable; feeling the constant passage of time and moving through life’s phases – I used to know myself only as a child, but now I am the father? All of this provided the context for a grand adventure across Japan with my 8-year old son. Each moment is precious and finite – how do you choose to spend it? If I am only here for a while, I reasoned, I might as well try to do something extraordinary!
Our visit to Koya was obviously getting to me. :-) What I needed was time to meditate. We returned to our temple lodging at Renge-Jo-In and re-entered the ceremony hall where we had observed the morning’s chanting session. Sho had enjoyed the chanting and was eager for the next new experience.
“Do you think I’ll like it, Daddy?” he asked excitedly.
“I’m not sure, but please do your best not to make any noise, ok?” I responded, wondering if it was a good idea for him to come along.
This time, there were no gongs, no symbols, no bells. There was only silent sitting on tatami mats in the darkened room, led by the mindful, passive, settled presence of Soeda-san, wrapped in the smell of incense and shared with a dozen others listening to their own heart beats. I settled into a comfortable seated position, focused on my breathing, slowing it down until it was hard to tell whether I was inhaling or exhaling, and descended into a barely conscious state. At first, a stream of random thoughts and hidden worries intruded unhelpfully: images from yesterday’s monster ride up the mountain, the spooky bike light casting strange forms into the black night, Sho’s well-being, my priorities, a thousand years of history, graves, aching muscles, could we complete the ride across Japan on schedule, missing my wife and daughter, lingering Sumo wrestling injuries... Gradually the thoughts dissipated, evaporating into the stillness, until all that was left was my breath, still moving in and out, but barely perceptible. A kind of mental opening was occurring. A letting go. A mindfulness. A sinking into the eternity of the moment.
I felt a tug at my sleeve. “Dad!” Sho whispered. I ignored him. “Dad!” he whispered again, and I could feel the collective annoyance in the room at this unwelcome intrusion into the magical silence.
I opened my eyes and gave him an unhappy look.
“I’m going outside to play my DS, ok?” he asked.
I nodded, and he crawled across the tatami mat floor, and slowly creaked open the wooden sliding doors. Then ever so annoyingly, he creaked the doors closed again. Each sound he made reverberated like a bomb dropped into the middle of the room, and I winced at the rude intrusion on my fellow guests’ meditations. Soeda-san sat impassively at the front of the room, unbothered by the commotion, unmoving and serene. The other guests, not nearly as practiced at meditation, shot us annoyed looks.
That evening, Sho and I wore comfortable cotton yukata robes down to the dining hall, a large, tatami mat room near the temple entrance that could easily hold over 100 people. About twenty guests sat on the floor beside one another, appreciating lovely lacquer trays full of miso soup, mountain vegetables, hot tea, rice, and a delicious flavored tofu dish. Only one guest was Japanese, and he was seated by himself separately from the group for some reason that was never explained to me. The rest were friendly tourists from Germany, Italy, Canada, the U.S. and France. Happily, they were too well-mannered to ostracize us for the disruption of the meditation ceremony, and we all chatted politely about our experiences traveling around Japan.
After a while, Kiyomi Soeda entered the room. The 89-year old matriarch of the temple, she wore a brightly colored kimono and exuded self-confidence and vigor. She looked much younger than her age and professed to have enjoyed excellent health throughout her life. “Only recently, I have begun to have difficulty hearing, and my legs feel weak at times,” she lamented. We all munched our food in silence as she settled down comfortably in front of a microphone and told us her fascinating story.
Until around 1880, women were not allowed to live in Koya, which was meant to be a Buddhist retreat far away from the temptations of society. Priests were not allowed to marry and heads of temples chose their successor from among their disciples. This changed not long after the Meiji Restoration, a tumultuous period in Japan’s history when the country, which had been rigidly closed to the outside world for over 2 centuries, was compelled to modernize by the threats and opportunities posed by the U.S. and Europe. Priests on Mt. Koya began to marry, and their succession became hereditary.
Born in Koya in 1920, Kiyomi was a restless youth and left the isolated mountain top community in the late 1930’s to study English at a university in Tokyo, a much more stimulating location. When World War II began, she returned from Tokyo and her friends asked her suspiciously why she had “studied the language of the enemy.” But after the war, when knowledge of English was a useful skill, the same people praised her far-sighted wisdom. During the war, the Japanese military used the temples in Koya to support the war effort. When the U.S. military sent soldiers to look for weapons caches among the temples, Kiyomi’s rare English skills made her suddenly extremely useful in her community.
She married the head of Renge-Jo-In Temple in 1946 and told us about the sorry state the place was in when she moved in. The ceiling of the beautiful room we were sitting in had a leak that they could not afford to repair, ruining the tatami mats.
“Where you are now, you would be sitting in the middle of a mud pit,” she joked with Sho, who giggled. “We had to lay down wooden slats to walk across this room. There wasn’t enough food either, so we all grew sweet potatoes. Because of the lack of sun up here, they were stringy, skinny things that had little taste, but it was better than starving. When we ate rice porridge, I remember being able to count the number of grains in the bowl, it was so meager.”
She went on to tell us about Kukai, going into much more detail than her son had following this morning’s chanting ceremony. She told us of Kukai’s decision to study esoteric Buddhism in China, of his prodigious intelligence and ability to find a famous teacher in China and become his chosen successor after only a year and a half of study, and other accounts of his exceptional abilities. I noted the importance within many institutions, from politics to religion to business, to ascribe phenomenal exploits to their founders.
Sho wasn’t worried about the implications of hero worship, however. After we had eaten our fill and returned to our room, he was happy to snuggle up with me in our comfortable futons and fall asleep recounting the details of one of our most interesting days so far.

Day 48: Climbing to Koya-san

2009-08-12T08:43:00.004-04:00

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Biked 90km (55 miles) from Nara to Asuka Mura Village, then up the mountain to the Buddhist town of Koya-san. Biked for 7 hours total, including 3 hours up the mountain, the last of which was in the dark. Spooky!

We said goodbye to Nara in the mid-morning, retracing our steps from yesterday's ride to Horyu-Ji, then continuing on to Asuka Mura. A candidate to become a World Heritage Site, the quaint village of just over 6,000 residents boasts a pleasant Buddhist temple and some unusual ancient granite stones. No one knows the origin of the mysterious, colossal rock structures, which may have been ancient burial sites, or places for communal worship, or the result of a group of early Japanese stone cutters with plenty of time on their hands... We visited Ishibutai Kofun, where Sho used the massive stones as a launching pad for some impressive leaps.

Rice fields stretched around us. Mountains loomed in the distance. And one of those, Mt. Koya, waited for us. Today's destination was a collection of over 100 Buddhist temples in the heart of Mt. Koya's 8 peaks. The base for the Shingon Buddhist sect, the town of Koya was founded almost 1200 years ago by the monk Kukai, after he returned from a spiritual journey to China. Many temples offer lodging for visitors, and Sho and I had a reservation at one. We looked forward to the unique experience of participating in a few chants and meditation sessions.

But we had to get there first. I knew we had pushed our luck by staying in Asuka Mura until mid-afternoon, and I pushed the pace as we got underway. Unfortunately, the route was hilly from the start, and the muggy 90 degree weather sapped our strength, so we plodded along at a modest pace, despite our best efforts.

I had actually been looking forward to another challening ride up a mountain. I was confident that we could make the long, steep climb up Mt. Koya without too much difficulty, after our successful week of riding over the Japan Alps. The main question today was, Can we make it before night fall? We rode hard over the rolling terrain for 2 hours from Asuka Mura before reaching the base of Mt. Koya at 5pm, where I nearly made a significant mistake. We came to an intersection with a sign that pointed us in a different direction from the route my GPS said we should take. Assuming that there must be two alternative routes, I ignored the sign and followed my GPS's instructions. After a few minutes of riding, I realized that I'd just forgotten an important lesson from this trip: when in doubt, ask a local. So I did just that.

The old man raised his eyebrows and murmured, "Wow, look at that!", ogling our connected bikes as we pulled to a stop in front of his house.

"Is the temple town of Koya this way?", I asked, as he took a closer look at Sho's bicycle.

"Nope. You're headed to the highest of Mt. Koya's summits. There's nothing up there but forest. The road is narrow, steep and has a lot of debris from rock slides on it. The temple town you want is back the other direction."

I had entered "Koya-san" in Japanese into my GPS, which is the name of both the Buddhist temple town and the mountain, and the GPS had chosen to send us to the mountain top! Relieved at having caught the potentially awful mistake, we turned back with a grateful thank you to the man who had just saved us from an unplanned overnight stay on an exposed mountain top. He gave Sho a hearty "Gambatte!" ("good luck") as we pulled away.

The first hour of climbing through the forest covering Mt. Koya's lower reaches was beautiful, but a bit disappointing. Full of modest ascents followed by easy flat and down hill sections, I murmured to myself, "This will be a piece of cake," happily ticking away the miles at a solid clip. But at 6pm, with just over an hour of light left, the mountain got serious. No more easy slopes and refreshing downhills. The real climbing had begun with regular doses of long, winding 10% grades mixed in with the "easy" sections at 6 - 8%. Instead of zipping along at a healthy clip, we were now trudging up at a crawl, sweat dripping down to sizzle on the hot pavement. We pushed down hard on the pedals, struggling to maintain forward momentum up the steep, unforgiving, narrow road. My body protested at having to work so hard at the end of a day of riding. Sho complained that he was ready to stop for the day. And most annoying of all, cars constantly passed us from both directions, headed to and from the popular tourist destination. Unlike the deserted climbs through the Japan Alps, where we could swing out and back on the empty road to generate momentum, the traffic forced me to maintain a straight line squeezed to the far side of the road, allowing little room for error next to the sheer drop off a few feet to our left.

Another hour of hard pushing up, up, up, and we were still climbing. The sun's rays faded away behind the mountain's forest canopy, and we were still climbing. We turned on lights at the back and front of our bikes to make sure the cars could see us. The traffic was dwindling, and we experienced long stretches of riding through the oppressive darkness, intensified by the overhanging tree cover. My front light cast out a constant stream of strange, spooky shadows as I jerked the bike back and forth with each heavy pedal stroke up the incline. Eery sounds emanated from the darkness and echoed across the black expanse just beyond the road's edge.

"Dad, this is really spooky. I don't like it," Sho complained.

"I don't like it either, buddy. We'll get there soon," was all I could offer in response. I began to talk to the mountain and to myself, annoyed at my hubris in thinking we could make it to Koya before dark. And we pushed on. Despite his complaints, Sho didn't give up. And despite my annoyance at my overconfidence, I knew that we had a safe place to stay waiting for us at the top. We pushed on.

And finally, after another of a seemingly endless series of steep switchbacks, we rounded a corner and came upon a huge, brightly lit red Buddhist gate. Called Daimon ("big gate"), it glowed against the dark forest background and offered a hearty welcome to tired wanderers. We had made it to Koya! An hour after dark and completely spent, but we had made it.

We found our way through the compact mountain town to Renge-Jo-in, the temple where we had a reservation. Thankfully, they had saved dinner for us: a collection of delicious flavored tofu, miso soup, mountain vegetables, rice and hot tea. Famished from the exhausting ride, we wolfed down everything while still in our sweat-soaked biking clothes. Lounging in the temple's hot onsen bath afterward, our bellies full and memories of the spooky alpine ride already fading, we smiled at one another.

Sho laughed, splashed me with water and said, "Another day, another adventure, huh?!"

Day 47: Nara and Horyu-Ji

2009-08-10T10:37:00.009-04:00

Monday, August 10, 2009
Rode 30km (18 miles) from Nara to Horyu-Ji and back. Spent a second night in Nara in order to wait out a typhoon that was passing through.

The rain fell steadily outside, as Sho and I debated what to do today. A typhoon was barreling along the eastern coast of Japan, and we decided to stay a second night in Nara, rather than bike towards it on our planned route. We wanted to visit the World Heritage Site Horyu-Ji, an ancient temple complex and the oldest wooden structure in Japan. It would require riding about 30km (18 miles) in the driving rain, but we decided to go for it.

"We've been wet plenty of times on this trip. Might as well get wet one more time," Sho reasoned, as we rolled out into the mess.

We found our way to Horyu-Ji, where Sho played "see how far I can jump" from the top of the temple's broad entry steps. He also played "see how wet I can make my hair from this stream of water pouring off the temple roof," and I appreciated the fact that we could enjoy most of the sights from the outside. We were so thoroughly soaked that I would have been embarrassed to track wet footprints inside.

After we had our fill of temple touring, we dried off enough to have lunch in a nearby udon noodle restaurant. Sho folded the thin, rectangular paper chopsticks holder into a triangle, and we played "football" on our table until the food arrived. This is one of Sho's favorite ways to pass time in a restaurant, and he has become skilled at flicking the paper ball just to the edge of the table without falling off, and thus scoring a touchdown. His field goal kicking has also gotten quite good, but can be a problem when the ball flies into the lap of people sitting at an adjoining table...

On our ride back to Nara, I accidentally entered a bypass that transformed our annoying, but acceptably busy road into an alarming and unacceptably dangerous highway. I realized my mistake about 100 yards in, and we carefully waited for a break in the traffic zooming by, turned our bikes around and walked against traffic as close to the guard rail as we could.

"Whoops," I said, once we were safely off the bypass.

"That was not good, Daddy," Sho keenly observed.

We returned to Todai-Ji Temple in Nara to re-visit the deer Sho had courted the day before. The greedy, assertive beasts were pleased to see their generous friend return and chased Sho all over the temple grounds, gobbling up the pellets he dropped over his shoulder while running and giggling.

The towering Buddha inside Todai-Ji Temple is a wonder to behold, a gargantuan statue that is barely contained by the cavernous temple. 15 meters (45 feet) tall, it is Japan's largest bronze statue. The main hall holding it was built in the year 745 and, according to my guide book, is still the world's largest wooden building. Throngs of visitors surrounded me as I stared up at the Buddha's meditating form looming over us all. Its serene visage was mesmerizing, and I contemplated the passage of time, the absurd oddity of our existence, life's meaning and nothingness for about a minute before Sho pulled me over to "check out this awesome thing I found." One of the temple's attractions is a broad column with a relatively small square hole running through it. Those who can crawl through the tight space are said to enjoy good luck. Sho stood in line behind other kids and skinny adults, then made it through easily.

"Now I'm all set!" he rejoiced after passing this impressive Buddhist test.

The rain had tapered off by the time we rode back to our hotel, where we changed out of our damp clothes. As we did, I decided that I'd had enough of my beard and mustache. I hadn't shaved since we started riding on June 25 and had grown a full, if not particularly impressive, set of hair on my face. Early on, it had represented a kind of letting go from my professional identity, a celebration of the freedom to explore the world as an adventurer. But over time, I grew tired of the intrusive mess of hair, finding it less and less comfortable as the weather warmed. Today, I'd finally had enough.

I used a small pair of scissors from my medical kit to whittle down the tangled fuzz. After 30 minutes of work, it was short enough for me to apply shaving cream and start to work with a disposable razor I'd bought at a convenience store. I got a fair number of annoying cuts in the process, but it felt good to get rid of the rat's nest.

Sho had grown used to seeing me with a beard and mustache and gave a surprised shout when I emerged from the bathroom. After contemplating my new clean-shaven look, he concluded, "You look stupid and cool. 50% stupid. 50% cool."

We balanced out today's cultural experiences with visits to 2 game rooms after dinner. Sho observed that playing in the game rooms was "almost as fun as being chased by deer."

Day 46: Seeing Family in Nara

2009-08-10T10:34:00.007-04:00

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Today's ride was an easy 45km (28 mile) ride from Kyoto to Nara, so we had some extra time in the morning to visit a few more of Kyoto's impressive sights before leaving. Sho chose to play pool. An impressive choice.

We also stopped by a Takashimaya department store to buy him a new pair of shoes. His old pair was embarrassingly beat up, worn down by a relentlessly active lifestyle and sporting a few holes that let in the rain. While leaving the store, my brother-in-law, Aki Ikegaya, called. He lives in Tokyo, but he and his wife, Akemi, were spending the weekend on the Ise Peninsula, a few hours' drive away. He offered to meet us in Nara later in the afternoon for a brief visit before they had to return in the evening.

We left Kyoto immediately and made our way along a busy road to Nara, arriving at 3:30pm. There were less trafficked options, but I chose to take the quickest route in order to have as much time with Aki and Akemi as possible. As we rolled into the JR Nara train station, the two of them jumped out of their car and gave us a hearty welcome and enthusiastic cheer. It felt so nice to see family. After checking into a nearby hotel and locking up our bikes, Sho and I hopped into their car and headed to the deer-infested park at Todai-ji Temple. The deer are revered in the temple and wander around freely, mingling with the tourists. Visitors can buy packets of pellets to feed them, but you have to be ready once you do. The minute you buy a packet of food, the deer converge on you, aggressively shoving and nipping. I was bitten on my waist, leaving a nice bruise, but Sho was too fast for the obnoxious creatures. He looked like the Pied Piper, running up the long path toward the temple trailed by a line of hungry deer eating the pellets he threw over his shoulder as he ran.

We didn't have enough time to visit the inside of Todai-ji Temple, so Sho and I vowed to return the next day on our own. Aki and Akemi drove us back to our hotel, where Sho and I gave them a reluctant farewell. I felt lonely watching them drive off and looked forward to our arrival in Tokyo at the beginning of September, when we would see them again and be reunited with Eiko and Saya.

Sho and I ate udon noodles for dinner, then relaxed in our hotel's onsen bath before falling asleep by 9:30pm.

Day 45: Kyoto

2009-08-10T10:32:00.004-04:00

Saturday, August 8, 2009
Kyoto. Imperial capital of Japan for over 1,000 years. A World Heritage Site endowed with sculpted gardens, awe-inspiring temples, shrines, palaces, theaters. A city of mysterious, ancient traditions. The menu for a visitor overflows with options:

- explore the famous Kiyomizu Dera temple complex with its beautiful wooden terrace and commanding views

- stand in awe before Sanjusangendo's impressive collection of 1,001 golden Buddhist statues, each one different from the others

- Ogle Heian Jingu shrine's bright orange hallways, massive structures and and sprawling courtyard

- Take a contemplative stroll along the peaceful, wooded Philosopher's Path

- Seek inner peace at Ginkakuji, Temple of the Silver Pavilion, with its sublime hiking trails and stunning sand sculptures

The list goes on and on. So much to choose from...

And we spent the morning bowling.

Seriously.

I was impressed by Sho's ability to convince me to prioritize a visit to a game center over Kyoto's more inspiring spots. But I just couldn't say no to his puppy dog eyes, as he asked so fervently for "just a little fun on a rest day." I decided that he deserved to get his way this time after a month and a half of intense riding. Plus, it was good to see that his bowling skills were improving.

After the game room and lunch, we hopped on our bikes, ridiculously light without our luggage, and explored Kyoto the best way: by bicycle. We hit all of the places mentioned above, enjoying the impressive sights, despite the oppressive heat. On the way to Kiyomizu Dera, we stopped to ask directions. The helpful stranger pointed the way, adding, "It's a steep climb to the temple. Might be a bit much to try on a bicycle."

Sho and I smiled at one another. "If we can bike over the Japan Alps, I'm sure we can manage this hill," Sho commented to me as we pushed off. As we biked up the steep climb along a shopping street full of visitors pouring out of the temple, we finally had to walk our bikes, because of the crowds. Sho ate a cucumber on a stick to cool off as we navigated our way through the throng.

After a satisfying afternoon of culture and history, we ate okonomiyaki for dinner, Sho's first time to try the Japanese seafood pancake. Returning to our hotel, I read to him and sang a few songs before he drifted off to sleep, visions of bowling pins dancing in his head.

Day 44: Kyoto Fireworks Fiasco

2009-08-07T10:01:00.006-04:00

Friday, August 7, 2009

Rode 90km (55 miles) from Hikone to Kyoto.

It was muggy and in the low 90's as Sho and I started the day with a visit to Hikone Castle. Ignoring the uncomfortable heat, we spent an hour and a half exploring the castle grounds and debating the various ways an attacking army might succeed in taking over the castle. We both agreed that it would not be easy.

As we biked for around 6 hours from Hikone to Japan's ancient capital of Kyoto, we had to stop frequently to drink in order to keep from becoming dehydrated in the oppressive heat. We hugged the coastline of Lake Biwako, enjoying beautiful views of the massive lake, which sometimes tricked us into thinking it was the ocean. A constant stream of traffic passed by, keeping us hemmed in on the narrow road. It was a relief when we reached the impressive Biwako Ohashi Bridge, which offered a wonderful view and a pedestrian way to keep us safe from the vehicles zooming by.

We made our way to Hama Ohtsu, a town on the southwest corner of Lake Biwako, then turned west for the long climb over the hills surrounding Kyoto. We noticed many men and woman strolling around in festive kimono's, deducing that there must be a summer festival going on in the town. As we rode out of Hama Ohtsu, we passed a line of cars caught in an incredible traffic jam coming towards us that didn't stop until we reached Kyoto an hour later. We asked a passerby what was going on, and he explained that there was a major fireworks display starting at 7:30pm. Sho and I thought that would be a great way to end the day and determined to return by train to enjoy the festivities.

I had anticipated a hard push to bike over the hills surrounding Kyoto, but after all of our mountain climbing in the Japan Alps the previous week, we hardly noticed the effort! After checking into our hotel, we quickly showered and rushed out to catch a train going back the way we'd come. On the 30-minute ride to Hama Ohtsu, we excitedly anticipated the awesome fireworks display we were going to witness. As we neared our destination, loud booms reverberated outside, and we joined others on the train straining to catch glimpses of the fireworks display through the windows. When we arrived, we encountered a large number of police officers trying to control the impressive crowd of people. It was difficult simply to leave the train station, as each exit we tried was blocked off, creating crowded pools of people milling around in confusion. Flashes of light and explosions nearby teased us with the knowledge that we were missing all the action. After 15 minutes of fruitless attempts simply to get down from the train station to the street, a friendly officer let us jump over a barricade, and we made our way to a nearby intersection full of onlookers. Our view was obstructed by buildings, so we could only see the explosions high in the air. Sho asked if we could go to the lakeside about a half mile away for a better view, but I had a bad feeling about this situation, and decided to stay put.

The show ended 10 minutes later, and immediately masses of people started to converge on the station, and nervous police officers started yelling directions. Sho and I realized how insanely crowded it was about to become and raced up the staircase into the train station. Many others ran alongside us, like people fleeing a natural disaster. As we rushed along a crowded corridor leading to the turnstiles, we rounded a corner to find a line of police officers pulling up a barricade. We were told to stop. A mass of people closed in on us from behind, and we were soon trapped in a sea of thousands of nervous revelers. The summer night's heat and humidity were oppressive and made worse by the press of people. Sho and I nursed a bottle of water we that that was 1/3 full, wondering how long we would have to wait.

Ever increasing numbers of people were trapped behind us and another barricaded entrance to our left. Each group eyed the other, wondering which one the police would let through first. The authorities held us there for about 20 minutes until a huge block of people amassed at the turnstiles had shuffled onto the waiting trains below, then gave our group the go-ahead. Sho and I pushed forward and were caught again in a crushing standstill at the turnstiles. It took another 20 minutes to squeeze our way down to the train platform. Sho held on tightly to my hand and finished off our water. When our train arrived, we were crammed in along with the rest of humanity, riding practically cheek-to-cheek with strangers until we reached the outskirts of Kyoto.

By the time we returned to our hotel, we had been gone for 2 hours and had only seen 10 minutes of fireworks!

"Now you know what the word 'fiasco' means," I joked to Sho, as we got out of our sweat-soaked clothes and cleaned off. We snuggled in bed, happy to be safely far removed from the insane crowds of the Hama Ohtsu Fireworks Festival.

Day 43: Seki to Hikone

2009-08-07T09:57:00.004-04:00

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Rode 90km (55 miles) from Seki City to Hikone.

We enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast prepared by Mrs. Kameyama, then loaded our bikes for a 90km (56 miles) ride to Hikone. A reporter from another newspaper in Gifu stopped by to interview us and take pictures with our bikes and the Kameyama family. At 10:30, we finished the interview, said goodbye to our gracious hosts, and rode to a nearby game room for an hour of electronic fun for Sho.

At noon we left Seki City, where the Shimano gears on my Trek 520 bike are made, and made our way through a drenching downpour that later turned to clouds. Since it was in the high 80's, we didn't bother with any rain gear, assuming correctly that the rain would stop, and the wind would dry us off as we biked. We rode through ever-increasing urban sprawl and had to deal with constant traffic all day. We passed through Sekigahara, scene of a decisive battle in 1600 at the end of a long period of civil war in Japan, that cemented Tokugawa Ieyasu's rise to power and ushered in over 250 years of a brutally effective totalitarian system. Sho and I didn't dwell for long on the past, though, intent on making it to Hikone, where we found a cheap hotel, ate dinner at an izakaya and were snoozing by 10pm.

Day 42: Wonderful Hospitality

2009-08-05T18:41:00.004-04:00

Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Biked 40km (25 miles) from Gujo Hachiman to Seki City. Interviewed by local newspaper reporter. Stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Kameyama, visiting onsen together and eating delicious dinner.

Sho and I enjoyed a traditional Japanese breakfast in the ryoukan inn and took another soak in the onsen before heading out of Gujo Hachiman at 9:30am. Today's destination was an easy 40km (25 miles) ride to Seki City on Route 156. The road had more traffic than I was used to, after so much time on deserted mountain roads. But it was generally a downward slope, as we steadily made our way toward the sea down the eastern spine of the Japan Alps. We were done with the mountains! A sense of relief washed over me, as I realized that we were now likely to complete the trip. I didn't tell Sho before the ride started, but I calculated that we had maybe a 50% chance of making it all the way from one end of Japan to the other in 2 months. Since we had never attempted anything like this before, I recognized the possibility that the extreme demands might be too much for Sho, or my legs might give out, or we might have a serious mechanical problem with the bikes. But we had just completed a week of ridiculously hard mountain riding and were still going strong.

"If we can bike over the Japan Alps, we can do the rest!" I told Sho.

"Yeah baby!" he yelled out with pride.

Kengo Kameyama was waiting for us along Route 156 as we entered the outskirts of Seki City. I met his son, who directs the NYC office of the Japan National Tourism Organization, while preparing for the ride. Mr. and Mrs. Kameyama offered to host us as we passed through their home town. Riding a small moped, Mr. Kameyama led us to his home, where we met his wife and incredibly cute grand daughter. Sho and I played games with the little girl, which reminded us how much we missed our own 2 year old, Saya.

A reporter from the local newspaper spent 2 hours interviewing us about the ride. She was particularly interested in Sho's perspective, and why a 41 year old would interrupt his career to do such a thing. Sho said that it was all about sampling Japan's fabulous game rooms, while I tried to explain that this was both an attempt to celebrate life by doing something adventurous and a way to give Sho a deeper understanding of his Japanese heritage.

After we finished the interview, Mr. Kameyama drove us to an excellent onsen, where we washed away our cares in a series of steaming, bubbling, indoor and outdoor tubs. We luxuriated while enjoying views of the surrounding forests that encircled the outdoor baths. We melted into massage chairs in the waiting lounge, my sore muscles making me grimace as the chair hammered, squeezed, rolled and crushed me into submission.

Although I could tell that we were supposed to be back home for dinner, Mr. Kameyama consented to Sho's request to stop by a nearby game room, where we spent 45 minutes in computer-generated fantasy land. While watching Sho play a game, I suddenly became light-headed and didn't feel well. One of the consequences of riding a bike many hours day after day is a metabolism that demands constant sustenance. I hadn't eaten for several hours, distracted by the newspaper interview and onsen visit, and my body was starting to protest. I zipped over to a Mr. Donut across from the game room and quickly munched down 3 donuts, immediately feeling much better.

Mrs. Kameyama had prepared an impressive meal of sashimi, fried chicken, cooked veggies and sukiyaki. Sho and I ate and ate and ate, staying up late to relish the delicious food and wonderfully friendly company.

Day 41: Dancing the Night Away

2009-08-05T18:38:00.004-04:00

August 4, 2009
Biked 85km (53 miles) from Shirakawa Go to Gujo Hachiman. Sho and I joined in the Bon Odori dancing - fun!

After an excellent breakfast of grilled fish, rice, mountain vegetables, etc. in the ryoukan Japanese inn in Shirakawa, Sho and I set off on Route 156 toward Gujo Hachiman, a small town famous for nightly traditional street dances during the summer. We were looking forward to joining in the fun, but had to get there first. We endured a 30-minute steady climb up a meandering hill under the hot glare of the summer sun until we reached the top of a dam system. The rest of the day's ride was flat to down, a nice treat after a week of mountain climbing. We rode along Lake Miboro Ko, whose waters shimmered in the bright sun. Suffering from the 95 degree temps, Sho and I talked longingly of jumping into the cold water.

When the lake was formed by the dam system, four villages with 230 homes were submerged. Some cherry blossom trees were transplanted from one of the villages to the lake's edge. Every spring when the blossoms bloom for a week or two, then fall to the ground, it is said that each falling blossom represents a tear for the mourning villagers who lost their homes.

Although we didn't take a dip in the lake, we did stop along the way at a small convenience store in a tiny town, whose owner took an interest in our trip. We chatted for a while, and she pointed us to the modest post office next door, which doubled as a tourist information center. The clerks jumped up when I walked in, perhaps surprised to have a tourist instead of a local drop in. They gave me a map of Gujo Hachiman and told me where tonight's dancing would take place.

Sho and I pulled in to Gujo Hachiman at 3pm, dripping sweat and ready to get away from the pounding sun. We navigated through the pleasant village, crossing over stone bridges and along narrow alley ways until we found the neighborhood that would host the evening's dancing. People were already putting up lanterns in preparation. We interrupted one such group, who told us about a nearby ryoukan Japanese inn that had a room available. As we entered the lobby, a large Golden Retriever peered at us from behind the front desk, feet perched on a chair and head cocked expectantly in our direction. Sho offered a friendly bark, and he sauntered off to retrieve a human. After checking in, we immediately changed into the yukata robes and slippers provided by the inn, and took advantage of the ryoukan's onsen, cleaning off the sweaty grime and soaking briefly in the hot water. There was a separate tub full of cold water that we slipped into at the end. Our sweat immediately changed to goose bumps, but we didn't mind. It felt great to finally cool off.

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the town, which boasted an imposing castle standing guard on a hill looming over the pleasant village. A powerful river passed through, and we ate shouyu osembe crackers and pumpkin ice cream on the way to the water's edge. Sho tossed stones into the rushing current and talked excitedly about how long a person might be able to survive, if they fell into the river. "Not long, buddy," I observed. "And let's not find out."

We found a sushi restaurant, where we stored up energy for a night of dancing! As daylight faded, the streets took on a festive atmosphere, and streams of people started to converge on our neighborhood. Most wore festive outfits of colorful yukata robes and geta wooden shoes. Although the sun was down, the heat and humidity were oppressive, and we all glistened with sweat. Sho energetically ran back and forth in front of street vendors who sold food and enticed passersby with various games. Sho enjoyed trying to scoop up plastic fish out of a cylindrical plastic tub of flowing water using a small paper net that immediately started to disintegrate after getting wet.

Then the dancing began. A large float dominated the main dancing street, and a band perched atop blasted out a rhythmic traditional tune over blaring loud speakers. The lead singer shouted out the lyrics excitedly and a long line of dancers snaked around the length of the street, steadily making their way around in a circle. Local organizers helped to keep order, as the procession of dancers progressed from one end of the street to the other. Everyone was encouraged to dance, and after watching for a few minutes, Sho and I dove into the mix!

There were a series of dances that changed with the music, each one involving a collection of steps and hand movements repeated over and over. Invariably, just as we finally got a dance down, the music changed and we had to learn a new set of moves. No one seemed to mind our poor dancing, but some local teenagers took a charitable interest in us. They patiently counted "one. two, three, one, two, three..." as they showed us the moves, and we butchered them.

The dance finally ended at 10:30pm, and while Sho hung out with our new friends, I joined a group of young men pushing the heavy float into a parking lot at the end of the street to be stored away until next time.

Sho and I returned to our inn, sweaty and exhausted, but excitedly recounting the fun we'd had. "What an awesome way to celebrate summer!" Sho observed, as we snuggled in bed, ready for a good night's sleep.

Day 40: Shirakawa Go

2009-08-05T18:34:00.004-04:00

Monday, August 3, 2009
Summary:　Biked 35km (21 miles) to Shirakawa Go and surrounding area. World Heritage Site with many old homes designed for heavy snow fall w/ A-frame thatch roof. Yesterday's weather was rain and 68 degrees. Today's was sunny and 90.

　　I awoke at 5:45 to a bright morning on the mountain top, and decided to explore a bit, while Sho snoozed in the hiker's hut. Not far away, a tent was set up with information laid out on a table about a nearby hiking trail on Amo Pass. A collection of walking sticks were stacked by the trail's entrance. We had discovered a place intended to be helpful to the mountain traveler! I meditated on the beaucolic scene, appreciating the birds' morning songs and the gentle rustling of wind through the verdant forest. I gazed at the expansive blue sky above and felt a deep sense of peacefulness, as the rising sun's rays played off of the mountain chain stretching out in every direction.
Sho woke up soon thereafter, and we enjoyed a breakfast of pre-made pancakes and dried squid. As we were packing our bags on to the bikes, a mountain ranger pulled up in a truck. I asked if it had been ok to sleep in the hut.
"That's what it's for! I hope you were comfortable," he responded with a smile. "Your son rode all the way up the mountain too?" He looked at Sho with a mixture of admiration and incredulity. "Be careful on your descent. There have been rock slides, and the road is even narrower than the side you biked up."
We discovered right away that the ranger was right, and even though I did my best to avoid debris from the rock slides, the back tire, weighed down by two heavy panniers and my butt, got a flat 15 minutes into the descent. I rolled my eyes at the annoyance, and unloaded all of the gear from the bikes, removed the wheel and examined the punctured tube. I patched the hole and checked for any remaining sharp objects before re-inserting the tube, pumping it up and re-loading the panniers onto the bikes. The whole process took 30 minutes, and Sho sat patiently by the road, playing his DS.
Once under way again, we took it slowly down the narrow, winding debris-strewn road, staying well away from the precipitous drop-off. Only a 3-foot guard rail protected us from the fall, and we would have easily hurled ourselves right over it, if we lost control. My numb fingers and burning forearms protested as I squeezed the brakes hard, determined to make it down safely.
As we neared Shirakawa Go, we started to see the distinctive, thick A-frame thatched roof houses that have made this place famous in Japan. Designed to withstand the massive amounts of snow dumped in the heart of the Japan Alps, the houses represent the resiliance and ingenuity of the local populace. It was sunny and 90 degrees, and I had difficulty picturing the surrounding green fields covered in snow.
Our steep, mountain road ended abruptly, and we were suddenly in the midst of tourists tramping back and forth through Shirakawa Go's main street, snapping pictures of the village. They all must have come from another route, because we had not been passed by a single car on our descent from Amo Pass. We lingered for a while, appreciating the unique spot and pushing our bikes on small side streets through lush farmland. We biked outside of the town center to an onsen bath house, where we cleaned off from our mountain adventure and reveled in a deeply relaxing soak. An onsen always feels great, but it is particularly fabulous to deeply exhausted muscles after biking over a mountain.
We checked into a small ryokan inn, where we were served a delicious traditional Japanese dinner. Sitting on pads in a tatami mat room, wearing a comfortable yukata robe, surrounded by dishes of beautifully-prepared food served as a significant contrast to our lonely mountain experience the night before. Luxury!
We were asleep by 9pm, snuggled up comfortably beneath thick comforters on top of deliciously deep futons...

Day 39：More Than We Bargained For

2009-08-05T18:30:00.007-04:00

Sunday, August 2, 2009
Summary: Biked 50km (31 miles) from Takayama to the top of Amo Pass, over 2 mountains. Hardest climbs on the trip so far, with many hours on 10% grade.

Sho and I spent the morning touring Takayama, known as "Sho Kyoto" (Little Kyoto), because of the town's grid layout and concentration of temples to the east of a river cutting through the town. It was another rainy day, and we wore ponchos as we explored the town. Sho enjoyed the traditional puppet show at Shishi Kaikan, where the performers gave us a piece of parchment with the word "peace" in English and Japanese written by a large mechanical puppet. I was amazed at the ability of the hidden puppeteer to write the words so clearly.

We finally got going at 1pm, planning to bike 80km (50 miles) to the World Heritage Site Shirakawa Go. Having learned a lesson from our failed attempt to make it to Takayama from Narai in one day, I stocked up on food. We would have plenty of calories on board in case we got stuck in the mountains again. And, sure enough, we did!

A steady rain soaked us, and strong winds slammed against us, as we left the last signs of civilization and headed back into the mountains. Route 75 looked like a major road on the map, but in reality was a deserted, narrow mountain lane dotted with potholes and sometimes squeezing to a single car's width. Perhaps 5 cars passed us throughout the 2 1/2 hours we rode on it. We passed a few tiny farming communities, but otherwise rode alone up and down a mountain, the heavy rain thumping against the surrounding forest's thick canopy.

Sho said that he actually missed being passed by cars and playfully listed out the various reasons that "Route 75 sucks": too narrow, too steep, too wet, too many pot holes, no stores with food, and no one to hear us yell for help! Unlike Sho, I enjoyed the quiet route with its challenging climbs through a beautiful forest, the sounds of a mountain river mixing with various animals calling out.

Route 75 ended in a T junction at Route 360. Since 360 led directly to Shirakawa Go, a well-known tourist destination, I expected some fairly heavy traffic and a few rest stops with food. However, the town at the junction was spookily empty, as if everyone had fled all at once. We biked past a few shops, all of which were shuttered. Images from the movies "Omega Man" and "28 Days Later" came unhelpfully to mind, and I imagined that a zombie might emerge from behind one of the darkened buildings.

Amo Pass lay between us and Shirakawa Go. It was already 5pm, and I knew that we were unlikely to make it over the mountain before nightfall. The rain had tapered off, and we were enjoying a cloudy, pleasant 68 degrees, perfect weather for biking up a mountain.

"We just might be able to make it," I said to Sho optimistically, as we pedaled away from the eery ghost town and up yet another mountain. The road was steep, narrow, full of switch backs and 10% grade climbs. Our legs were pretty wiped out from 4 hours of hilly riding, including a 1 1/2 hour climb over an earlier mountain, and - I never thought I'd write these words - my sumo wrestling injuries were acting up.

Sho and I struggled to keep our heavily-laden bikes moving up the ridiculously steep mountain road. My hands were numb from gripping the handlebars so tightly, legs burning from exhaustion, a sheer drop off to certain death on our left serving to concentrate the mind, and the elusive mountain pass taunting us from somewhere above.

We passed through one small village on the way up, and I saw a young teenage girl hanging up clothes by an open window.

"Excuse me," I interrupted her. "Do you know of any campsites or other places to stay between here and the top of the mountain?"

She retreated quickly and returned with her mother, who told us, "There is absolutely no place to stay from here and over the top."

"Hmm. That's a problem," I answered. "I'm not sure if my son and I can make it over the mountain and all the way to Shirakawa Go before it gets too dark to ride." Hint, hint. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to ask bluntly if we could sleep in their yard. There wasn't an obvious place to set up a tent, and I could tell that she wasn't particularly interested in hosting a bearded weirdo who was dragging his poor son on a bicycle up into a mountain at dusk. Also, a certain hubris had taken hold, making me think that we might actually be able to make it all the way in time.

"I'm sorry," she said, and waited politely for us to move on.

Sho and I did not see another person, house or passing car for the rest of the day. As the sun began to drop behind the mountain, and shadows began to consume the light around us, we pushed our weary legs harder and harder up into the craggy heights. The road was so narrow, and the drop off so intimidating, that Sho pleaded with me to ride all the way to the right, next to the sheer mountain side. It meant riding in the oncoming traffic lane, but since there was absolutely no traffic, why not?

As the light began to fade, and the mountain pass stayed frustratingly out of reach, I recognized that we were going to have to sleep exposed on the mountain tonight. The only options were small sections of road created as turn-outs for cars. Not my idea of a good sleeping spot, but that was it. We kept our spirits up by complementing our progress and saying, "not too much further" and "look how close the summit is!" I didn't say it out loud, but the summit seemed like it was still far away. After a while, Sho was completely spent and could no longer pedal. He had been a tremendous help for the first hour and a half of steep climbing, but had used up all of his reserves in the extreme effort. He munched on snacks and asked to walk for a bit, as I biked along slowly beside him. We were running out of daylight, and finally, he climbed back on his bike. I used whatever energy I had left to propel us up toward the elusive summit. After 2 hours of chugging straight up this mountain and 4 hours of hard riding before that, I could hardly manage to keep turning over the pedals. Sho sat exhausted on his bike, apologizing for not being able to help anymore.

"Don't worry, buckaroo. You got us so close to the top, and I'm going to get us through this last little bit."

As the final glow of daylight began to fade, I had to acknowledge that we weren't going to reach the summit today. I wondered if there were bears in the area and worried that a car might use the turnout where we would set up our tent. Then, as we rounded a brutally steep switch back, we spied a a small shack with a large orange A-frame roof, peeking through the trees. As we approached it, we realized that it was sitting at the summit near a sign announcing our arrival at Amo Pass!

The shack was unlocked and obviously intended to be used by anyone in need. It had a bed for two built into one wall, a table, and even a few hangers to dry off our sweat-soaked clothes. Sho and I jumped up and down, whooping and hollaring at this fantastic discovery. We moved our gear into the hut, now needing flashlights to see, and spread out our provisions on the table. Wolfing down our well-stocked rations inside the comfortable hut, we happily recounted the day's adventures and congratulated ourselves on completing our toughest ride yet.

My leg muscles twitched from exhaustion, as I laid on the hard wooden bed, Sho snuggled up close, an arm draped across my chest and contented smile on his face. We both drifted off to sleep amid the sounds of the mountain softly whispering outside.

Day 38: Sumo Super Stars

2009-08-01T18:22:00.004-04:00

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Biked around 45km (25 miles) over 1 mountain pass to Takayama, stopping to take on a couple of sumo wrestlers on the way. Sho won. Charles was crushed like a paper doll.

I read Rudyard Kipling's Just So Story about the first alphabet to Sho last night, and on today's ride, he decided to create a secret language for the two of us to use on the trip. As we repeated the climb we'd given up on last night, we came up with short-hand words to represent complex thoughts. I'd share some, but then it wouldn't be a secret language anymore!

As we made our way to Takayama, we found out that the point where we gave up last night was on the final push before the top of the mountain pass. The campsite we were looking for was only another 2 miles away...

We finally left the mountains and started to see signs of civilization after an hour and a half of riding. We finally found a restaurant and hungrily gobbled up a much-needed breakfast before continuing on toward Takayama. By chance, we happened upon a sumo festival in a small town, and spent 3 hours enjoying the event. The festivities included a sumo tournament for elementary school age boys and a demonstration by a group of large, adult wrestlers.

Rain fell hard all day, but the sumo ring was protected by a large roof, and tents had been set up for spectators surrounding the ring. Sho was enthralled, and asked if we could return next year, so that he could compete in the tournament. After the kids' competition was over, the announcer invited spectators to have a go against one of the adult wrestlers. Sho immediately volunteered, and the massive wrestler he was paired with toyed with him playfully. After lifting Sho in the air, he set him down gently and let Sho shove him out of the ring.

The announcer urged me to give it a try too. "Why not?" I thought, especially given Sho's happy experience. It turns out that they treat adults somewhat differently...

My opponent weighed around 280 lbs, while I am down to a trim 155 lbs. As we squatted in front of one another in the center of the ring, I quickly explained that I am on a 2-month bike ride across Japan and really needed to avoid getting injured. He smiled at me, and a little voice inside my head said, "Oh shit." As we slammed into one another, I got a firm grip on his belt and pushed with all of my strength. He didn't budge, then lifted me in the air and set me down firmly outside of the ring. We squared off for a second round, and this time he toyed with me for a minute, letting me struggle uselessly against his massive strength, before slamming me to the ground with a move that literally spun me around twice on the hard sand of the sumo ring.

As I limped away, the announcer interviewed me briefly. I explained our cross-Japan ride and said that we'd biked over 2 mountains the day before. "If I hadn't been worn out from all the riding, I think I would have taken him," I joked, then slithered out into the pounding rain to wash the sand from my body.

"Your leg is bleeding," a helpful passerby observed. "And your elbow." My right big toe was also throbbing and seemed to be sticking out at an unnatural angle.

"Are you ok, Daddy?" Sho asked with genuine concern in his voice.

We rode another hour and a half into Takayama. When we saw a sign for an onsen public bath, Sho shouted out, "Yippee!", adding "Sometimes you're so happy, you cry." Spending 2 days struggling up and down mountains had given him an appreciation for the comforts of civilization.

We found a hotel, enjoyed a long, hot soak in the onsen, and relished the feeling of slipping into a comfortable bed, clean and dry. I taped up my big toe, applied bandaids on my ankle and elbow and made a mental note to self: "Sumo experience - check. Done. No need to repeat."

Day 37: More Than We Bargained For

2009-08-01T18:19:00.005-04:00

Friday, July 31, 2009

Rode from Narai over 2 mountains and up a third with 10% climbs throughout, stopping exhausted at random spot in the mountains.

Sho and I started the day off right with a traditional Japanese breakfast in our ryoukan, prepared by Mrs. Nagai. We kneeled on thin pads, eating at a low table in the tatami-mat family room. A large TV was perched in an alcove near the table, providing an unwelcome distraction from the excellent meal. I don't like to watch TV while eating and would have turned it off, except that Sho much preferred the kids' program to my rambling about today's route.

After saying goodbye to Mrs. Nagai, we got in another short fishing session by the powerful mountain river in Narai. We then merged onto Route 19, headed toward Takayama. In Japanese, "Takayama" means "tall mountain." And we learned first hand today why it got that name, climbing over 2 mountains passing and up a third. The first pass was full of switch backs with 10% grade slopes, and took us an hour and a half to get over. The experience was a repeat of our ride over Sarugababa Pass two days ago: burning quads, numb hands, brief rest breaks every 15 minutes to keep from bonking, and breath-taking views. Once again, the mantra "I am Climbing" helped get me up the mountain.

Sho pedaled hard, especially on the steep sections, and only complained a little about the hard work. We made light of the ordeal by playing the "Fortunately/Unfortunately" game.

Me: Fortunately, we have the privilege of riding through an incredibly beautiful part of Japan.

Sho: Unfortunately, it's full of crazy steep mountains!

Me: Fortunately, we've ridden up mountains before and know that we can make it to the top.

Sho: Unfortunately, I'm going to stop pedaling for a while, and let you do all the work.

Etc.

Shortly after making it over and down the other side of the first mountain, we did it all over again, with a 2-hour climb straight up to another pass, with equally steep 10% grade switchbacks. As we neared the summit, we came upon a group of around 10 monkeys perched on the guard rail, all of whom looked up suspiciously as we rounded the corner. We immediately stopped our bikes and slowly took out our cameras. We stayed a safe distance away, capturing pictures and video of the animals, as they chewed on leaves from overhanging trees and kept a wary eye on us. After watching them for fifteen minutes, Sho and I slipped by, slowly pushing our bikes a respectable distance away on the far side of the road.

We had planned to reach Takayama today, but when we encountered the beginning of a third mountain climb at 6pm, I realized that I had made a mistake. I thought we only had two serious climbs today and would cruise downhill into Takayama in the last hour of daylight. Instead, we were struggling up, up, up again. We had eaten most of our food and had little time left before it would be too dark to ride safely.

There was supposed to be a campsite ahead, but we didn't reach it before shadows started to close in around us, as we slowly crawled up the steep, narrow mountain road. I didn't want to risk getting caught halfway up a mountain in the dark, and decided to turn back and return to a small village we had passed through 7 miles back. As I told Sho about this decision, he commented, "Usually, I'm a pain in the butt. But today, you were."

As we arrived in the village, daylight already gone, a friendly proprietor of a local restaurant (closed unfortunately) let us set up our tent on the asphalt by an outdoor bathroom that was populated by some impressive and intimidating insects. The location wasn't ideal, but it was better than sleeping by the road on a mountain side. We munched through our meager snacks, and fell asleep with our stomachs still rumbling from hunger, our bodies worn out from 9 hours of hard riding. But we were safe.

A heavy downpour soaked our tent all night, and by the next morning, water had leaked through the rain cover and was dripping down on us. Thick pools of water had formed on top, and Sho had fun dumping the water off by pushing up on them from inside the tent.

"I guess we got a little more than we bargained for, huh?" I commented. Sho nodded and knocked a few more bucket fulls of water on to the concrete.

Day 36: Matsumoto Castle

2009-08-01T18:17:00.003-04:00

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Biked 50km (31 miles) from Matsumoto to Narai. Sho and I shared a traditional Japanese breakfast prepared by Mrs. Sugishita of rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and various roots and vegetables. After saying thank you and taking pictures with the Sugishita's, Sho and I followed Yuki on his bike to nearby Matsumoto Castle. It is an impressive structure towering above the surrounding town, surrounded by a koi-filled moat glistening in the warm sun.

We explored the old castle, peeking out of slits designed for arrows aimed at attacking armies, climbing up ridiculously steep staircases, and past displays of firearms from hundreds of years ago. Sho loved the place, and excitedly ran ahead and back, reporting on the next cool exhibit ahead.

After an hour and a half of castle fun, Yuki led us to a game room, where he and Sho hammered out beats on taiko drums, and played a number of other games. I found a stool in a corner and wrote in my journal, the nonstop cacophonous clanging and beeping of the machines all around testing my concentration.

We finally said goodbye to our friend Yuki, and turned our bikes away from Matsumoto for a mostly flat 3 1/2-hour ride to Narai. In contrast to yesterday's lightly trafficked, dramatic mountain climb, today's route was along Highway 19, a busy road full of passing trucks and lined with miles of chain stores, pachinko parlors, and car dealerships. The unsightly commercial sprawl slowly disappeared as we left the outskirts of Matsumoto and were surrounded once again by rivers and forests, but the heavy traffic never let up.

Narai is a tiny cluster of traditional Japanese homes and businesses, tucked beside a wide, powerful mountain river. Part of the Edo era system of government checkpoints that allowed the Shogun to maintain a crushing grip on Japan's populace for over 250 years, it is now a pleasant tourist destination surrounded by the stunning mountains of the Japan Alps. Its one main street was nearly deserted, as Sho and I arrived around 4:30pm. We wanted to stay in a minshuku Japanese inn, but the first two we visited were closed. Thursday was clearly not a popular day for visitors to this tiny historical village. We eventually secured a room as the only guests in Nagai Minshuku, run by a 77 year old woman, whose husband only showed his face the next day, when he peeked out of a window to watch us ride away.

Since we had arrived late, it wasn't reasonable to expect a prepared meal, as is commonly served at a minshuku. "I can't offer you a proper dinner, but could make you both ramen noodles, if you'd like," Mrs. Nagai offered.

"Oh, don't go to the trouble," I offered. "We'll just pick up dinner at a restaurant in town."

Sho and I spent the next 45 minutes walking up and down the nearly completely deserted main street, passing small shops and a few restaurants, all of which doubled as people's homes, and all of which were closed. Everyone seemed to have retreated into the back of their houses, leaving their businesses facing the street for another day. We wandered around alone in the dark night, our stomachs starting to rumble.

Returning to the minshuku, we amended our over-confident response to her generous offer, and asked her to make us some ramen after all. The steamy broth tasted great, as we kneeled by a low table on tatami mats and talked with Mrs. Nagai. Before going to bed, Sho and I stole out into the darkness, flashlights in hand, to the edge of the river for some night fishing. We didn't catch anything, but did encounter an impressive collection of night bugs, which Sho incorporated into his animated imagination, telling me all about the bugs' experience of the world and current difficulties.

Back at the minshuku, Sho and I bathed in the deep, relaxing communal bath on the first floor, then I rolled out futons in our large 2nd floor tatami-mat room. It was a warm night, but we closed the window, which had been allowing a pleasant draft, to keep out the bugs. A small rotating fan provided enough relief from the oppressive warmth to allow us to fall asleep, listening in vain for any sounds coming from this silent ghost town.

Day 35: Mountain Climbing, Part Deux

2009-07-29T20:08:00.008-04:00

Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Rode 70km (43 miles) from Nagano to Matsumoto, over the Sarugababa mountain pass.

Nagano, well known as host of the 1998 Winter Olympics, is also home to Zenko-Ji, a 1300 year old Buddhist temple that houses an image of the Buddha from the 6th century. It is believed to be the first image of the Buddha to arrive in Japan. Sho and I spent the morning exploring the temple, including an exciting search for the "key to paradise" in the Okaidan, a pitch black tunnel underneath the main temple chamber. This search prompted Sho to ask me what it means to achieve enlightenment.

"It's hard to explain," I answered. "But my guess is that it's kinda like being happy with who you are and knowing the truth of the world."

"Then I'm already enlightened!" Sho announced. "I'm happy with who I am, and I know that, when you're dead, you're dead."

We left the spiritually-stimulating Zenko-Ji Temple for some muscle-stimulating yaki zakana grilled fish, then biked 70km (43 miles) from Nagano to Matsumoto. Yesterday's ride had been a challenging steady climb, but today's was straight up a mountain. We rode for 6 1/2 hours in total, including a 2-hour climb into the clouds, up 10% grades with no relief from the steep pitch. Rain came and went as we passed through cloud lines, chugging steadily up, up, up. An expansive view of verdant, glistening forests and mountains opened up to our left, while the sheer mountain side hemmed us in to the right on the narrow mountain road. With 70+ pounds of gear and both of our weight, the pull of gravity seemed to intensify. We crawled along at a ridiculously slow pace, struggling to keep the bikes from falling over or weaving off the road and over the short guard rail, into the yawning abyss. Few cars joined us on the route up to Sarugababa Pass, so we often rode up the center line.

My legs burned, and sweat mixed with rain water dripped off the tip of my helmet constantly. We rested every 15 minutes or so, as I shook out my hands, which became numb from the tight grip I had to maintain on the handlebars. As I leaned over my handlebars catching my breath, Sho took the chance to come up with impromptu silly dances. "Aren't your legs tired?" I asked, out of breath.

"Yeah, they're tired," he answered, still dancing.

Re-starting on a 10% grade hill was a struggle, as I had to push down several times on the pedal with one foot to get enough momentum to jump on the bike with my other foot. Sometimes I lost balance and had to quickly unclip my bike shoes from the pedals and slam my foot back down on the road to keep from toppling over.

Birds hidden in the surrounding forest canopy trilled sweet songs that echoed through the mountain side. The sound of rushing water from a nearby stream wafted over us, as we appreciated a forested vista that opened up dramatically, the higher we climbed. The mountain chain continued for as far as I could see, and our own mountain loomed overhead, like a playground bully straddling his victim. And we struggled and struggled.

At first, I was intimidated by today's extreme physical challenge, fearing the mountain and waiting for my legs to seize up. But as we continued up the monster climb, I realized that we could do this. The Japan Alps were brutal to ride through on such heavily-laden bikes, no doubt, but we could definitely do it. The key was to ride at a steady rate, take rest breaks, eat and drink regularly, and keep a positive attitude.

I came up with a mantra that calmed my mind as we crawled around switchbacks with no end in sight: "Today, I am Climbing." There was no need to complain as the slope pitched up. My identity was taken over by the act of climbing. I should expect only to ride ever higher, straining against gravity. Strangely, this simple thought made a big difference. Rather than complain about the exhausting effort or wonder when it would end, I simply became lost in the effort. The burning in my legs and back and forearms, the numbness in my hands, the ache in the bottom of my feet as I pressed down relentlessly hard on the slowly rotating pedals, became an unquestioned part of who I was. Climbing became a state of being, which was calming.

Sho helped tremendously, especially when my breathing became labored and he could tell I needed help. I could feel it when he pushed at his limit, and it made a big difference. When his legs gave out, and he had to stop pedaling and just be pulled along, the full load slammed my quads. Although I was exhausted and breathing hard, 5 weeks of cycling many hours a day provided a good enough base to keep going hour after hour up the mountain.

When we finally reached the mountain top at Sarugababa Pass, Sho and I gave each other high fives and rested a bit. I had to wait a few minutes for the loud thumping of my heartbeat to stop drowning out the peaceful mountain sounds that enveloped us.

The descent was nearly as challenging as the climb. We navigated sharp, steep switchbacks threatening certain death if we slipped off the narrow road's edge. My shoulders ached, forearms burned, and my hands went numb once more from the tight squeeze I had to maintain on the brakes. I wanted to steal more than brief glances at the beautiful view, but needed to keep my focus on making a safe descent.

Once we were off the nearly deserted mountain road, we rode along a busy Route 19 into Matsumoto. Exhilerated from the climb, we hammered the final hour of gently rolling hills to Matsumoto Train Station, pulling in at 6:45pm.

A smiling Takeo Sugishita was waiting for us there. I had met Mr. and Mrs. Sugishita and their son on a flight from NYC to Miami last year. We stayed in touch, and they invited us to spend the night in their home. Sugishita-san and I unloaded the panniers and threw the bikes in the back of his truck.

Their home was a beautiful dwelling in the traditional Japanese style, with bamboo sprouting in a well-maintained yard. They laid out futons for us in their tatami mat guest room, and we spent the evening enjoying a delicious meal prepared by their 34-year old son Yuki: cold somen noodles, sauteed eggplant, miso soup, salad, rice, etc. The Sugishita's were wonderful hosts, and I felt the stress of today's strenuous ride dropping away. Sho enjoyed playing with Yuki, who was a natural with kids.

At 10pm, Sho and I took a bath and retired to our futons. I read "The Elephant's Child," by Rudyard Kipling, to Sho, and he laughed hard when I held my nose as I read the line where the crocodile has clamped down on the elephant child's trunk. My older brother Stuart memorized this story when I was a teenager, and as I read it, images rushed back of him reciting the story in the family room of our childhood home in Nashville. I felt the movement of time -- the teenager I was then, listening impatiently to my brother recite the story over and over, would not have guessed that the next time I would read "The Elephant's Child" would be to my 8 year old son in Matsumoto, Japan almost 30 years later...

Day 34: Mountain Climbing

2009-07-28T09:33:00.005-04:00

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Rode 70km (43 miles) from Arai to Nagano. The day started off sunny and in the mid-80's: pleasant for a relaxed stroll, but a bit hot for a full day of cycling uphill. We covered the 70km from Arai to Nagano in about 5 1/2 hours, most of which was a steady climb. Our combined weight and heavy panniers kept us chugging along at a slow pace, but we were able to ride steadily. We had to rest frequently, because of the heat and humidity, drinking often to ward off dehydration. Sho and I dubbed the infrequent flat sections "gifts" from the mountain. Whenever the steady climb flattened out slightly, Sho yelled out, "Thank you, Mr. Mountain!"

We ate cold zaru soba noodles at a rest stop and took a break from riding for while by throwing a hacky sack we'd brought along. Sho came up with a series of games for us to play, borrowing terminology from baseball, but taking massive liberties with the rules.

The final 15km (9 miles) of today's ride into Nagano was a steep downhill on Highway 18, and my fingers went numb as I held onto the brakes tightly. I couldn't decide which was more uncomfortable: lugging our heavy load up a long, steep climb for several hours, or trying to maintain a grip on the brakes on a steep mountain descent, as my forearms burned and my fingers went numb. Every 10 minutes or so, I had to stop in the middle of the downhill to shake out my arms until feeling returned to my finger tips.

As we rode along a busy route into the outskirts of Nagano's urban sprawl, Sho spotted a large game room with a batting cage. We spent an hour there, Sho playing games, while I tried to figure out where we would sleep for the night. It had started to rain, so I decided to stay in a hotel I found nearby. We washed our grimy, soaked clothes in the hotel's coin laundry and enjoyed an excellent sushi dinner.

I read Rudyard Kipling's "How the Camel Got His Hump" to Sho before we both drifted off, relieved that the first day in the mountains had been manageable.

Day 33: Leaving the Coast

2009-07-28T09:30:00.003-04:00

Monday, July 27, 2009

Rode 60km (37 miles) from Kashiwazaki to Arai (aka Myoko). For the past few days, I had been anxious about leaving the coast and heading into the intimidating mountains of the Japan Alps. About 70% of Japan is covered by mountains, and some of the highest are concentrated in central Honshu. In his 1941 Climber's Book, Walter Weston, an English missionary, dubbed this area the Japan Alps, and the name stuck. There was no going around them if Sho and I wanted to see Shirakawa Go, the third World Heritage Site on our itinerary.

We dilly dallied in Kashiwazaki, hanging out in a game room, where I wrote in my journal, interrupted occasionally by Sho coming over to recount his exploits fighting monster bugs and dinosaurs. After fueling up on sushi and onigiri, we rode out of town along the ocean. I tried to appreciate the beautiful coastline, knowing that we would leave it soon. At Kakizaki, we turned inland, and Sho blew the ocean a kiss. "See you on the other side of Japan!"

Creggy, snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, and I wondered if we would be able to manage the many mountain climbs ahead. Had I been alone on my light, carbon fiber racing bike, I would have been confident in my ability to complete the task ahead. But 75 pounds of gear and an 8-year old changed the equation. Sho and I had managed to ride almost every day for over a month, including some serious climbs, but we had never tackled anything approximating the series of mountains we would have to climb over the next week. I wondered if our legs and spirits could handle it, but kept my anxieties to myself, telling Sho to "get ready for some awesome mountain climbing!"

Happily, today's route from the coast to Arai followed a pancake flat road through rice paddies and farms nestled in a broad valley at the base of the mountain range. It rained in the morning, then turned cloudy in the afternoon, around 75 degrees, making the riding a genuine pleasure. We rode around 5 hours total, pausing from time to time to capture a few pictures along the way.

By the time we reached Arai, the flat valley was beginning to morph into the base of a mountain chain, and I knew that our easy riding was over. We found an onsen public bath and settled down in Arai for a good night's rest before tomorrow's mountain adventure. Before falling alseep, I read Rudyard Kipling's "How the Whale Got His Throat" to Sho. I wondered if we were about to create a new Just So Story: "How the Cyclists Learned to Fear and Respect the Mountain."

Day 32: Fireworks over the Ocean

2009-07-28T09:28:00.004-04:00

Sunday, July 26, 2009 - Rode 80km (50 miles) to Kashiwazaki

The daily biking and yesterday's beach play must have worn us out, because we both slept for almost 11 hours. We broke down the tent and were on the road toward Kashiwazaki at 8:30am, rolling up and down hills on the coastal highway, passing broad sandy beaches dotted with frolicking families and occasional groups of wetsuit-clad surfers.

Suddenly, I heard, "Charles-san!" from behind, as a group of cyclists overtook us. It was Seida-san and Yanigasawa-san, the Ironman triathletes we'd shared dinner with 2 nights earlier in Niigata. They were in a group of 8 cyclists out for a 100-mile training ride on light, carbon fiber racing bikes. They bounded past us, easily zipping up a long climb that Sho and I had been plodding our way up, slowed to a crawl by our heavily-loaded bikes. There was no way to match their pace, but we agreed to meet for a mid-morning snack at a park not far ahead.

The group was eating on the grass by the road, their bikes leaning on the guard rail, waiting patiently as Sho and I pulled up to join them. We answered questions about our trip and showed off the connected bike set-up to the appreciative group. Sho beamed as the super fit athletes praised his stamina and shook their heads at the thought of an 8-year old riding the length of Japan. I was still trying to decide on the best route to Shirakawa Go, the next World Heritage Site on our itinerary, which was nestled in the heart of the Japan Alps mountain range. Although I didn't say it out loud, I wasn't sure if Sho and I would be able to push our heavy bikes over the many steep mountains ahead. I imagined failing on the first climb we attempted after leaving the coast, and having to figure out what to do then. Walk across the mountain range??

Yanigasawa-san suggested a route that started with a long, flat ride through farm country, getting us closer to our destination, before the inevitable mountain climbs would begin. He also told us about a road closure not far ahead, due to an earthquake 2 years earlier that sent part of the road crumbling into the ocean. The detour was relatively straight forward - an inland run for about 10 miles before returning to the coast. But knowing what to expect was a relief. After everyone had finished snacking, we took pictures and said goodbye to our ultra athlete friends, who sped off to continue their hard training. It was comforting to know that we had a group of experienced cyclists looking after us!

Sho and I arrived in Kashiwazaki at 3pm, just as the rain started to dump on us, and we headed straight for an onsen. The popular spot was packed with people waiting to bathe, and we took a number in the lobby nd waited our turn. Once inside the baths, we took a soak in the outdoor rotemburo, letting the heavy rain pound our heads as we relaxed in the steaming hot bath. After cleaning off, it was a shame to put our wet bike clothes on and roll back out into the driving rain to find a place to stay for the night. We got a single room in an inexpensive business hotel with a coin laundry for our wet belongings.

After eating a sushi dinner near the hotel, we joined a throng of people filing down Kashiwazaki's broad main street toward the beach. The rain had finally let up, but we carried umbrellas just in case. Tonight was the last night of a 3-day fireworks extravaganza over the ocean, and we enjoyed 2 hours of incredible displays in the sky: sparkling waterfalls, racoon-shaped explosions, mini-Saturns, etc. Every 15 minutes or so was sponsored by a local business, whose name was announced over loud speakers to the thousands of onlookers.

"What a great way to celebrate summer!" I said smiling, as Sho and I walked hand-in-hand through the energized town back to our hotel.

Day 31: Beach Fun

2009-07-28T09:26:00.004-04:00

Saturday, July 25, 2009 - Rode 25km (15 miles) from Niigata to random beach.

Sho and I started the day with a satisfying soak in an onsen public bath, then stopped by Attack Bike Shop to get the hyper-competent Suzuki-san's help replacing the brakes on our bikes. We were leaving the coast and turning east to ride over the Japan Alps in 2 days, and I wanted a fresh pair of brake pads. Our heavy load and the many steep descents in the mountains would chew them up...

Our planned destination today was Kashiwazaki, a comfortable coastal town 80km (50 miles) south of Niigata, with a popular onsen bath house and a special summer fireworks display planned for the evening. However, 15 miles into the ride, Sho spotted a sandy strip of beach next to a campsite and restaurants, and pleaded for us to stay there instead. An afternoon's romp on the beach was too enticing, even if it meant that he would miss the fireworks in Kashiwazaki. It was a rare sunny day, about 75 degrees, perfect for beach play. I agreed to his request, and we spent a few hours body surfing, kicking a beach ball, jumping over puddles, and having a wonderful time.

When I had enough, I retreated to a nearby restaurant with a view of the beach, eating oyakodon and writing in my journal while watching Sho through the window. I had invited him to join me, but wanted to keep playing. The incredulous look he gave me when I said that I was ready for a break reminded me of a particular incident from my childhood, when my family went to Florida on vacation. As we first arrived at the beach, and I bounded toward the waves, I called for my father to join me. I was around Sho's age (8) and as I splashed around excitedly in the rolling waves, my father stood smiling at me from the beach.

"No thanks, son. I don't want to get wet."

I remember thinking, "You don't want to get wet?! How can you come to an incredible beach like this and just stare at the water?"

As the song "The Circle of Life" ran through my head, Sho finally joined me, and we enjoyed a beautiful ocean sunset. I wanted a re-fill of water, but chose not to interrupt our waiter, who was perched by a window, snapping pictures on his cell phone of the dramatic display that was turning the ocean into a shimmering kaleidoscope of orange and red, slowing being swallowed up by an enveloping darkness.

Back in our tent, I read the Japanese fairy tale "Momo Taro" to Sho, and we were snoozing by 8:30pm.

Day 30: New Friends in Niigata

2009-07-28T09:24:00.003-04:00

Friday, July 24, 2009

Sato-san, our roommate 3 weeks earlier from Saroma Ko, Hokkaido, met us at 9am in our hotel lobby in Niigata, and we spent the rest of the day together. He brought along a DS game sent from Eiko, which Sho promptly tore open and began to play. Sato-san also gave us a fan and a beautiful pouch hand made by his wife.

I had expected only to spend a short time with him, but Sato-san was extremely generous with his time. He drove us around his home town Niigata and helped us work through a list of errands, including a visit to an outdoor store to buy Sho a collapsable fishing rod. I also bought some new bike gloves, because my old ones were starting to disintegrate. He took us to the beach where he trains for Ironman triathlons, a rocky strip protected by dozens of massive hexagonal concrete blocks placed just off the coast to prevent erosion.

"This used to be a sandy beach, but it was all washed away. This is also where North Korea abducted several people back in the 1980's."

Sato-san introduced us to Kenichi Suzuki, who owns Attack Bike Store. He has run the shop for over 30 years, builds his own bikes, and his shop is a favored destination of the local triathlon community. Exactly the person I wanted to find! Suzuki-san gave our bikes a much-needed tune-up, including adding some "magic oil" to keep the chains, points and screws all working well, despite being exposed constantly to heavy rain. He also straightened out the bent eyelet at the bottom of the front fork, something I had been afraid to attempt, for fear of snapping it off. The front rack was now in good shape and no longer a nagging source of concern. We took his picture, tried unsuccessfully to pay him for his services, and rode off on fabulously smooth machines ready to tackle another month of riding Japan.

Sato-san had planned to take an overnight ferry up the coast later in the day to ride bikes 250km (150 miles) with his training partners, but canceled his plans in order to eat dinner with us and two of his ultra athlete friends, Chikako Seida and Seiki Yanigasawa. Seida-san is one of the top female Ironman triathlete's in the area and was training for the Sado Island Ironman in September, where athletes swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles and run 26.2 miles. Yanigasawa-san has been racing for decades and heads up the local Ironman triathlon club. I shared details about the 5 Ironman triathlons I've done, and we all bonded over our shared hobby. It was fun to see these amazing athletes, who run 62-mile ultra marathons and compete in Ironmans, shaking their heads in amazement and gushing over Sho's courage and stamina.

The five of us spent the evening enjoying a fabulous spread of sushi and other delicious tidbits at Yanigasawa-san's house. We ended the day, sitting in the empty suburban street in front of the house, shooting off a big package of fireworks Sho had brought along.

"I haven't shot off fireworks here since my kids were Sho's age, over 20 years ago," Yanigasawa-san commented, smiling as Sho performed a silly dance while holding a sparkler in each hand.

Sho and I fell asleep back in our hotel, feeling pampered and well-treated by our new friends in Niigata.

Day 29: Making it to Niigata

2009-07-28T09:19:00.005-04:00

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Rode 110km (68 miles) from Nezugaseki to Niigata.

The morning sun's glare off of the ocean surface had me up by 5:15, and I wrote in my journal inside the tent until Sho woke up at 7:00. We were on the road by 8am, planning to cover 110km (68 miles) in order to make it to Niigata, where a care package from Eiko was waiting for Sho. She sent a DS game care of Sato-san, the ultra marathoner we'd met in Saroma Ko, Hokkaido on the 3rd day of our ride. We had shared a room with Sato-san the night before his 100km race, and he had kindly offered to meet us in his home town Niigata when we came through.

We traveled efficiently throughout the day, pausing only briefly from time to time to take pictures of the marvelous ocean views, rugged fishing villages and dramatic rock formations. As we got closer to Niigata, our route left the coast and took us through forests and small towns. The road did not have a shoulder and, unfortunately, was a preferred route for truckers, who roared by us in a constant procession, spewing exhaust and hemming us in to ride over debris along the road's edge. Our trucker's route eventually merged onto an interstate on the outskirts of town. We consulted the GPS, and were soon happily biking on comfortable, paved paths through rice paddies, eventually finding the back entrance to an interstate michi no eki rest stop. A friendly worker there gave us a map and other helpful info. She was amazed at our trip and followed us outside and around to the back of the building to take our picture.

As we continued along on paths through farm country, Sho discovered an ostrich farm. We hung out with the friendly animals, who stuck their long necks through holes in the fence and ate grass out of our palms. We checked into an inexpensive hotel near Niigata Train Station, soaked in the hotel's onsen public bath and ate dinner at a nearby izakaya restaurant. Sho ate his favorite yaki zakana grilled fish, and I ate a collection of small dishes, including edamame, cold tofu and fish.

Before going to bed, we sorted through our belongings to create a pile of stuff to mail back to the U.S.:

- a pair each of extra shorts and shirts

- Japanese-English electronic dictionary that was ruined by the rain

- lots of Pokemon and Penguin game cards

- spare inner tube for Sho's wheel (still have 3 spares)

- bear bell

- mini pin ball game

Day 28: Beach Boys Camp

2009-07-28T09:17:00.003-04:00

Wednesday, July 22, 2009 - rode 70km from Sakata to Nezugaseki
After spending a few hours updating our blog, eating breakfast and loading gear onto our bikes, Sho and I left Sakata at 10:30am. We spent the next 6 hours riding along the beautiful, rocky coast, marveling at some stunning views that rivaled some of the best we'd enountered in Hokkaido.
We spent an hour playing on a random beach beside a small ramen noodle restaurant, where we ate lunch. Sho frolicked in the sand, challenging the waves to a footrace. I had to drag him away from the fun in order to get in some much needed mileage. Knowing that his taste for beach fun wasn't sated, I found a beachside campsite in a small fishing village called Nezugaseki. A group of around 20 teenager boys on a school trip had set up several large tents nearby, and Sho excitedly watched them set off fireworks against the dark night. Alas, they didn't invite him to join the fun.
At 9pm, Sho and I were interviewed inside our tent via cell phone by TV Japan. "Are you making lots of friends?" the asked Sho, having kept up with the many friendly encounters documented in our blog.
Annoyed at the teenagers who hadn't invited him to play with them, Sho answered, "Not really." He mentioned that he enjoyed the beaches and game rooms, "but the game rooms have been hard to find."
We fell asleep in our tent to the sounds of the ocean waves and teenager war games.

Day 27: The Delicious Sushi Ride

2009-07-28T09:13:00.005-04:00

Tuesday, July 21, 2009 - rode 85km (53 miles) from Iwaki to Sakata
At 6am,　I slipped quietly out of the tent and stretched on the sidewalk, while enjoying the gentle rhythm of the ocean waves sliding back and forth over the wide, sandy beach below. Our tent was next to an empty common room for visitors to the michi no eki rest stop, and I charged various electronic devices there while writing in my journal. I sat next to a large window overlooking the ocean with a clear view of our tent.
Sho emerged an hour later and came over to tell me about the insanely cool bugs crawling just outside our tent. We took pictures of some of them and ate a few crunchy ones for breakfast (just checking to see if you're paying attention :-)). Actually, our breakfast came from a nearby Sunkus convenience store. Sho asked if he could walk there by himself and buy our breakfast, which I agreed to. He has been experimenting with a budding sense of independence and looking for opportunities to accomplish tasks on his own, something I've encouraged. As we've ridden past school children walking home in various towns throughout Japan, Sho has commented longingly that he would like to be able to commute to school unaccompanied by an adult. Our apartment in NYC is immediately next door to his school, and walking such a short distance by himself "doesn't count. Daddy, can we move farther away from my school, so that I can walk there by myself?"
"Interesting proposal, Sho. I'll ask Mommy what she thinks."
The rain started to fall around 9am, as we were breaking down the tent, and we hastily moved our belongings under a nearby alcove. We took our time loading our bikes with gear, not looking forward to another day of soggy socks and smelly clothes. We finally rolled out into the thumping rain at 10:30am and spent the next 7 hours riding 85km up and down the rolling coastal highway.
We stopped for lunch at a rest stop, where I ate a delicious unadon (rice bowl with eel) and threw the hacky sack with Sho during a lull in the rainstorm. Later in the afternoon, I heard a grating sound coming from my front wheel and saw that the top screw on the rack holding the front left pannier had snapped off. The pannier was leaning out, its bottom side knocking against the tire spokes. I immediately stopped, removed the bag and put it on my back, using the pannier's convenient backpack straps. I rolled my eyes, not looking forward to the heavy load cutting into my shoulders, as it had for a couple of days in Hokkaido. Then, looking up, I saw a Bridgestone car repair center across the street. No longer in the sparsely populated wilds of Hokkaido, where finding a screw required a multi-day search, help was now easily accessible. We crossed the street, and 20 minutes later, the rack was re-attached with a spare screw scrounged up by one of the Bridgestone mechanics.
Today's destination was Sakata, a pleasant town of around 100,000 inhabitants on Japan's western coast. Our cycling buddy from Hokkaido, Saito-san, told us about a sushi restaurant in Sakata run by an old classmate of his. When we met at the ferry terminal in Hakodate, Saito-san wrote a note for me to give to his friend, asking him to serve us "some delicious sushi." Sho and I talked about our destination all day, dubbing today "the delicious sushi ride." We got lost in downtown Sakata, but got help from a friendly stranger riding a bike who deviated from his route to guide us to the restaurant. It was 5:30pm as we rolled up, hungry, tired and ready for an awesome meal.
The sign on the shuttered building read, "Closed today." Sho and I looked at each other, disappointed. We grabbed dinner at a random restaurant nearby and made our way to the main train station -- always a good starting point when visiting a new town in Japan -- and found a hotel room for $50. We took advantage of a coin laundry to clean our damp, smelly clothes, and enjoyed the free massage chair in our room. Sho and I took turns in the chair, laughing as we talked in staccato with the chair beating against our necks.

Day 26: Grasshopper Blues

2009-07-28T09:11:00.003-04:00

Monday, July 20, 2009 - Rode 100km (62 miles) from Noshiro to Iwaki

As Sho and I ate breakfast in the common room, several of the minshuku hotel staff gathered around our table, stunned that a foreigner and his 8-year old son were eating natto (fermented soybeans). I usually don't care for natto, but the hotel's stuff was high quality, and we were both enjoying it. Sho and I ate a packet of the pungent, sticky beans, mixing them with rice and wrapping them with dried seaweed. We like Japanese food and have happily eaten almost nothing but on this trip, which is a source of amazement to some of the people we've met. An older woman who served meals in the hotel gave Sho a large packet of furikake rice flavoring as a parting gift, which Sho has used on several occasions since.

After checking out of the minshuku, we rolled our bikes across the street to Noshiro's large public sports center. Sho excitedly told me all of the sports he planned to do. "First I'll swim, then play baseball, then golf, and basketball at the end. And you have to do all of them with me, Daddy."

But when we approached the check-in desk, we learned that the center had been rented out for a private event. "They're using the entire place?" Sho complained incredulously.

As we returned to our bikes parked outside, a man who had been smoking by the entrance came over to say hello. When we explained our trip, he laughed. "I assumed you were an English teacher in town. Man, was I completely wrong." He asked us to wait as he ran inside, and returned with a reporter for the main Newspaper for Akita Prefecture. Sho and I spent the next hour being interviewed by the thorough reporter, who even asked Eiko's age. He called me two days later for an update, and sounded the slightest bit disappointed that we had already pedaled into the neighboring prefecture.

After our interview, we spent the next 7 hours making our way along the picturesque coast. At one point, a grasshopper jumped onto one of the rear panniers while we were stopped by the road. Sho immediately became attached to the friendly little guy, who crawled onto our fingers, then back onto the pannier. For the next 20 minutes, our new friend clung to the rear pannier as we rode, antennae flapping happily in the wind, staring up at us with a mellow expression peculiar to grasshoppers. Sho made plans for his new pet, describing where he would sleep ("in a special box I'll make just for him") and asking if the airline would allow a pet grasshopper to fly back to NYC.

And then, just like that, he was gone. I had stopped the bikes to take a picture, and he took the opportunity to explore the grass next to the road. Sho was heartbroken and blamed me for the loss. "If you hadn't stopped, Grasshopper wouldn't be gone," he complained, genuinely heartbroken. Sho was pissed off at me for the next hour, sulking in silence as we rode. I started to make plans to get Sho a pet, preferably something a little more reliable than a grasshopper. Our one cat back at home in New York obviously is not meeting his need to nurture...

Near the end of the afternoon, we stopped briefly to chat with an old man standing beside his racing bike in cycling shorts and jersey and watching the sun set over the ocean. "I'm 82, but still ride all the time!" he exclaimed. Very cool. I took his picture and said I wanted to be like him when I grow up.

Our goal was a specific michi no eki rest stop that had a camp site by the beach, and we pushed the pace hard in the final hour to make it there before it became too dark to ride safely. At 7pm, we pulled up exhausted, celebrating the fact that it had an onsen hot spring bath, restaurant and campsite all in one complex. However, when we learned that the campsite charged $45 just to set up a tent, I asked the rest stop manager if we could sleep in our tent for free on the premises. He didn't mind, and we found a secluded corner of sidewalk behind the main building that offered a commanding ocean view, next to a steep staircase leading down to the beach.

Sho and I set up our tent while observing a group of 10 teenagers shoot off fireworks on the wide beach below. They had driven an SUV onto the sand and kept its lights on to see better. Sho and I enjoyed the free fireworks display and their fun raucous behavior.

A long pier stretched out from the michi no eki into the darkness over the black sea, and we decided to take a walk on it. Along the way, Sho discovered many exciting beetles. The long, dark pier became too spooky for Sho once we passed beyond the beach and had only murky, churning water beneath us. "It's ok, Daddy. I've seen enough. We can go back to the tent now." And we turned back, re-visiting the insect friends we'd made on the way out.

Day 25: Shirakami Snake Charmer

2009-07-28T09:09:00.003-04:00

Sunday, July 19, 2009

I was groggy after the fitful night in the storm, but happy to see that only a mild drizzle remained from the evening's violent storm. Sho and I nibbled on the pitiful rations remaining in our snack bag (a soy bar, crackers and an apple), then set off to explore a tiny slice of the Shirakami Sanchi forest. We hiked toward Kanayama Ko Lake, slogging along a narrow trail, jumping over and slinking around mud puddles, and pushing through dripping overgrowth that hung heavily over the path. We spotted a striking bird the size of a sparrow with an exaggerated red beak, which I managed to capture on video briefly. Later, we were told that few people have the honor of glimpsing this reclusive bird, known in Japanese as akashoubin.

The forest seemed to breathe around us, its powerful presence looming and oddly mystical. It whispered secrets of a long-forgotten past and hinted at unseen dangers for the careless wanderer. Light danced through the heavy canopy high above, playing on the drops of rain that covered the lush greenery.

Sho and I encountered no other hikers during our 2-hour sojourn to Kanayama Ko Lake. The calm water sparkled beneath a morning mist that streamed off of the lush forest surrounding the lake, and we sat quietly by the water's edge, listening to the soft lapping water and enjoying the glorious view. Reflected images of passing clouds overhead rippled on the gentle undulations, and I felt the unnerving insouciance of nature's beauty. A scene that was there before I was, and will be there after I'm gone.

Sho shook me out of my reverie, saying that he was hungry, and we began to make our way back to our optimistically-named campsite "Refresh Village." As I was leading the way, warily pushing through the dripping plant cover that leaned over the trail, I spotted, at the last second, a potentially serious danger.

"Sho, don't move!" I warned.

A brown-spotted snake about 3 feet long was draped on a branch across our path. It eyed us carefully, not moving, a slight crook in its neck, presumably to allow a quick strike, if needed. There was no getting around the snake on the narrow path, and I took its picture, then retreated to find a long stick.

"There you go," I cooed, as I used the stick to gently lift the snake out of our way, and dropped him in the grass a few feet off the trail. Sho stayed close as I prodded the hanging bushes ahead the rest of the way back to the campsite. A few days later, when I showed the snake's picture to a friend, he raised his eyebrows and observed, "That's an extremely poisonous snake. A bite would not have killed you, but it would have been a serious problem."

After loading our damp belongings onto our bikes, we left the campsite and rode down steep, wet, narrow roads through the impressive forest for 1/2 an hour, stopping often to let cars and busses pass us safely. My hands and forearms ached from gripping the breaks, and several times I had to stop to shake them out. We swung by the Shirakami Ecology Center, where we were the only visitors. Sho excitedly pointed out an exhibit testing your knowledge of various animal poop, and laughed when I kept guessing wrong. "Daddy, you really thought that was bear poop? It's so obvious that it's fox poop."

The friendly staffer gave us the day's first screening of a short film depicting the nature preserve in each season. It's a breathtakingly beautiful forest, deserving of its status as a World Heritage Site, and I wished we had more time to explore it. But I felt the pressure of completing this ride in 2 months, and we pressed on.

We returned to the coast and rode all afternoon past crashing waves and steep cliffs before reaching the town of Noshiro. Tired of being wet, we sought out a minshuku hotel with an onsen bath. We cleaned up, did laundry and fell asleep wrapped under luxurious comforters.

Day 24: Shelter from the Storm

2009-07-26T11:25:00.003-04:00

Saturday, July 18, 2009

The rain storm ended some time in the night, and we awoke to an overcast sky. Sho and I found a baseball glove and ball that someone had left behind in the michi no eki rest stop's field, and after breaking down the tent and loading the bikes with our gear, we practiced pitching until our arms gave out. It was a 20 minute ride to the onsen bath house we had tried to reach the night before, and we lingered there, trying out each of the four luxurious, rock pools filled with steaming mineral water.

After a satisfying dip, we jumped on our bikes, clean and ready to ride about 80km (50 miles) to Shirakami Sanchi, the second of Japan's World Heritage Sites we would visit on this trip. The literal translation is "white god mountain area", and we looked forward to camping and hiking in this primeval, unspoiled forest filled with Siebold's beech trees.

We rode along the beautiful coast of Aomori Prefecture, stopping frequently to capture shots of the impressive rocky shore and some quaint fishing villages tucked between sharp cliffs. The beach proved irresistible to Sho, and we spent an hour horsing around in the waves after eating lunch at a small noodle shop by the sea. We finally got back on our bikes and made our way to Juu Ni Ko ("12 Lakes") resort, our jumping off point into the wilds of Shirakami Sanchi. As we neared our destination, the clouds we'd ignored all day decided to get our attention. As the first droplets fell, we protected our gear with rain covers and threw on light jackets. By the time we turned into to Juu Ni Ko an hour later, we were in the midst of a monster deluge. Rain water pooled on the top of my helmet, spilling out in a mini waterfall that splashed all over my mouth and eyes. Sho laughed behind me, drenched and dripping, and shouted through the raging storm, "I love it!"

The coastal ride had been rolling with short, manageable climbs. But when we took a sharp left turn into the entrance to Juu Ni Ko, the road pitched up immediately to a challenging 10% grade (steep enough that there was a sign warning cars of the steep slope). Sho and I pedaled hard, riding through a fast-moving stream of water rushing down the mountain road's edge, like salmon fighting the current. As my legs burned with the effort, I wondered if we would be able to continue, but my bike's low mountain gear allowed us to maintain a sustainable cadence and to stay upright, despite crawling upward at 2 - 3 MPH. After 20 minutes of hard pedaling through the driving storm, we pulled into a visitor's center. The place was abandoned, save for a lone clerk, who explained that the campsite was another 10km (6 miles) up the mountain. It was already 5:30pm, and the storm and heavy canopy already cast the road in shadows, making it difficult to see. I didn't like the idea of riding up narrow, steep mountain roads in the dark for the next 2 hours, and asked the clerk to help me come up with a creative solution. She pointed us across the road to a resort, where the manager, likely moved by a pitifully dripping Sho, took pity on us. The resort's cabins were full, but he let us warm up and clean off in their onsen bath house and eat dinner in a restaurant normally reserved for guests with all-inclusive reservations. To top it off, the staff loaded our bikes and gear into a van and drove us up to the campsite. The ride was steep, confusing because of several turn-offs, and scary in the dark with the monster rain storm raging. It would have been a nightmare, and frankly irresponsible, to have tried to bike it with Sho.

The campsite manager let us set up our tent on the wooden floor of a raised pavilion, that kept us mostly protected from the driving rain, commenting, "This is highly unusual weather. It's usually a great time of the year to visit." I lost count of how many times I said thank you to the various people who came to our rescue.

That night, I woke up over and over, as a powerful whirling wind screamed through the forest and slammed our tent mercilessly, shaking us with an impressive wrath. Sho took it all in stride, observing, "Now, THIS is like a real adventure!"

Day 23: Japan's Oldest Apple Tree

2009-07-26T10:19:00.003-04:00

Friday, July 17, 2009

Although I wanted to start riding right away, Sho convinced me to let him play at a game room in Aomori he'd discovered the night before. We made a quick trip to a local bike shop to pump up the tires and replace a screw on the front rack, then spent an hour and a half battling dinosaurs and throwing various Pokemon into proxy wars.

We rode for 5 1/2 hours in the afternoon, including a detour in Tsugaru City to see Japan's oldest apple tree. I got lost on the way and pulled up in front of a random house to ask for directions. An old man was cleaning his tractor and looked up with a friendly smile.

"Do you know where Japan's oldest apple tree is?" I asked.

"Yes, I do," he answered simply.

"Would you mind telling us how to get there?"

"Sure. In fact, I'll take you there. Wait a minute, while I get my bike."

His name was Waichirou Kosaka, born and raised in Tsugaru City. When I asked where he was born, he pointed across the road and laughed, "Right over there." He tore out a picture of the apple tree from a calendar he sent his wife to retrieve from the house and handed it to us. After intoducing us to his wife, oggling our bikes and letting us take his picture, Kosaka-san jumped on his bicycle. He pedaled at a leisurely pace, greeting neighbors along the way, letting his eyes linger over a small construction site, a man working on his car, and the local graveyard, which he glanced at several times. I imagined that his parents and some friends were buried there, and that he thought of them every time he passed by. I could feel the deep connection that he had to this village and imagined the simultaneous benefits and boredom that come from digging deep roots in one place. It was a challenge for me to maintain control over our heavily-loaded bikes while riding at his pace, and as I struggled not to fall over, I realized that this was a metaphor. He was grounded and steady, while I was over-loaded and in need of speed. Hmm...

We soon arrived at the famous apple orchard, walking our bikes up a small path to a comfortable home surrounded by apple trees and bursting with a large family of playful cats. Mr. Kosaka introduced us to Ms. Kosaka, "my relative who runs the place." I marveled at the odds that we would stop in front of his house. Ms. Kosaka politely showed us the oldest tree. "Three of them actually, all brought over from America 131 years ago." Then she and Mr. Kosaka swapped gossip about family members, while Sho and I took pictures of the trees from various angles and started a game of catch with some fallen apples.

Ms. Kosaka sent us off with two green apples from the famous tree, suggesting that we wait two days for them to ripen. "And clean them thoroughly. I recently sprayed the tree with insecticide."

We returned to our bikes, and Mr. Kosaka led us on an enjoyable, meandering 15-minute ride through his quiet village, plodding along steadily until we reached the main route that Sho and I would take toward Honshu's western coast. He gave us a polite bow and turned back toward home.

The sun was getting low as Sho and I resumed our journey, and I decided to try to find a place to sleep at the next michi no eki rest stop, about 15km (9 miles) away. Each of these rest stops is different, and I was hoping for on onsen bath house, restaurant and camp site, but arriving around 5:30pm, we found a nearly deserted parking lot and a small grocery store that was closing up. A large replica of a traditional Japanese home stood nearby, the doors locked, so that we could only peer in to see the large tatami-mat rooms. A field connected to the michi no eki stood empty and inviting, and we had our tent up in 15 minutes.

Since there was no place for dinner nearby, we retraced our route a few miles to pick up some food at a Circle K convenience store. We were told that there was an onsen not far down the road. It was getting dark, but we were both grimy from the day's ride and gave in to the lure of soaking in a hot steaming bath. But after biking back past the rest stop and continuing another 10 minutes in the dark without seeing it, I decided to get off of the road and return to our tent rather than risk a nighttime accident.

It had been a warm day, and we were hot inside our tent, the sweat beading uncomfortably as we tried to settle down. I took off the rain cover to allow a breeze to cool us off, and we were snoozing happily by 9:30. At 1am, I awoke with a start and was back outside the tent, frantically replacing the rain cover as the down pour began...

Bonus Blog: Hokkaido Reflections

2009-07-23T03:44:00.003-04:00

The ferry ride from Hakodate to Aomori represented a milestone in our ride across Japan. We left an island known for its beaucolic pastures and vast stretches of wilderness; home to the Ainu, Hokkaido's rugged and fascinating indigenous people; a place where it was necessary to take precautions against encountering brown bears; where intimidating mountains towered over rocky coasts, offering stunning views. It was a wonderful place to spend three weeks riding!
Here are some observations:

* While the other islands of Japan have a rainy season in June, Hokkaido does not, which is one reason we started our ride there. However, I was surprised by the many rainy days we encountered. On several occasions, locals told us that it was as if Japan's rainy season had shifted northward. Some of them blamed "global warming" for the curious weather, although I am cautious about ascribing changes in local weather patterns to something as complex as the climate change we are witnessing on a planet-wide scale. Many people Sho and I met praised our efforts to raise money for the United Nations' Billion Tree Campaign. One supportive person commented, "Climate change seems like such a massive problem, but at least you're trying to do something to make a difference. And it's great to see a young child get involved too."

* Sho has matured since the ride started on June 25. He threw a few temper tantrums in the first week, and I wondered if this ambitious bike ride might have been too much for him. But gradually, he has complained less and helped more. I can now depend on him to put together and disassemble the tent with minimal assistance. He also does his best to help propel our connected bikes up long climbs, pedaling steadily and with increasing strength. He'll need all the strength he's got to make it over the Japan Alps coming up in another week, and we've practiced on several smaller mountain climbs so far. He's learning to pedal in a smooth circle without much upper body movement, and how to maintain a sustainable cadence.
Sho likes to chat and often asks me a series of "would you rather" questions. Sometimes he starts a series of questions as I am pushing up a steep climb, and I pant curtly, "can't talk," as I struggle to keep up forward momentum and to hold the bikes in a straight line as cars pass. He now knows when I'm straining at my physical limit, and does his best to help by pedaling hard and not making me answer his latest hypothetical question until we've finished the climb.
The trailer cycle set-up requires me to do most of the work, and Sho usually gets bored before he gets tired. Our breaks are often at a playground or beach, and while I usually want to rest a bit, Sho challenges me to a foot race or bamboo stick sword fight or some other physically-demanding activity. When I've had enough, I slink over to a bench and plop my weary butt down, feeling like an old man, while Sho tests how far he can jump or does sprints. I worried at the beginning that riding 5 - 7 hours a day, almost every day, would be too physically demanding on Sho. Obviously it's not. :-)

* It's apparent from these blogs, but I'll emphasize it here: we have met many helpful, friendly people who have made this adventure much more pleasant and managable. From the many strangers who have offered us drinks and food, to people who helped us find a place to sleep, to drivers who have yelled out "gambare!" (go!) to us as they pass with a smile, we've enountered a long list of wonderful people. This has been one of the best parts of the trip so far. A small act of kindness can turn a crappy experience, like camping in pouring rain, into a fond memory.

* Biking through a country brings you closer to nature than seeing it through the protected capsule of a car. On a bicycle, you notice every slight elevation change, smell the coming of rain, see up close the struggling insects that inexplicably leave the protection of overgrowth to make a run for it across a busy road. You feel your legs grow stronger with each day's ride and start to relish the burn in your quads as you pump the pedals methodically up a long climb, knowing that you can make it to the top. You notice the small hardy wild flower flapping in the wind at the road's edge and can easily stop to take its picture. Camping in the woods after a full day's ride, you fall asleep early, your body relishing the chance to recover, and wake up early, returning to a rhythm more closely aligned with the sun than with the artificial lights of urban living. In short, there is a transformational magic to adventure cycling.
Over the past few weeks, Sho has regularly made plans for our next bike adventure, this time with Eiko and Saya along. He thinks that by age 10 -- 2 years from now --he'll be able to ride across Japan by himself. He explains that Saya can sit in a trailer attached to my bike, and Eiko can ride her own. This ride is obviously cultivating a taste for more adventures!

*Annoyances:
1) On the ferry ride from Hakodate to Aomori, there were two common rooms. In both, people smoked cigarettes, not concerned that an 8 year old (and everyone else) was sucking in the fumes. The only escape was to go outside, which I did for 1/2 of the ride.
2) At practically every convenience store we visited, at least one customer left their car idling as they went inside to make a purchase or use the bathroom. Maybe I'm too up tight, but it's annoying to smell the fumes wafting over you from an idling car. It is obviously an enduring issue, as 7-11 had a sign in Hakodate that listed appropriate customer behavior. The top item reads, "Please do not leave your car idling in the parking lot."
3) Mildew from too many rainy days. Makes me appreciate coin laundry!

* Some lessons:
1) While riding, Sho and I need to eat and drink something every hour, at minimum, to stay in a good mood and to keep from bonking. Usually I enjoy Sho's original and humorous commentary, but if I find myself getting annoyed at his observations or questions, it usually means that I need some calories and fluids.
2) On his ride across the U.S. with his 2 sons, Joe Kurmaskie came up with a principle called, "moments over miles." It's tempting sometimes to try to cover as much distance as possible in a day, for fear of not making it to Cape Sata before we have to return to the U.S. But I regularly remind myself of Joe's mantra and look for the opportunities to discover the next interesting story to include in this blog!
3) Trim your finger and toe nails regularly -- you'll get a painful reminder, if you wait too long.
4) Slow down. Not just on steep descents, but when fixing the bike, loading panniers with gear, reacting to one of Sho's comments, looking for a new discovery. It's a mantra that I want to incorporate into my life in general.

I think this is enough for now. I may come up with other observations from Hokkado later, and expect plenty more as we start to explore Japan's main island of Honshu.

Day 22: Industrial Sludge

2009-07-20T19:08:00.007-04:00

Thursday, July 16, 2009

After a breakfast of grilled salmon, miso soup and rice in Smile Hotel with Sho, we loaded our gear on the bikes and made our way to the ferry pier 5 miles away. Sho asked to stop at 3 convenience stores along the way, searching in vain for a particular deck of Pokemon cards to replace one that had been ruined on a rainy ride a few days earlier.

We arrived at the terminal where we had said goodbye to Saito-san the day before, only to learn that our ferry was run by a different company out of another terminal a mile back the way we'd come.

Our ferry left Hakodate at 11:35am and arrived in Aomori at 3:20pm. A sturdy, if aging, 1,777 ton craft built in 1995, it's name "Hayabusa" was painted proudly in large blue characters on its weathered stern. A line of trucks, including one carrying a group of docile cows, waited in front, along with a handful of cars, and I got the impression that this was not going to be a pleasure cruise with a bunch of tourists. Several fastidious workers led us into the yawning entrance to the ferry's belly ahead of the vehicles, securing our bikes along the wall with old rope and covering them with heavy dirty blankets.

While rolling the bikes into the ferry, I inadvertently stepped in a mound of green industrial sludge, rolling the bike wheels through it as well. The fluorescent green sticky stuff looked like quick-dry concrete designed to fill broken speed bumps, and I tried frantically to get it out of my bike shoe cleats before it lodged as a permanent concrete anchor. The goo was sticky and hard to wash off. As chunks of the fluorescent green lodged under my finger nails, I imagined the product label declaring, "Do not allow to come in contact with skin. Not to be used in the vicinity of carbon-based organisms." For the rest of the trip, the wheels on our bikes and the bottom of one of my shoes would host the glowing, green remains of this industrial sludge.

The ferry ride offered a dramatic departure for our 3 weeks of riding through Hokkaido, the massive boat spewing white foam as it cut through the ocean waves, a powerful breeze chasing away the boat's exhaust fumes, the bustling city and Mount Hakodate Yama fading away in the mist. Sho and I took pictures of the dramatic scenery, and he laughed through the wind gusts and salty spray. Soon, we could see only rolling waves and deep turquoise ocean waters stretching all around us.

In Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck wrote that traveling with kids or a dog was the best way to meet others on your journey. They were usually the cause for an apology of some sort, which opened up an opportunity for a conversation. This maxim held true, as Sho and I bumped into Kenji and Naoko Aoyagi while Sho was testing his strength against the wind on the ferry deck. Kenji is a photographer, and the two were traveling around Japan in a minivan with their dog, Vino. Starting from their home in Saitama, near Tokyo, they had covered northern Honshu and all of Hokkaido. They were driving back home for a brief pause before continuing south. Kenji commented that most campgrounds in Japan do not allow dogs (presumably because they don't want to deal with the dog poop), so the couple and their dog usually slept in their van.

Kenji, who looked to be in his late 40's, spent 9 months in Paris during his last year of college, waiting tables and hanging out in a bookstore. It was there he came across a book of photography by a Japanese man, published in France, and realized that might be a viable career option. He commenced traveling the world with his camera, and was in China during the summer of 1989, just before the Tiananmen Square massacre. His photos were published in a Japanese magazine, and he has been coming up with ideas for photo travelogues ever since. Having been bitten by a dog as a boy, he never liked them, but his wife Naoko convinced him to get Vino, and he said, "well, Vino is one dog I like." The couple had both read Travels with Charley, and cited it as inspiration for this journey.

Sho dragged Kenji and Naoko into endless sessions of card games. I had to stop after 45 minutes, because the rocking motion of the ferry and a group of gritty passengers puffing away on cigarettes were making me seasick. Sho has always been impervious to motion sickness, and I left the three of them to play, while I got some fresh air on the deck. The strong, cool wind made me feel better immediately, and I spent the next 1/2 hour watching the Tsugaru Peninsula take shape on the horizon. Aomori finally came into view, a pleasant town with distinctive features: a large, modern triangular city center building dominating the downtown waterfront and a double bridge along the ocean that Sho dubbed "super cool." After waiting for the vehicles to drive off the ferry, we met Naoko, Kenji and Vino in the parking lot, and they helped us remove some of the remaining, now hardened, green sludge from the bike wheels. I was flustered by the frightening goo and forgot to take Vino's picture, a sweet medium-sized dog sitting patiently in the front seat, observing our clean-up.

After saying farewell to our friends from the ferry, Sho and I biked 20 minutes into downtown Aomori, where we found a comfortable business hotel with a single room for $50. Sho, who has developed a sharp nose for game rooms, found one nearby and waited impatiently for me to savor a delicious dinner of hotate don rice bowl with scallops, before we were immersed in the cacophany of 100 yen-sucking machines, featuring battling dinosaurs, taiko drums and frustratingly flimsy claws grabbing for candy.

We fell asleep at 9pm after looking through old pictures of Eiko and Saya on my camera, feeling the vast distance between us and missing home.

Day 21: Hakodate

2009-07-16T23:15:00.015-04:00

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Waking up around 6:30am, Sho and I relished the luxury of having a hotel room instead of a tent, and the prospect of a day off from biking. We ate toast and jam across the street in the train station and bumped into Wu Chia Li and her 12-tear old daughter Yu Ching. They were going to take a train to Onuma Quasi-National Park. It was another rainy day, and they wore thin white plastic ponchos, optimistically determined to enjoy the outdoors, despite the wetness.

We took a few pictures with them in the train station, then said goodbye to our friends from Taiwan. Sho and I explored the Asa-ichi morning market, marveling at the multitude of sea creatures on display, waiting to be eaten. Sho appreciated the dexterity and speed of squid darting back and forth in a large tank, and he made up an impromptu squid dance that had me laughing out loud.

We spent the rest of the morning back in our hotel room, Sho playing his Nintendo DS and watching kids' TV programs, while I took care of logistical items, reserving a ferry to Aomori the next day, calling our ultra marathoner friend, Sato-san, about visiting him in Niigata, and uploading pictures to our trip blog. I also called our cycling buddy, Saito-san, to check on his progress. He was a couple hours away in Mori, riding to Hakodate to take a 5pm ferry to Honshu. We agreed to see him off at the ferry terminal.

After a delicious lunch of donburi rice bowl with raw sea urchin, salmon roe, and crab at a small local restaurant, Sho and I took a bus to the ferry terminal, where we spent a couple of hours catching up with Saito-san, sharing pictures and stories. He was in high spirits, having completed his circuit around Hokkaido, and looked fit and tan (at least from mid-bicep to wrist and mid-quadracep to ankle - the "biker's tan"). Our routes were diverging until Shikoku, and we made plans to reconnect there, if our schedules overlapped again.

One of Sho's chief complaints about Hokkaido was the lack of game rooms. To appease his strong desire to address this issue, we said goodbye to Saito-san and spent the next 2 1/2 hours at "Pabot's Hakodate" hanging out in their game room and getting in three rounds of bowling.

We were both asleep in our hotel room by 8:30pm, and my legs twitched with relief from having the day off from riding.

BTW, I haven't shaved since starting this ride on June 25 and now have a light beard and mustache. I think that I look like Marcus Aurelius, but Sho says I look like a "scraggly weirdo." I've attached a pic, so that you can decide for yourself.

Day 20: Animal Farm

2009-07-16T23:15:00.014-04:00

Tuesday, July 14, 2009
At 4am, the local dogs began to call to one another, presumably to see if anyone was still sleeping. Several goats housed on World Ranch joined in, making it necessary for the crows to proclaim their presence. Finally, the horses in the barn next to our tent complemented the cacophany with a round of impressive neighing.
Sho, blessed as a sound sleeper, stirred only briefly, while I spent the next 2 1/2 hours creating a sound map of the local animal population. At 6:30, Sho sprang up excitedly, asking if we could play golf at the ranch. "As soon as we get the tent broken down and the gear loaded on the bikes," I answered, and Sho helped to complete these tasks in record time.
We took advantage of all of the major attractions at World Ranch, which was spookily empty early on a Tuesday morning. After 18 holes of practice golf in an hour (using the billiard-size balls, just as we had in Muroran), we tested our archery skills (not so impressive), made it through the country maze in 32 minutes ("pretty average" commented one of the workers) and drank some "orange juice" that was really orange coloring added to water, mixed with high fructose corn syrup. Sho was in heaven.
As we left World Ranch, one of the employees gave us a stack of post cards and wished us luck on our long journey.
We didn't have cell phone coverage there, so as soon as we got back to the main road, we paused for a snack at a 7-11 and called Eiko. It was nice to hear her voice, and Sho shuffled his feet and smiled into the phone, obviously missing his mommy. While he was talking to her, a 4-foot long brown snake emerged next to his feet. All three of us were surprised, and the snake beat a hasty retreat down a nearby hole.
The ride from Mori to Hakodate, our last stop in Hokkaido, was an easy 2 1/2 hour ride that included some comfortable long down hill coasts out of the lush forests of Onuma Quasi National Park into the coastal town of Hakodate.
Perhaps it was the sunny, warm weather, but I immediately liked the town, with its broad streets, beautiful ocean views, historic landmarks and the looming Mt. Hakodate in its midst. We rode into the heart of town, stopping at the main train station to get information about hotels and a ferry to Aomori. We decided to give ourselves a rest day and time to explore the city, so I booked 2 nights (at 5,000 yen or $50/night) at "Smile Hotel", a 3-minute walk from the station.
Leaving our bikes locked up safely at the hotel, we rode a tram to the base of Mt. Hakodate and took the cable car up to the summit. The view was stimulating, encompassing the town and harbour, although the summit was blighted by a collection of TV towers.
On the way up, we met Wu Chia Li, a music teacher from Taiwan, and her 12-year old daughter Yu Ching. They were on a 12-day vacation in Hokkaido, and we enjoyed comparing notes about our experiences. After taking in the mountain views, the four of us rode the cable car back down, soaked our feet in the fabulous Hakodate Bay Bishoku Club outdoor foot bath, and shared dinner at a kaiten sushi restaurant.
Sho and I fell asleep in luxury, appreciating the difference between a wind-blown tent and a hotel, and looked forward to a day of down time in Hakodate tomorrow.

Day 19: The Wanderer

2009-07-16T20:18:00.009-04:00

Monday, July 13, 2009

I slept fitfully, waking up at 6:30 with a deep fatigue in my legs. Trying to hang with the 3 college cyclists two days ago and yesterday's long, steep climb into the clouds had taken their toll. Rain poured down outside, wind gusts slamming sheets of water against the window of our tatami mat room. I crawled under the soft warmth of the comforter, snuggling next to Sho on our futons for a few minutes more before having to face the day.

We ate a well-rounded breakfast prepared by the minshuku staff. Sitting on mats at a long, low table in a large tatami-mat common room, a lone TV perched on a raised dais like a diety at the front of the room, we munched on grilled fish, rice, miso soup, pickles and fruit. Checkout time was 10am, and we gloomily said farewell to the comfortable minshuku Japanese inn and pushed our bikes into the dreary wetness.

The rain and wind put on an impressive display, and 10 minutes into the ride, I paused to capture the storm on video. We were biking on a coastal road, powerful wind gusts spewing spray off of crashing waves surging just to our left. Sho added video commentary as a row of flags behind him flapped violently and threatened to rip off of their posts. We rode through the mess for 5 hours before my weary legs had enough. As we entered Mori, a verdant, park-filled town whose name means "forest", we rejoiced at the sight of a michi no eki rest stop. Parking our bikes in front of the bathrooms, underneath an overhang that protected them from the downpour, we tracked dripping brown water into a noodle shop and feasted on mounds of soba noodles in steaming hot broth.

We met a friendly woman selling produce at a stall who immediately took a motherly liking to Sho. When we explained our ride, she expressed amazement that an 8 year old could accomplish such a feat, and bundled up 5 tomatoes, a bag of cherries and a 500 yen coin ($5) for us. She also pointed us to the nearest onsen bath house and campgrounds.

Sho and I hung out at the michi no eki for an hour, goofing around and encouraging the rain to let up. Miraculously, it did, and we set off on the 10km (6 mile) ride to the camp grounds. My legs had tightened up during our rest stop, and my quadraceps screamed up at me as we set off. We rolled up and down hills, looking for the turnoff for the onsen and appreciating the lack of rain. As we rounded a bend on a climb up a steady, meandering hill through Mori's lush, forested landscape, we spied a lone figure plodding toward us on foot. A large conical hat concealed his face, and his flowing robes draped down over worn sandles. As our path's converged, I stopped to say hello.

Taking off his hat to reveal a gentle face with intense eyes, he asked polite questions about our bike set-up, saying he'd never seen such a thing. We told him about our plans and asked him where he was headed. "Cape Souya, where you started," he answered, only telling us half the truth. After talking further, we learned that he was 39 years old, a wandering Buddhist monk who carried no money and depended on handouts for survival. Thinking about how much energy it takes to walk each day (and how much Sho and I have been consuming), I speculated that he must be hungry constantly. He carried a thin blue plastic sheet, on which he slept wherever he happened to find himself each night, and not much else. Upon further questioning, he explained that he was walking around Japan along the coast. It took about 1 year to complete a circumnavigation, and he was on his 6th circuit!

I immediately thought, "Why in the world would a person spend 6 years hiking in circles?" Which reminded me of some similar questions Sho and I received when telling people about our plans to bike across Japan. My answer, usually unspoken, was, "If you have to ask why, I can't explain it to you."

The wanderer let me take his picture, but would not reveal his name. "It's better if I don't say."

I commented that his 6-year journey must be full of amazing experiences. He smiled at my enthusiasm, offering, "Walking continuously or not walking, traveling or not traveling, experiences are wonderful in their own way."

As he spoke, I couldn't help but judge him, thinking that walking endlessly in circles was foolish somehow. He had taken the concept of an adventure too far, left too much behind, drifted too far away from "normal" society for me. I thought back to guys I had met in Bangkok when I was traveling around Asia just out of college. They hung out on the street, smoking pot, doing nothing and living on a few dollars a day. They had dropped out. One guy told me that he had figured out how to live on less than $1,000 a year.

And yet, this wandering monk was not lost. By wearing this garb and walking around Japan, he grounded himself in an organizing principle of a religion that gave intellectual structure to his peripatetic search. Was it a search? Was he looking for something? Was I? Or did his comment about the wonder in all experiences mean something else? A quote from Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha came to mind: "What could I say to you that would be of value, except perhaps that you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking, you cannot find."

I offered him some of our food, which he accepted graciously after only a prefunctorily mild protest, took his picture, and Sho and I set off. As we rode, I thought, "Life is like a gift, which you can celebrate or throw away. The choice is yours." This ride, shared with my 8-year old son, full of challenges and new discoveries, felt like a good way to treasure the gift...

As we continued to ride, we heard shouts of encouragement coming from behind us, and saw our friend from the produce stand driving by. She waved out the window, smiling and shouting, "Gambare, gambare!" (Go, go!)

World Ranch was a few miles off the main road, a sprawling country playland designed for the whole family. In addition to its onsen hot baths and modest campground next to the horses' stables, it boasted two 18-hole practice golf courses (with the billiard size golf balls), an archery site, badminton nets, a large wooden maze, a collection of farm animals (including a curious "small dog" cage with one Maltese and one Chihuahua), and best of all, speakers hung throughout the farm doling out old time country songs from the Deep South. My favorite was a song whose title was probably, "Hillbilly Blues," followed a close second by a schmaltzy, twanging country ode to the merits of prayin' for the Good Lord to save my wretched soul.

There was something both endearing and jarring about this particular soundtrack echoing through Hokkaido's countryside. After some reflection, I concluded that it was in keeping with the music Sho and I often heard when we walked into a department store in Japan, Jason Mraz's "Geek in the Pink" floating over the finely crafted, traditional Japanese crafts.

Although the rain had stopped, a seemingly endless line of dark, billowing clouds rushed by overhead, propelled by powerful gusts that sent us chasing after various items, as Sho and I tried to set up our tent. To keep from losing it to the wind, I had to bundle up the tent into a clump that I could hold on to while securing one section at a time to the ground with stakes. Sho stood guard over our bikes, holding on to our gear and shouting excited exclamations, as the wind tried to rip open the panniers. We finally managed to set up the tent, secure our belongings and retreat inside.

As I read Japanese fairy tales to Sho, the tent rattled and bowed and swayed around us,like the hull of a boat tossed about at sea in a storm. We fell asleep fairly quickly, despite the racket, exhausted from the day's challenging ride. I woke up to pee around midnight and emerged from the tent to a brilliantly clear night sky, the constellations glowing against the black void, and the clouds and wind gusts long gone. I paused to appreciate the peaceful still before snuggling up in my sleeping bag next to a softly snoring Sho.

Food pics

2009-07-14T22:14:00.002-04:00

I've been requested to post some pictures of the food we've been eating. Here you go! See if you can figure out which one is a joke. :-)

Bonus Blog: Sho's Observations

2009-07-14T11:13:00.005-04:00

Since these blog entries have all been from my perspective (Charles, the 41 year old father), I thought you might enjoy hearing from 8 year old Sho. The following are some of the observations and questions that have bubbled up during hours of biking each day.

- "I want to have a kid to play with when I grow up, but not a wife. Too many girls are in love with me, and it's really annoying. Maybe I could find an orphan to adopt."
- "Daddy, the old fashioned way to beat someone up on the beach is to kick sand in their face, then punch them in the wiener. This only works on guys."
- "Did you know that they make back pads? They find a turtle about your size and put the shell on your back, but make it look cool, of course."
- "I like Japan better than New York, because it's cleaner, and the stores have a lot of great kids' stuff. There are no Pokemon Battorio or Kyouryuu Kingu (Dinosaur King) games in New York. I don't know why. If I became President of the U.S., the first thing that I would do is to order that we have to have these games."
- "If you cut off your wiener, do you die?"
- Endless stream of "Would you rather..." questions, like: "would you rather stand outside for 5 minutes nude on the coldest day of the year, or stand outside for 5 minutes wearing 5 winter coats on the hottest day of the year?"
- "Some things look bad and smell bad, but taste good. Like ika (squid), for example."
- "Why are bugs attracted to light, if it usually kills them?"
- "If a baby farts in his mommy's tummy, does she burp?"
- "In Japan, people bow instead of hugging, because a strong person might hurt someone if they hug too hard."
- "I wish everything was good for you. Like, if a mosquito bit you, it made you stronger. Or if you ate 2,000 pieces of candy in one day, then bam! You get muscles."
- I told Sho that, even if I get angry at his behavior sometimes, I always love him and always will. He thought that this was funny and challenged the unconditional aspect: "What if I cut off your ears? Would you still love me then?" He went on to come up with ever more gruesome acts of violence against me, testing at which point my unconditional love would falter. This conversation made both of us crack up.

Day 18: Biking into the Clouds

2009-07-14T10:42:00.006-04:00

Sunday, July 12, 2009
I awoke at 5:30am and took a few pictures of the mist settling over Lake Toya Ko. After breakfast in the tent with Sho and loading the bikes, I noticed that the back tire was flat for the 5th time on this trip, and decided to replace the tube instead of patching it. Sho played rambunctiously with our college buddies, and they patiently let him jump on their backs and show them various insects he discovered. As the 3 cyclists were returning to Muroran, we parted ways, and Sho and I rode south for around 80km (50 miles) to Oshamanbe, a comfortable coastal town.
A few hours into the ride, we bumped into Alain and Ursula Besson from Luzerne, Switzerland. We had been in touch via e-mail over the past 2 months and were hoping to see one another at some point. After Alain retired from Nestle, the two started biking around the world from Switzerland, and have visited India, Tajikistan, etc. over the past 16 months. China is next on their itinerary. They were sweet with Sho, stimulating to talk with, and would have been great traveling companions. We took pictures of one another and set off in different directions, lamenting the fact that we couldn't spend more time together.
Sho and I followed Highway 37, which had hugged the coast. But soon, we found ourselves chugging up long, winding climbs through tunnels and eventually above the cloudline. The day had started sunny and warm, but we donned jackets as we gained elevation and found ourselves surrounded by a cool mist. Despite the cool temperatures, the sweat poured out of my helmet, as I strained to pedal up the steep road. We crossed a couple of dramatic bridges cloaked in fog and threatening certain death if one of us fell over the side railing into the obscured abyss. The traffic was intermittant, but annoying, and Sho started to list out the things he does not like about cars: "too loud, they pollute the air, give some people motion sickness (but not me), use up lots of gasoline," etc.
After reaching the highest point of a 2+ hour mountain road climb, our descent was harrowing. Returning to sea level down the mountain side, I gave our brakes a challenging workout and made sure that we stayed in control during the rapid descent, both hands becoming numb from my tight grip. The tips of several fingers remained numb for 2 days afterward.
In Oshmanbe, we found a minshuku Japanese inn with an onsen bath and the only coin laundry in town, and splurged $70 for a room, deciding against another rain-drenched night in the tent. After a satisfying soak in the onsen, where I tried to regain feeling in my fingertips by flexing them open and closed in the steamy water, Sho loaded the laundry machine with practically every piece of clothing we brought along, both of us relishing saying sayonara to the mildew smell.
We had arrived too late to eat dinner in the inn, as is customarily provided for guests with a reservation, but the proprietor brought up 2 delicious crabs to our room, saving us from having to make an outing in the rain for a meal.
We read the patently unfair Japanese folk tale "Urashima Taro" (read it, and you'll see what I mean) before drifting off to sleep in our sumptuously comfortable futons, appreciating the luxury of our accomodations.

Day 17: Sharing a Wet Ride

2009-07-14T10:17:00.003-04:00

Saturday, July 11, 2009
I was awake at 4:45am, light streaming into our comfortable shack in Muroran, and spent the next 2 1/2 hours writing in my journal and loading gear onto our bikes. Once Sho was up, we took advantage of the practice golf course next door and got in 18 holes in 45 minutes, using practice clubs and billiards-size golf balls.
After catching up with Eiko on our cell phone, it was time to cross the street to the small amusement park beckoning us with a modest, immobile ferris wheel asking to be ridden. We were joined by perhaps 25 other people in the park, and went on most of the rides by ourselves. In addition to jump starting the ferris wheel, we rode go carts, a tea cup spinny ride (which Sho loved, but made me nautious) and watched a group of diminutive penguins put on a parade through the park, including a series of stunts on an obstacle course that had Sho enthralled.
The rain started soon after we were biking from Muroran to Lake Toya Ko, and we donned our rain pants, jackets and booties, determined to go on, despite the crap weather. The quickest route would have been over the massive bridge that had bathed us with its light overnight, but it was meant for vehicles only, and I was not about to risk a ride on that beast. We looped around the peninsula, adding maybe 15 miles to the journey. During a stop for snacks at a convenience store, we met 3 members of the Muroran Institute of Technology's cycling club. They were headed to a campsite on the banks of Lake Toya Ko, so we decided to ride together. Naoki Kanou, Nikaido Kengou and Ogura Kodai were excellent riding companions, guiding us along a less-trafficked route that I had planned and waiting patiently at the top of several long climbs.
We had no trouble keeping up with them on the flat sections, but as soon as we started up an incline, the combined weight of Sho and our 70+ pounds of gear was too much for me to stay with them. Several times, I "red-lined" (reached a point when my heart rate max'd out and my burning legs simply could not hold the pace), which is not a good idea on a 5+ hour ride, because it increases the chance of bonking (when your legs simply can't go on) and makes you sore for the next day's ride.
Thankfully, the college students recognized the situation and took pity on us, promising to wait at the top of each hill until we caught up. That freed me to maintain a more sustainable pace on the long climbs. On several of those inclines, Sho's effort made a big difference. I have noticed his strength increasing as this trip has progressed.
Every so often, the rain seemed to taper off, and the sun poked through a break in the thick cloud cover. We rejoiced at the end of the inclement weather several times, only to be greeted a few minutes later with another torrent mocking our premature celebration. At 5pm, we pulled up to the crowded Nakatoya Campsite, dripping and worn out. I had to ask for a towel before signing in at the camp office, for fear of ruining the guest book. After setting up our tents, we took a luxurious soak in a nearby onsen, then Sho excitedly shot off fireworks with our 3 new friends, who patiently let him steal half of their stash. We had hoped to watch the nightly fireworks display on the opposite side of Lake Toya Ko from the campsite, but the clouds obscured all but the sounds of distant explosions.
Sho and I fell asleep to the sound of a creek emptying into Lake Toya Ko and families splashing around the lake's edge, hunting for fish and interesting insects.

Day 16: The Kindness of Strangers

2009-07-14T09:54:00.003-04:00

Friday, July 10, 2009

I was awakened at 2am by the sound of heavy rain pounding our tent, and slept fitfully thereafter, until finally getting up at 4:30am. The heavy rain continued until noon, and Sho and I chose to remain huddled inside our tent, eating a b-fast of sesame kombu and pancakes we bought the day before at a convenience store.

We whiled away the time playing games and telling stories until 8:30, when Mutsuo Kitakata (whom we had met in the campsite the night before) knocked on our dripping tent and invited us to share some of their food. Riding many hours a day kicks your metabolism into hyperdrive, and Sho and I were more than willing to partake in a second breakfast. We happily accepted, racing through the falling rain over to a pavilion, where the four of us dined on miso soup, pork strips, rice, sesame paste and super-sour homemade umeboshi. Sho enjoyed the umeboshi so much that Taeko gave him a small bottle full to take with us.

We spent the morning chatting with the amiable couple, and they treated Sho like a grandson, drawing pictures together, making paper airplanes and goofing around. When the rain finally started to let up, and I loaded our bikes to leave, Taeko gave Sho a handful of stamps with fun Japanese characters, and Mutsuo gave him a 500 Yen coin ($5).

We said goodbye once again to new friends and made our way through puddles and intermittant, spitting rain for the next 6 hours from Shiraoi to Muroran. My wife, Eiko, had researched game centers on our route, and we interrupted our ride with a 1-hour side trip to a game room in Noboribetsu. Sho was in his element, racing from game to game and reporting back to me excitedly about his exploits on Pokemon Battorio, Dinosaur King, etc.

The town of Muroran lies at the tip of one of Hokkaido's many capes and boasts a michi no eki rest stop next to a large onsen public bath and across from a modest amusement park with an aquarium. The only problem is that it does not include a hotel or campsite, nestled near the base of a towering bridge (reminded me of the George Washington Bridge in NYC) on a waterfront lined with marinas. Arriving at 7pm and needing a place to sleep, we threw ourselves at the mercy of Kudou-san, the only remaining employee at work there on a Friday night. He took pity on us and let us sleep in an adjacent shack, designed as a changing room for guests of a practice golf course next door. The cozy enclosure met our needs nicely, offering a place out of the wind and rain to lay down our sleeping mats.

After a nice soak in the nearby onsen, we settled down in our comfortable sleeping quarters, reading Japanese fairy tales and drifting off to sleep to the sound of a strong wind gusting off the nearby waterfront and under the glow of the long string of lights lining the massive bridge.

Day 15: Porotokotan

2009-07-10T16:51:00.008-04:00

Day 15: Thursday, July 9, 2009

Sho was up before 5am, unable to sleep because of the bright sun and yapping crows. I joined him for a b-fast of sweet bread and mikan oranges in the tent. While cleaning up in the michi no eki rest stop, we met Betty, an outgoing woman who looked to be in her 60's. She was taken by Sho ("He's such a beautiful combination of American and Japanese.") and by our bike adventure, and we talked for 30 minutes. She is from Kobe, Japan. After the massive earthquake there in 1995, she and her husband started traveling around Japan, and I sensed that she was still traumatized by the devastating event. She explained that she changed her name to Betty after the quake, and I never found out her Japanese name. As Sho and I started to push off on our bikes, Betty ran over with a gift for Eiko, explaining that it must be hard for a mother to be separated from her husband and 8 year old son for 2 months. The gift was a small figurine of a banjo-playing ringo chan, character with a head shaped as a small red apple.

Just in case you were note sure if you should get up, Mukawa, like many towns in Japan, lets you know to get your butt out of bed at 7am with a blaring 30-second melody blasted from loud speakers on a centrally located rooftop.

Sho and I left the town alarm clock behind and rode for a few hours to Tomakomai (including a 30-minute stop to fix a flat tire), by far the largest city we have visited since starting this ride. We navigated through traffic lights and urban traffic to a large shopping complex in front of the train station. I actually had difficulty finding a place to park our bikes, as all of the racks were full. I finally locked the bikes to a street sign and hoped the police would not remove them. Mont Bell, an outdoor gear store I learned about from my brother-in-law in Tokyo, was on the fifth floor of the shopping complex. I bought some pannier rain covers and got directions to a bike store, while Sho eyed fishing rods, hoping to take advantage of the seaside we have been riding along.

"Dad, can I catch a fish in the ocean, and then we eat it?"

"Sure son, as long as you skin it and cook it first."

The route to the bike shop included a busy bridge with no shoulder and cars zooming by. I felt unnerved to be back in a bustling city and longed for Hokkaido`s open countryside. The bike store did not have a front rack, but I took the opportunity to replace a bent spoke and pump up the tires.

The road we took out of Tomakomai had a lot of debris on the shoulder, and I had to patch the day`s second flat on my back wheel (4 so far). We arrived in Shiraoi at 3:45pm, where we visited the Ainu museum Porotokotan and were hosted by Masahiro Nomoto, the museum`s director. A colleague of Maki Sekine, our friend in Nibutani, Nomoto-san was expecting us and kindly took the time to show us around. He had spent time in New York City a decade ago, and told us about Ainu exhibits in the Brooklyn Museum and Museum of Natural History. Sho and I watched an Ainu dance performance and took a lesson in playing the mukkuri, a simple-looking, but difficult to master, flute-like instrument that left us with sore fingers and lips by the time our lesson ended. The museum included an exhibit of Ainu clothing, implements, hunting techniques and history that captured both of our imaginations. Sho explained how he would use the various items on display and was particularly confident that he could kill one of Hokkaido`s brown bears with an Ainu-made long spear. The exhibit included a fascinating map showing the names and locations of "The Minorities of the Northern Regions" stretching from Hokkaido, over the North Pole and down into Canada and the U.S.

After the museum closed at 5:30pm, Sho and I rode on an empty road into the adjacent forest, along a large lake, ending at a campsite tucked away deep in the woods. It was a road out of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and we were both relieved to find out that we would not be the only campers. Mutsuo and Taeko Kitakata, a wonderful elderly couple, were spending a few months driving and camping across Japan. As Sho and I set up our tent nearby, they brought over a container of miso soup and some tomatoes, which we gobbled up appreciatively.

At 9:15, I conducted a 25-minute cell phone interview with TV Japan from inside the tent. They wanted to talk with Sho too, but exhausted from our day's adventures, he was already fast asleep!

Day 14: Onsen Dreams

2009-07-10T16:22:00.003-04:00

Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The rain came down heavy and uninviting, as we loaded gear on our bikes in front of the Sekine's guest house. Sho didn't want to put on his rain pants ("they don't feel good") or his rain booties to keep his shoes dry ("they make me look stupid"), but I forced him to, not wanting him to get soaked. We rode quickly through the downpour to Biratori Onsen, a 15-minute ride past Nibutani's Ainu Culture Museum, rock carving store, and lush forest that would have been pleasant in nicer weather.
We pushed the bikes into a dry spot at the building's entrance, draped our wet clothing on the handle bars, and spent the next 5 hours inside. We cleaned ourselves , then soaked in the steaming onsen, a nicely designed large pool with streams of water pouring out of towering black boulders. I sat under one such waterfall, letting the jets of hot water pound my neck and shoulders. The onsen was empty at 10am, and Sho splashed and romped around rambunctiously, behavior that would not have been appropriate if others were in the water. But with just the two of us, I didn't mind.
We spent the rest of the morning watching the rain storm pound the saturated ground outside, content to write in our journals, play paper napkin football and eat lunch in the onsen's restaurant. By 1pm, the rain had mostly passed, and we biked back to the Ainu museum. Sho enjoyed the variety of thatched huts, some of which were large enclosures with smoked fish hanging over a fire inside, others small storage sites on stilts reachable by climbing a long leaning log with notches cut into the side.
We stopped by the restaurant to say goodbye to Maki Sekine and her mom before heading back toward the coast. Kenji Sekine happened to drive by us a few minutes later, having cut trees from 6am to 3pm and now on his way to a second job. He pulled over his white mini-truck, a stubby cross between a pick-up and a go cart that is ubiquitous in Japan's countryside, and gave us a friendly farewell.
Sho and I rode on to Mukawa, noticing a significant increase in traffice and people. For the past week, I had to plan our food rations carefully, because of the long stretches of sparsely populated countryside. But now we were entering the beginning of urban life, passing convenience stores every few minutes and dealing with an ever increasing amount of traffice zooming by.
We found a michi no eki that included some rooms for rent, but they were all taken. With permission fom the manager, we set up our tent in the grass beside a large parking lot filled with motorcycles and RV's.
Ending the day as we started it, we enjoyed the luxury of a local onsen, and were snoozing in the tent by 9:15pm.

Day13: New Friends in Nibutani

2009-07-10T04:05:00.003-04:00

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Sho was up early and playing on the beach in Samani, as I broke down the tent and re-packed our gear. A young couple that had driven up for a brief rest by the sea brought me a cup of coffee as I wiped down the bikes, and the campsite manager stopped by with 6 hard boiled eggs and some bottles of frozen water. Sho and I hit the road at 10am, full of optimism from the sunny weather and friendly support from strangers. Besides a 1 1/2 hour lunch and a few snack breaks, we rode for 7 hours today, pushing the pace as much as our 70 lbs of gear and my steadily tiring legs would allow. My legs have been sore most mornings, and the bottom of my feet often ache near the end of a day's ride, but soaking in a piping hot onsen usually takes away all of the aches. Sho hasn't complained of a single bike-related ache, besides not liking wet weather. Ah, youth...

We met a young man from Taiwan named Lin Ting-Chao, who was on Day 36 of a 39-day solo bike ride around Hokkaido. We rode together for an hour, taking turns drafting off of one another and holding a respectable pace of around 20 MPH - not bad for 2 heavily loaded bikes.

After saying goodbye to Ting-Chao, Sho and I explored a side steet in a small town, looking for a bike shop, and bumped into an 8-year old boy walking back from school.

"Are you a foreigner?" he asked me excitedly.

"Yes. My son and I are biking across Japan."

"Really?! Maybe you passed by my house. It's up up street, turn right, and on your left."

"Yep, we probably did," I lied.

"Cool! Bye," and he was off with a proud look.

At 6:30pm, Sho and I rolled exhausted into Nibutani, a comfortable village with a large population of Ainu, Hokkaido's indigenous inhabitants. Many place names in Hokkaido are derived from the Ainu language (like Sapporo, which means "dry, large river"), and Ainu traditions and religion are deeply connected to the region's magnificent natural beauty. Although it was a 20km (12.4 mile) detour to get to Nibutani, I didn't want to miss this chance to learn about Ainu culture.

As we paused at the only stop light in town, a bright-eyed woman named Maki Sekine ran up to us, asking about our bikes. She brought us across the street to her restaurant, and we spent the rest of the evening eating and drinking at some outside tables with around 20 of her extended family members and friends. We ate deer meet miso soup, an Ainu variation of pork on rice and sweet dango. In addition to running the Ainu cuisine restaurant, Maki works in the local museum, while her husband, Kenji, harvests trees. He and his 7-year old daughter, Maya, took a 3-day bike trip near Cape Erimo last year, and he peppered me with detailed questions about our ride across Japan. Kenji, a soft spoken man with an athletic build, sipped on tea while everyone else around us got drunk, and I enjoyed his company while Sho and Maya were off discovering various insects.

Sho and I had planned to sleep in our tent at a nearby campsite, but Maki invited us to stay in her guest house. It was a kind gesture that saved us from getting soaked in the rain storm that moved in over night. The guest house was Maki's mother's work studio, and Kenji explained how she used a sleek Ainu wooden device to weave strips of Elm tree bark into rolls of material used to make kimonos by a store in Kyoto. Strips of bark hung next to Sho and my bed, along with a picture of the matriarch at work.

Sho and I slept well, and Maya stopped by the next morning on her way to 4th grade class. She and Sho played his Nintendo DS together before a friend poked her head in the door to walk together to school. I took her picture with Sho, as we said goodbye to our new friend.

Day 12: Another Gusty Cape

2009-07-09T21:35:00.002-04:00

Monday, July 6, 2009

The bright morning sun, which had climbed over the sea scarcely an hour earlier, had me up at 4:45am. I spent a couple of pleasant hours writing in my journal in the tent, while Sho slept soundly beside me. He woke up around 7am, and we finished off the rest of our provisions: dried squid, sweet bread and cheese. Not the most impressive of breakfasts, but enough calories to hold us until we reached Cape Erimo, a 25-minute bike ride away.

We spent the morning hanging out at the cape, a jagged promontory overlooking a series of impressive rocky islands stretching into the sea and dotted with colonies of seagulls and a family of lounging Kuril harbour seals. We had chugged up a steep climb on our bikes to reach the official point of Cape Erimo, and Sho proceeded to lead me back down the other side on foot, following a long staircase cut into the cliff side. His goal was a romp on the rock-strewn beach, but I convinced him to wait for a more hospitable seaside hangout.

Although I don't enjoy a collection of souvenir shops inserted into a place of natural beauty, I was relieved to re-stock our snack bag and to linger over a meal of sea urchin on rice. Sho's favorite part of the visit was a man-made wind tunnel that simulated the power of a raging storm. A large fan roared away at the front of a long, rectangular room with strategically placed support poles. At the back of the room, the wind gusted in our faces at 10 meters per second. As we trudged our way to the front of the room, leaning into the wind, our bodies were buffeted at 25 meters per second. Sho loved it, running with and against the current and crashing into me full of mischievous laughter.

The wind tunnel was cool. Not cool was riding our bikes away from Cape Erimo and experiencing a similar head wind along the rolling oceanside road. At times on the flat sections, I had to drop into my lowest mountain climbing gear just to keep us going at a crawl. The view was lovely, but I found it hard to appreciate as my legs burned and sweat curled down my cheeks while we moved along at 5 MPH. The pannier-turned-backpack weighed heavily on me, biting into my shoulders and making me miserable. After an hour and a half of suffering, I spotted a small Bridgestone car repair center and asked if they had a screw that might fit the front pannier rack. Twenty minutes later, the rack was back on, still curved in toward the wheel, but acceptable. It was a big relief to get that weight off my back, making the rest of the day's ride much more enjoyable.

The real-world wind tunnel finally ended as we exited the peninsula and re-joined Hwy 336, heading west along Hokkaido's southern coast, passing beaches covered with long strips of kombu seaweed tended by teams of harvesters. A friendly older couple we had chatted with briefly at Cape Erimo caught up with us in their minivan and gestured for us to pull over. They handed us some sweets and a drink, we took pictures together, thanked them and waved goodbye. My earlier exhaustion started to give way to optimistic energy from the friendly encounter.

I had planned to sleep in Urakawa, but when we saw the playground and beach in Samani around 10km (6 miles) before our destination, Sho and I were smitten. We set up our tent in the grass next to a pleasant beach and proceeded to beat the crap out of each other with driftwood that magically turned into Samurai swords. The two local restaurants were closed ("because it's Monday," one proprietor explained) but we were able to scrounge up a meal at a nearby grocery store owned by Hitoshi Kudo. When he learned of our plans to bike across Japan, he offered us some delicious homemade octopus kamaboko, "made from octopus caught just over there," he noted, pointing across the road to the sea.

A full moon rose over the peaceful water, as we settled down for bed, and the last I remember, the glowing orange orb had crossed in front of our tent and was draping us with moon beams shimmering off the gentle sea.

Day 11: Crash!

2009-07-05T21:13:00.003-04:00

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I knew the bent front left pannier (bike bag) rack was on borrowed time and, sure enough, today was the day of reckoning. The morning started off pleasantly, the sun burning off an early morning mist and promising an excellent day for riding. Sho played on the expansive, rocky beach, wind-blown surf slamming dramatically against massive pylons designed to prevent erosion, walls of ocean spray careening skyward and engulfing a group of hardy fishermen perched on an overlook. I broke down the tent, loaded the bikes with our 70+ pounds of gear, and joined Sho on the rocks, both of us mesmerized by the powerful waves.

Our destination today was Cape Erimo, one of the most isolated spots on the east coast of Hokkaido. Just before the campsite manager was to arrive at 9am, we pedaled 15 minutes into downtown Hiroo, looking for a bike shop. The best we could find, after asking around, was a general store that sold "Mama Chari's," cheap bicycles with front baskets designed for running errands around town. There were no specialized screws for low rider front racks to be found here. The sales person told us that the only bike shop in town went out of business "a while ago." We made our way to the game room corner of the local department store, eating b-fast at a nearby table and charging our electronics in a store wall socket. I updated our blog on the Willcom D4 mobile Internet device, while Sho spent $10 to win 50 cents worth of candy, having a fantastic time doing it.

I did my best to strap down the front left pannier to make up for the broken top screw, but the remaining screw at the bottom of the front fork looked precariously over-stressed. I couldn't devise any better solution, so we continued our journey, asking the Road God for benevolence. We rode south out of Hiroo on Hwy 336 and immediately came upon a stunning coastal scene, sheer cliffs to our right spewing out a small waterfall and a beautiful expanse of churning sea to our left. I was so overwhelmed by the natural beauty that I pulled over to appreciate the scene. In doing so, I accidentally rammed the vulnerable front left pannier into the curb, bending the remaining screw and jamming the pannier into my front wheel. I heard the disconcerting sound of a spoke snapping as the bikes came to an immediate stop, sending me crashing to the ground. Since we were almost fully stopped when the accident happened, Sho was able to spring off of his tilting bike unharmed. I quickly righted the bikes, and Sho and I gave each other a knowing look of relief and started laughing.

"Well, that's one way to come to a stop," I commented, as Sho, suspecting a long bike repair session, asked if he could play on the rocky beach. "Knock yourself out," I offered as I surveyed the damage: one broken spoke, another bent, and a front left pannier rack that was no longer usable. Everything else appeared to be ok.

As I began the repairs, spreading out gear and tools on the sidewalk, an occasional car zooming by, the insouciant waves pounding away incessantly, and a steady breeze complementing the warm, sunny day, a smiling older man named Yagi-san wandered up. He was wearing walking shoes and pushing a small trolley loaded with gear toward Hiroo. Pausing to take in my situation, he offered up, "I'm hiking around the entire coast of Japan. Started 7 years ago, 7 days after retiring. I've been walking along a different coast for 2 months every year since then."

"Nice to meet you," I replied. "You don't happen to have a 4" bike rack screw handy?"

Yagi-san couldn't help me repair the bike, but we shared an enjoyable conversation by the sea. He lives in Mie Prefecture, home of one of Japan's most famous and sacred Shinto shrines. He asked if I would visit it, but I said the closest Sho and I would get was Mt. Koya-san, a World Heritage Site visited by the famous haiku poet Matsuo Basho a couple hundred years ago.

Yagi-san furrowed his brow and observed, "Foreigners all seem to love Koya-san. It's curious." Then he continued on his way, and I got back to work.

Happily, I had extra spokes, and the front pannier, made by Arkel, doubles as a backpack. I sent a silent thank you to Joe Kurmaskie for suggesting them. An hour later, Sho and I were once again rolling down the beautiful coast, front wheel slightly unbalanced by carrying only one fully loaded pannier, while the other sat heavily on my back, mercilessly digging into my shoulders...

We spent the rest of the afternoon coming up with ever more impressive superlatives to describe the beautiful waterfront. The traffic was light, the coastal road flat, and the frequent tsunami warning signs unnerving. We rode through many well-lit tunnels, the longest of which was over 3km (around 2 miles). Many of them were open to the sea on one side, allowing spray from the crashing waves to rise up in greeting as we passed. A few tunnels were long, burrowing enclosures with huge fans hanging from the towering ceiling, sucking out exhaust. Cars and trucks were rare, but you could hear one approach well in advance, a low growl emanating out of the darkness far ahead, advancing steadily, ever louder, until reaching a roaring crescendo that drowned out all other sounds as the vehicle passed. Made me feel like I was standing behind a Boeing 777 at take off.

As we paused in front of a house by the road to take a picture of a tsunami evacuation sign, we met Shimpei Sato, who was playing outside with his 5 year old daughter. I asked if Sho could use his bathroom, and we spent the next 20 minutes meeting his family, accepting several cans of juice, and brainstorming ways to fix the front rack. Sato-san had ridden a motorcycle from Sapporo to Cape Sata (the southern point of mainland Japan, Sho and my destination) when he was in college, and he loved the idea of our adventure. Although he didn't have the type of screw we needed, he dug out some extra bike reflectors and called ahead to find a bike shop in the next major town (2 days ride away). We all took pics and appreciated one another's company.

The sun would start to fade soon, and I vowed to stop dilly dallying, making good time in the final 2 hours to Cape Erimo. As we neared the cape, we caught up with Toshihiro Moriya, a　cyclist　in　his　early　20's　who　was　biking　the　circumference　of　Japan.　　Starting　in March from his　home in　Yamagata, central Japan, he was paying for the ride through part-time work along the way. He had just finished a 5-week stint milking cows on a farm that ended, unfortunately, with him in the hospital for a day with a bacterial infection he suspects he caught from the cows.

"I couldn't eat or drink anything until yesterday, and I still feel weak," he commented, and I noticed that he had been weaving on his heavily laden bike a bit more than normal. We parted company at the entrance to Cape Erimo's camp ground, where Sho and I planned to spend the night and enjoy the public bath there. Moriya-san continued on his own a few more miles to the tip of the cape, where he planned to save the $3 camping fee and sleep in a bus terminal.

After a wonderful bath, Sho and I set up the only tent on the lonely, wind swept camp grounds and shot off fireworks for the 3rd night in a row. We ate through most of our remaining provisions, before settling down for a session of journal writing and reading Speed Math for Kids. Sho and I can now multiply 2-digit numbers (like 98 x 94) in the blink of an eye!

Day 10: Mechanical Fears

2009-07-04T23:09:00.003-04:00

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Happy 4th of July! We celebrated "in the middle of nowhere" according to Sho, who

enjoyed playing with Oomori-san and his 2 boys so much that we hung out around the campsite

until 11am. While Sho explored a nearby stream with his new friends, I broke down the tent and

fixed a flat tire (the 2nd so far on my back wheel). I also grappled with a potentially serious

mechanical problem. Shortly after arriving in Urahoro last night, I accidentally rammed the front

left pannier into a post, bending back the rack so that it leaned precariously close to the spokes of

my front wheel. I rigged a strap to hold it in place, but it was far from a permanent solution. My

fear was that the bent screw would snap under the weight of the loaded pannier, swinging into the

front spokes, perhaps after hitting a bump in the road as we zoomed down a steep hill. In that event,

I would certainly be thrown from the bike with Sho falling to the side for a nasty slide on the concrete.

I asked around town, but there was no local bike shop, so I made sure that the strap was secure

and vowed to repair it at the next bike shop I could find.

Sho didn't want to say goodbye to his new friends, but he finally bade them a reluctant farewell,

and we biked 80km (50 miles) to the seaside town of Hiroo. This took us to the eastern coast of

Hokkaido along a route that I hadn't planned to take. But after Eiko gave me a report of long dark

tunnels, steep mountain climbs and dangerous descents from her drive to Chitose Airport, I decided

to make for the coast. I didn't feel ready yet to tackle a mountain (we will later in the ride), so I

chose a much longer, but less traumatic option. This was not so much a retreat as it was a high-

pitched yelp, followed by a full-on gallop in the other direction with my tail between my legs.

Sho asked, "Daddy, are we giving up?"

"No son," I replied with an earnest look of fatherly wisdom. "We are running the other way

in fear."

We rode along Hwy 336 for much of today, a lightly trafficked road that rolled through

gorgeous countryside culminating in a return to the beautiful Hokkaido coast. There were no

stores and few vending machines along the way, but we had plenty of provisions with us. We

arrived in Hiroo around 5:30pm, picked up dinner (soba, fried chicken, mikan oranges, sushi rolls)

at a Seico Mart convenience store, and asked the teller where to find a public bath and a game

center for Sho. He pointed us to a department store nearby that had a game corner. I ate at a

table, while Sho came and went, playing and grazing the food.

We took a relaxing soak in a public bath house nearby, and at 8:30pm, rode through the

darkness to a camp site 15 minutes back the way we'd come. We rolled along on a wide sidewalk,

our lights flashing in front and behind for the 3 cars that passed us along the way. After

we explained our plans to bike the length of Japan, a friendly young camp site assistant let us

set up our tent for free (a savings of 1,200 yen or $12), warning us to leave by 9am before his

manager showed up the next morning.

We fell asleep snuggling in our tent to the sounds of powerful crashing waves.

Day 9: Unexpected Treats

2009-07-04T22:16:00.003-04:00

Friday, July 3, 2009

At 7am, Sho and I ate a b-fast in the hotel in Rikubetsu, a nourishing meal of grilled fish,

miso soup, rice, assorted veggies, etc. We met Okuda-san, a manager in Nissan's Hokkaido

Proving Ground Vehicle Test Department. His wife and children live in Tokyo, while he spends

half of the year testing cars for all-weather driving in Hokkaido's demanding environment. There

is a term in Japanese, "tanshinfuunin", for a business person who lives apart from their family, and

he nodded as I expressed my sympathy for this sacrifice. Okuda-san was taken by our adventure,

especially Sho's courage, and took pictures of us as we loaded the bikes and set off.

We rode 105km (65 miles) today from Rikubetsu to Urahoro. The latter half of the ride was

on Route 56, a fairly flat, picturesque country road that took us past sprawling farms and a variety

of domesticated animals, each of whom received a customized greeting from Sho.

The chain on Sho's trailer cycle (which Sho dubbed "Lightening Tiki") fell off several times

early in the afternoon until I was able to diagnose the problem and fix it by adjusting the rear

derailleur. "No more trouble, please now, Lightening Tiki," and he respected my wish, for the

rest of the day at least.

We ate lunch at a rest stop in a comfortable small town called Honbetsu, where we encountered

more friendly and supportive strangers. A man walking by in the parking lot asked about our bikes,

and when we explained our adventure, dug out 3,000 yen ($30) in change from his pocket and

gave it to a surprised and grateful Sho (who went on to burn it all on video games over the next

2 days :-)). A few minutes later, after asking the rest stop manager for directions and explaining

our attempt to bike the length of Japan, he gave Sho a bag full of candy. Sho called this "our best

stop ever!"

We pedaled into the quiet town of Urahoro around 5:15pm and, after some inquiries, found a

pleasant campsite that cost 1,500 yen ($15 - overpriced IMHO). After setting up the tent, we biked

to a public bath for a much-appreciated soak in a deep tub of steaming water. We ate octopus

sashimi, edamame and chicken skewers at an intimate, smoke-filled local izakaya, sharing the

counter seating with a young man (maybe 25?) who had lost his job in March. The paper mill

where he worked burned down, and the owner had insurance for the building, but not the

machines, "or so he said. I've been looking for work ever since, but it's hard to find a job in a small

town like this." On his third beer, he offered to buy us more food and drink, but I demurred, not

wanting to waste any of his diminishing funds.

Urahoro was deserted at 8:30pm, as we biked the 10 minutes back to the campside, rolling

down silent, eerily empty side streets. Sho got spooked and asked me where everyone was.

"Getting ready for bed, which we should be doing too," I answered, pedaling a little faster.

Sho got an unexpected treat when we returned to the campsite. We met Oomori-san, a young

father with a gentle smile, who was hunting beetles with his 7 year old son, Kazuki. We immediately

hit it off, and he invited Sho to shoot off fireworks with his son. Oomori-san loves the outdoors

(his blog is all about fishing) and was introducing his wife and boys, ages 7 and 3, to camping.

Their large, comfortable tent was set up next to a minivan, and they had a nice charcoal fire

going. Our simple, 4lb, 2-person tent nearby looked pitiful in comparison to their elaborate

spread. Sho had asked me earlier on today's ride if he could shoot off fireworks to celebrate the

4th of July, and I had promised him that we would, not knowing how to follow through on the

promise. Enter kind Oomori-san and his kids!

This experience is what hikers call "trail magic." When you need something, be patient and

the journey may just provide you with a solution.

Day 8: Saying goodbye

2009-07-04T21:48:00.003-04:00

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Sho and I biked 55km (35 miles) from Bihoro to Rikubetsu today. After yesterday's cold rain

and wind, we were pleased to encounter cloudy and cool weather. I wore long bike pants and a

long sleeve mesh shirt, and was comfortable all day. Sho wore shorts and a long sleeve Under

Armor shirt. Somewhat fried from yesterday's 93km (57 mile) push through crappy weather from

Utoro, we took it easy today, pausing for a tasty lunch of soba noodles in Tsubetsu and a visit to a

wooden crafts museum with Eiko and Saya. They were leaving us later in the day to return to

Tokyo, and we enjoyed the time together.

Eiko scouted out a room at the visitor's center (michi no eki) in Rikubetsu, and we checked in

after pedaling into town at 4:10pm. The four of us picked up dinner at a nearby Seico Mart

convenience store, and Eiko and Saya set off on the 4.5 hour drive to Chitose Airport at 5pm. I

gave Saya about 20 hugs and kisses, wishing her a good summer and telling her that I love her.

A 2 year old can't comprehend what being apart for 2 months entails, but she understood that

we were saying goodbye for a while, and gave me an extra long hug. I thanked Eiko for her

tremendous help this first week and apologized for the amount of time she had to spend tracking

us and managing Saya's rambunctious and mischievous behavior, missing the chance to explore

Hokkaido at her leisure.

I worried that Sho would have difficulty saying goodbye to his mom and sister, but he handled

the farewell without incident, giving both of them touching hugs and promising to see them in 2

months, no doubt a wiser child more appreciative of their importance in his life.

Day 7: Wet, wet, wet!

2009-07-01T09:09:00.002-04:00

July 1, 2009: I knew we were in for it when a monster lightning strike and thunder clap directly over our hotel woke me up at 5am, and I struggled to fall back to sleep while listening to the heavy downpour rage outside. The storm knocked out phone and Internet service throughout the entire town of Utoro, which the police announced every few minutes on a loud speaker, adding helpfully that they had no idea when service would be back up.
After eating breakfast in the hotel and prepping the bikes, Sho and I bundled up in our rain gear and rolled out into the wet, windy, cold day. We had a 93km (~58 mile) trek in front of us from Utoro to Bihoro. As we wound our way back along the wind swept coast, I actually looked forward to the uphill climbs, when the exertion would warm me up. After riding for 2 ½ hours through the driving rain, we met Eiko and Saya at a 7-11 for a quick lunch inside the rental car and watched the water stream down the windows. Sho had become thoroughly soaked and was shivering, so we changed him into a dry set of clothes. The rain finally let up for the final 2 hours of the 6-hour ride, although it remained cloudy and cool.
We had turned inland from the coast, and began to encounter a series of rolling hills that slowed our overall pace and made my knees ache. The wide expanse of farms and occasional forests glistened, verdant from the rainfall, as we rode by. In the final hour of the ride, we stopped at a small shop by the road to buy drinks from a vending machine. The gregarious shop owner, a woman in her 50’s with an easy smile, asked how we had fared in the rain and how far we had ridden. She was enthralled when we explained our plans to bike the entire length of Japan, and ran into her shop to retrieve a gift of two onigiri (rice balls) and 1,000 yen ($10). It was only after we were a mile down the road, I realized that, in my exhausted state, I had forgotten to take her picture.
Sho and I arrived at the Toge Sou Minshuku in Bihoro at 6pm, where we enjoyed a delicious meal with Eiko and Saya, and took a long, hot bath. It had been a long, messy day, but we fell asleep in comfort, snuggling with our loved ones.

Days 5 - 6: Shiretoko Peninsula, our first World Heritage Site

2009-07-01T07:50:00.003-04:00

June 29 – 30, 2009: Sho had discovered an amusement hall in Abashiri that was too tempting to resist, and we spent the morning of June 29 playing games and winning candy before finally starting to ride at 11:30am. We needed to cover 80km (~50 miles) in order to make it to Utoro, our jumping off point for exploring Shiretoko Peninsula, so we rode steadily with only short rests throughout the afternoon. Our destination on Day 5 was a 70km (~43-mile) strip of pristine forest jutting out into the Sea of Okhotsk on the northeast corner of Hokkaido. Designated a World Heritage Site by the UN in 2005, Shiretoko Peninsula was a satisfying culmination of our first week’s riding through Hokkaido’s natural beauty. The indigenous peoples of Hokkaido, called Ainu, named the peninsula “the end of the earth,” and I had a sense that we were riding into a place of mystery and danger, as I caught glimpses of misty, snow-lined mountains looming ahead and massive black volcanic rocks strewn along the coast.
About halfway there, we caught up with our friend, Saito-san, who is biking the circumference of Japan, and the three of us rode together the rest of the way. I got my first flat tire of the ride, and Saito-san helped me patch the tire, while sneaking in a picture of my bike and equipment laid out on the side of the road. We also stopped to enjoy Oshinkoshin Falls, an impressive waterfall that pours over a towering rock wall and flows into the ocean ~8km south of Utoro. Groups of orderly and chatty elderly tourists clambered out of busses to buy trinkets at the small souvenir shop and join us on a brief stairway to the photogenic falls. I felt the familiar disappointment of the mystery of a natural wonder reduced to a tourist trap, but Sho didn’t seem to mind. After posing for pictures, he spent time playing with a friendly, snoozing cat who allowed himself to be photographed and petted while snoring away.
The ride had been relatively flat, hugging the coast much of the way, until the final 1km climb up a steep hill to our hotel in Utoro. Sho and I struggled to pedal up the hill in our bikes’ lowest gears, arriving exhausted, but in high spirits. Eiko and Saya were waiting for us at the Shiretoko Prince Hotel, a large, tourist-filled monster of a place that boasted an excellent onsen, spacious tatami mat rooms and all-you-can-eat buffet meals – perfect for the hungry cyclist. As we were settling into our hotel room, Ishiwata-san, the friendly proprietor of the place we slept on June 27, called to say hello and to check on our progress.
Saito-san slept in a nearby campground, and we met after breakfast on June 30. Sho and I planned a rest day to enjoy the sights of Shiretoko Peninsula with Eiko and Saya, hoping to catch glimpses of the wild deer, foxes and brown bear that populate the area. We invited Saito-san to join us for a little sight seeing before he headed off for the steep climb over the Shiretoko Pass to Rausu. He happily accepted our invitation, and we drove to Shiretoko Go-ko (5 Lakes) and hiked through the beautiful forest for an hour and a half. We passed a number of wild deer along the way, pausing to take pictures of the first few. Only 2 of the 5 lakes were open to hikers (because of bears, we were told), but having Sho and Saya along, and with Saito-san wanting to start riding by 11am, visiting just 2 lakes was plenty. Although it was a cloudy day, the lakes served up glimmering symmetrical reflections of the stunning mountains of Shiretoko, drawing an appreciative “Wow!” from Saya.

Perhaps struggling with the emotions of saying goodbye to Eiko and Saya for 2 months, Sho had a fairly dramatic meltdown during the hike. I had to carry him to the car and force him in, as he complained about what a terrible father I am. It was a reminder that, while the trip has been wonderful in many ways, it has not been and will not be easy for any of us (Eiko and Saya included). This incident wasn’t the first time that I wondered whether the whole adventure may be too ambitious. My hope is that it turns out to be a challenge that both of us grow from.
After Saito-san set off, Eiko and I decided to drive ahead along his route to let him know what to expect. Shiretoko Pass turned out to be quite a challenge. Not only was it a steady 15km (~9 mile) climb from Utoro, strong winds and a heavy fog blanketed the pass, reducing visibility to maybe 5 meters and chilling us all with a cold mist. We took pictures in front of a monument at the top, but there was no view to enjoy, and the cold air and wind gusts quickly sent us to our rental car for refuge as we lamented the conditions for Saito-san. In the end, it took him 3 hours to make it from Utoro to the top of the pass, and instead of a beautiful view, his only reward was a thick cloud bank that made the sharp-curved descent to Rausu wet and dangerous. We made him promise to call us when he arrived, which he did at 5:30pm. He said the ride had been exhausting, but that he was fine. Sho and I will miss our new friend, but there is a chance that we will run into him again in another week or so, when our routes through Hokkaido converge.
Eiko, Sho, Saya and I enjoyed a nice seafood meal at a crab restaurant on the beach. Eiko and I both ate the crab and sea urchin rice bowl, which was excellent, while Sho ate seafood curry and rice. Saya nibbled from all of our plates. We spent an hour working off the food by playing on the rocky beach, throwing stones into the surf and finding bamboo sticks that Sho magically converted into light sabers. Sho dubbed himself Yoda, Eiko was Princess Amidala, I was Obi Wan Kinobi, and Saya was an Ewok. Sho was remarkably victorious in all of our battles, enjoying the advantage of making up the rules. We ended the day with another all-you-can-eat extravaganza in the hotel and a satisfying soak in the onsen, before packing for our departure tomorrow. The forecast calls for a thunder storm, so we accepted our fate and laid out our rain gear to wear on tomorrow’s 93km ride to Bihoro.
We plan to spend one more night with the four of us together in a minshuku tomorrow night, before Eiko and Saya return to the U.S., a departure we are all dreading. It’s been a wonderful first week, full of beautiful scenery, new friends, satisfying physical exertion and new discoveries. We’re looking forward to more to come!

Day 4: Ultra marathon and a new riding companion

2009-06-28T19:11:00.004-04:00

June 28, 2009: After organizing our gear and getting the bikes ready, Sho and I started the day with an 8am picnic breakfast by the road, while watching runners in the Saroma Ko Ultra Marathon pass by. It was cloudy and cool, perfect for long distance running, and we wondered how our new friend, Sato-san, was doing, now 3 hours into the event. We said goodbye to Ishiwata-san (see pic), the friendly proprietor who had rented us the room. He sent us off with a hug and a gift of a volunteer's jacket from the ultra race.

We biked alongside the runners for about 2 hours, shouting encouragement ("ganbare!") as we passed. We even got a few cheers ourselves from onlookers.

Sho and I met Eiko and Saya in a small, comfortable town called Tokoro. After a little searching, we found an excellent sushi restaurant that put us all in a good mood. My legs were full of sushi energy during the afternoon's ride, as we followed a cycling path and enjoyed gorgeous views. I took a picture of Sho in front of a roadside patch of flowers that we both thought his Nona (my mom) would love. The route was almost completely deserted until we came across Saito-san, another adventure cyclist we had met 2 days earlier. 61 years old and retired, but full of infectious vigor, Saito-san started biking on June 9 from Yamagata in central Japan. He is riding solo around the entire coast of Japan, planning to finish by mid-October. We rode together for the rest of the day, and checked into the same hotel (Yasuragi B&B) in Abashiri.

Eiko and Saya met us there, and Eiko took Sho to a game room (Sho: "It was awesome!") while I stayed behind and took a bath with Saya in the B&B. We shared dinner with Saito-san, discussing the possibilities for enlightenment and despair from spending months on a bike.

First three days: wind, rain and a thief.

2009-06-27T17:19:00.004-04:00

June 25 - 27, 2009: What a great trip so far! Sho and I started riding from Cape Soya on Thursday, June 25 and are now by Lake Saroma Ko on the northern coast of Hokkaido. We spent the first night in our tent in the yard of a wonderful couple, Mr. and Mrs. Minoshima, on their farm near Hamatonbetsu (see pic).

We also met a thief! As we came out of a convenience store, we set down our bag of food by our bikes, and a large, black, sneaky crow pounced on the bag, snatching a 6-pack of rolls and bounding into the air with his loot before we could stop him. He flew to the roof of a house across the street and ate the rolls mockingly in plain sight, but out of reach. I took a picture of the thief, who must have marked us as easy targets the minute we rolled up.

The weather has been fantastic, sunny and low 70's F much of the time, except for an impressive thunder storm that soaked us in the afternoon of the 2nd day. See pic of a dripping Sho. We stayed in a minshuku (Japanese inn) in the town of Omu that night as the storm raged outside, and I spent the evening drying off our things.

Much of the ride has been along a picturesque ocean front. We look left to see the glistening expanse of water punctuated from time to time by eagles, cranes and sea gulls prowling for food. We look right to see an expanse of farms populated by hawks, horses and lounging cows. Sho often calls out an exaggerated, "moo!" that usually draws bovine stares of disdain and boredom.

The wind has been impressive, especially on the first day, sometimes slamming directly in our faces so that we struggled to maintain much more than a pitiful crawl. At other times, it buffeted us from the side, threatening to knock us off the road. I knew the wind would be an issue early on after seeing rows and rows of towering wind turbines along the coast.

During one of our breaks at a rest stop, Sho met a boy his age, and they immediately bonded over their Pokemon Battorio coins, haggling for 15 minutes over which to exchange (see pic).

We slept last night in a comfortable shack by Lake Saroma Ko, sharing a room with Sato-san, an ultra marathoner who is running a 100km (62 mile) race as I write. Apparently, the Lake Saroma Ko ultra marathon is quite prestigious, boasting 4,000 participants. The race which started at 5am, goes along the route we will ride today, and we plan to watch some of it before hitting the road at 8am, cheering on our new friend. Sato-san is from Niigata, a town we plan to visit in mid-July, and he invited us to stay in his home when we pass through. One of the best parts of this trip so far has been meeting friendly and interesting people like him.

My wife Eiko and 2-year old daughter Saya have been tracking us in a rental car this first week. They have been sleeping in hotels and meeting us for meals along the way, which gives us something nice to look forward to. Eiko has been particularly helpful with navigation and finding a room for us the night of the storm. They return to the U.S. next week, a parting that neither Sho nor I are looking forward to. :-(

For the technofiles out there, I am writing this blog using a 1-lb, Intel Atom processor-based Willcom D4 mobile Internet device. It's a computer in my pocket that makes it easy to blog from the road.

Thanks to the many people who have sent us good wishes. We're doing well and having a blast!

Last day before the ride starts!

2009-06-23T15:24:00.006-04:00

Eiko, Sho (age 8), Saya (age 2) and I are in Sapporo, Japan. Today is our final day of preparation before Sho and I start to ride from Cape Souya. Eiko and Saya will follow along in a rental car for the first week. Yesterday, I assembled the bikes and organized the equipment to pack into the panniers. We also made time for a little sight seeing. I've attached a few pics.

It was rainy and cool when we arrived 2 days ago, but has since cleared up and become sunny and pleasant, if not a bit on the warm side. Perfect biking weather!

We'll pack bags, load up the rental car and pick up a pre-paid cell phone before heading out around noon today for the 3.5-hour drive from Sapporo to Cape Souya. Everyone's in high spirits and looking forward to getting under way.

Pics from Tokyo

2009-06-21T19:06:00.003-04:00

We've had a good visit in Tokyo, spending time with our family here and preparing for the bike ride. This picture is of Sho helping to clean his grandmom's grave, which we visited with Sho's granddad.

With help from my colleagues in Intel's Tokyo office, I set up a Willcom D4 mobile Internet device to use to post blogs on the ride across Japan. I also made sure my ATM card works, double checked my GPS device usage, and met with the producer from the Japanese national broadcaster NHK. They will send a camera crew to meet us on Shiretoko Peninsula to do the first round of filming for their profile of us in Papa Saurus TV show.

We leave today for Sapporo, and start to ride on Thursday!

Made it to Tokyo!

2009-06-17T20:58:00.002-04:00

Sho and I arrived in Tokyo last night, along with my wife Eiko and 2 year-old daughter Saya. The bikes made it in ok too. We're doing some prep for the ride in Tokyo, then flying to Sapporo on Monday, June 22. We start the ride exactly 1 week from today! I've attached a picture of Sho catching up on rest during the flight.

World Environment Day event at UNIS

2009-06-11T16:00:00.005-04:00

Sho and I spoke this morning at a World Environment Day celebration at the United Nations International School (UNIS). The event was sponsored by the UN Environment Programme (UNEP) and featured art work created by first and second graders at the school, including Sho.

Dr. Kenneth Wrye, Director at UNIS, gave opening remarks, followed by Juanita Castano, head of UNEP's NY office. Ms. Castano thanked us for our efforts to raise awareness about the need to address climate change and our fund raiser for the UN's Billion Tree Campaign. The aim is to plant 7 billion trees around the world this year, one for every person on the planet. I told the students that I hoped Sho will inspire other kids around the world to come up with their own crazy ideas to help the planet and celebrate life! Here's a link to a video of the event:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TrTcXzeoUw

First post

2009-05-22T21:40:00.001-04:00

This is where Sho and I will post blogs from our 2,900 mile (4,700km) bike ride across Japan in the summer of 2009. We start riding from Cape Souya on the northern tip of Hokkaido, Japan on June 25, 2009.