Day 19: The Wanderer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!