Day 39：More Than We Bargained For

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

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

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

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

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

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

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."