Today felt like about three days rolled into one. I have a flat tire. A map hand-drawn by a policeman. And I’m in a tent by a lake on an island about 80 miles from where I started out this morning.
Kie, my couchsurfing host, kindly made me a simple breakfast of egg and toast and salad. I slept well on her floor in the living room and it was difficult to pry myself out of snooze mode and get up and get cycling. Kie gave me some tips for my ride up to Tokyo, she had come down the opposite way by bike just a week or two before, using Couchsurfing all the way.
I was on my bike eventually by 9 – two hours later than the previous day. I’d locked my bike at the train station, with most of my stuff still attached, it was all still there, along with the clothes i’d left out drying on it. I packed these up and bought some supplies from the supermarket to see me through to Yoshika, about 30 miles away, where I planned to have lunch. I managed to find a radioactive looking lemon vitamin C drink I remember drinking far too much of in Japan 6 years ago and had to try it again.
The morning went smoothly. A little bit of a climb out of Tsuwaono, but nothing serious. The Japanese seem to have drilled tunnels through most of their mountains carrying roads, meaning what initially seem like tricky climbs usually resolve into flat sections after just a couple of turns – so far at least.
The road followed the river all the way to Yoshika. It was pretty and rural and straightforward. What I needed after a late start. I stopped to drink one of my ice coffees on a bridge, and was pleased with some of the adjustments i’d made to my gear. I’d swapped the compression straps for bungee cords holding all my junk to the back of the bike. This made it a lot easier to add and remove stuff over the course of the day, when I removed layers or bought food. I’m also not using my $50 piece of crap handlebar bag, instead the £2 bumbag I bought in Korea.
At Yoshika I bought some fried fish and some other bits from the supermarket. I hadn’t camp-cooked since I finished my Seoul to Busan trip and it was starting to feel unnecessary. Japan’s supermarkets are incredibly well stocked, with fresh and freshly cooked food for very little. I was spending only £10 a day so far.
I sat down on the steps at a shrine and ate some of my food, reserving the rest for dinner. A guy in a van pulled up and asked me about my trip. I’ve found people in Japan a little more talkative than in Korea so far, and English seems to be easier to find.
After lunch I headed on to the Route 187, a scenic road which carried on to the inland sea coast, following a river all the way. It was incredible to cycle. The first section was a steep downhill, including several tunnels, I recorded most of it on my GoPro and i’m hoping it captured it. It was the most excited and most terrified i’ve been in a while. Carrying the weight that I am it feels like your momentum really builds up on any downhill, but i’ve learnt to take advantage of that.
The route levelled out but remained easy going. Each curve of the river was mirrored in the road, it reminded me of the Californian Route 1 in it’s beauty and design. As the road cut through the valley a patchwork of trees overlooked everything. It was a quiet road and once i’d got into the rhythm of the cycling it was easy to get lost in the tranquility of the surroundings.
A few old suspension bridges crossed the river, and occasionally the road passed through small towns or roadside shrines. The population seemed elderly and there wasn’t much of a trace of modernity for miles.
Originally I was aiming to be in Iwakuni for the night, and head to Miyajima island the following day. But making good time, and feeling like I wanted to keep up my run of 70+ mile days, I checked the last ferry time to Miyajima and decided to go for it.
Route 187 joined the Route 2, simple enough, though I missed the turning, and ended up on the highway, though it took me a while to realise it. The traffic was at a standstill so I was able to pass quietly at the side until I approached a tunnel and a guy in an orange jacket jumped out and waved a flag at me. I came over to him by the barrier and realised that this was not a road meant for cyclists. He spoke no English. I tried to mime a few things, but they were also lost in translation. A second portlier guy turned up and found it all very funny. The traffic kept passing by and people looked confused, just like I was.
Eventually a police car pulled up. I was on a highway and not meant to be there. It was pretty obvious. Two policemen got out, and one escorted me back down the highway to an office, perhaps the police station, near the junction. I wrote down my details for him, then spoke to another officer in English on the phone. Everyone was friendly, but thorough and concerned. They gave me a verbal warning but nothing else. I was more worried about the hour of time i’d lost for one wrong turn. I was drawn a map and taken out the building and pointed in the right direction. An interesting detour.
I was beginning to feel tired but pressed on for Iwakuni. I reached Kintakyo Bridge, a bridge constructed of five wooden arches, all connected by wood – not a single nail was used. I got off my bike briefly and tried to admire it but was starting to wonder what to do next. It would be getting dark within half an hour. The ferry port for the island was around 18 miles away still. The city looked interesting, traditional but young and interesting too. But it was busy and I felt that finding a place to camp would be difficult. I also had some irrational fear about being found by one of the policeman from earlier if I wild camped. It was senseless really, but I decided to try and make the ferry.
I followed the train track west until I hit the Route 2 again which followed the coast and would take me to the ferry port. A few school kids were cycling home the same way. It got dark and the road passed by supermarkets, casinos, McDonalds and other drive-ins. I put food to the back of my mind and kept going. It was a busy road, Hiroshima was just a little further up the coast, but I had lights and there was a decent amount of cycle track to the left. I kept pedalling in the artificial light.
I counted down the miles on the map, 12 away, then 10, then 4, then 1.5. I took the turning for the ferry, it was 7.42 and a ferry left at 7.45. I was faced with a machine with about 20 buttons, all more or less the same price written on them. I was about to press one of them when a guard showed up and helped me get a ticket for me (100 Yen) and my bike (180) I pushed and ran for the ferry, past a line of tourists returning to Hiroshima as I heard an alarm sound. I ran faster and shoved my ticket into the hand of someone. I was on the boat. The flap at the back shut and it left. I regretted not staying longer in Iwakuni but now I was on the ferry I was content. I’d (almost) made it.
The crossing was about 5 minutes. I put a jacket on and got off the boat and headed for a campsite i’d read about – about a mile and a half away on the beach. I noticed the handling of bike felt odd. I ignored it at first but it became hard to. The rear tyre was losing air. I pushed the last kilometer. A driver stopped me – the campsite owner – and told me to pay in the morning.
I found a spot by a lake. No one else was camping. It was odd how being in a proper campsite felt safer, despite me being just as alone and vulnerable as if i’d camped a few hundred metres away down the road. The glow from a vending machine offered a little warmth but otherwise it was vacant.
My tent smelt like a wet dog. The ground was covered with deer shit (Miyajimi is famous for it’s wild deer), and a strange animal like a cross between a cat and a racoon stalked me as I ate some snacks for dinner.
It feels like a little something goes wrong everyday when you travel by bike. Though as cliched as it sounds it’s this little accidents or misfortunes that make it such an interesting and rewarding way to travel.
Playlist
Cass McCombs – That’s That, Porches – The Cosmos
Map (via Strava)