🎌 Day 6 🎌

38 miles / 4660 ft / 4:01

The morning began quietly, with yogurt and the sweetness of grapes and kiwi. Simple food, simple joy—fuel for another day of cycling through Japan’s mountains and rivers.

Sam and Yuki, our guesthouse hosts, came by to wish us well on our journey ahead. Their gentle farewell carried the kind of hospitality that makes Japan feel like home.

Just a mile into the ride, we came upon our first temple: Nosaka-ji (野坂寺) Dedicated to Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy, its quiet grounds offered us a peaceful start before the climbs ahead.

From there, the road tilted upwards toward Hitsujiyama Park, where we enjoyed a magnificent view of Chichibu nestled in the Arakawa River (荒川) valley, in Saitama Prefecture (埼玉県).

The climbs were quiet, just as we had hoped—mountains dense with green, punctuated by the occasional flash of a lizard darting across the pavement, as if reminding us to keep moving. Bear warning signs kept us alert, though we weren’t too nervous (perhaps we should be). At the top of one climb, a sign marked 818 meters—a victory we shared while gazing at the high mountains stretching into the distance.

Descending toward Ōme, which lies in Tokyo Metropolis (東京都), the heat pressed in, and we were grateful to find a rustic udon shop tucked into the mountains. The owners welcomed us warmly and served a refreshing plate of goma-dare udon (ごまだれうどん)—cold noodles with a sesame dipping sauce, nutty and deeply satisfying.

As we rolled into town, school was just letting out. Hundreds of students in matching uniforms poured into the streets—some pedaling bicycles, others walking in groups toward the train station. Each added a spark of individuality: a different pair of socks, a playful hairstyle, or a charm dangling from a backpack. Watching them was a glimpse of the energy in everyday Japanese life.

Curious, we stepped into a hardware store. The owner greeted us warmly and explained how local shops often display classic movie posters—Ōme is known for its cinema heritage. A simple stop became another small highlight of the day.

The rivers and streams gave us respite from the summer sun. We sat on mossy stones, dipping our feet into icy water, munching on grapes and chips. The rustle of leaves above, the cold stream around our legs—it was one of those pauses that reminded us to slow down and simply be present.

Compassion appeared in unexpected forms:
   •   A group of construction workers paused to watch with amazement as we rode up steep climbs with our loaded bikes between towering cedar trees. Smiling, they called out encouragement: ganbatte! (がんばって) — “Do your best! Keep going!” Their cheers lifted our spirits.
   •   Later in the afternoon, we reached Nenogongen Tenryu-ji (根の権現 天龍寺), a mountain temple hidden in the forests of Hannō. At the gate, an elderly man convinced us to buy popsicles—an easy sell with sweat dripping from our fingertips. He shared senbei (せんべい, rice crackers), and we gave him an Iowa City pen in return.

The temple itself felt timeless—stone steps, guardian statues, and the fragrance of incense clinging to ancient wood. Surrounded by cedars, it was a place of both strength and serenity. We lingered before continuing back toward town.

By evening, we checked into our guesthouse, where the owner, Akimoto, welcomed us warmly. He lingered in the common room, watching a Japanese movie, and I joined him for a while—two people sharing the quiet comfort of company.

Dinner followed at a small Indian restaurant in Ōme, where the Nepalese owner shared his story of moving to Japan over 20 years ago—why he chose this town, what he loves about life here. His hospitality and warmth mirrored the flavors of the meal, rich with spice and care.

Later that night, as we walked back along the quiet streets, a familiar voice called out cheerfully: oyasuminasai (おやすみなさい, “good night”). It was our host. We chuckled, realizing how quickly a place becomes warmer when you feel recognized, when you already have a friend in town.

These roads, these rivers, these mountains, and the people we meet—they make us feel welcome and part of something bigger. And that is the true gift of the journey.Leer más