🎌 Day 22 🎌

46 miles / 3,870 ft. / 4:41

We were up early again, greeting the day with a cheerful おはようございます (ohayō gozaimasu – good morning) as we wheeled the bikes out into the cool morning air. The sunshine was soft, spilling across the streets of 高山 (Takayama) as we cruised once more through the 宮川朝市 (Miyagawa Asaichi – Miyagawa Morning Market). We stopped at the same stand where we had bought grilled onigiri the other day, and the owner’s eyes lit up when he saw us. Surprised but clearly touched, he laughed when we said our final “sayonara.” It felt good to be remembered, even briefly, as travelers passing through.

Our route followed the clear waters of the 宮川 (Miyagawa River), which threads its way through Takayama before eventually joining the 神通川 (Jintsū-gawa River). The river has long shaped life here, supporting rice fields and trade, and this morning it gave us a calm, sparkling send-off as we rode beside it. We stopped occasionally to watch fishermen with their long Japanese-style poles and to absorb the fresh air as we looked at the towering mountains lining the river valley.

The warm sun kept our spirits high through the easy morning miles. Then the mountain climbing began. As we pedaled toward 奈良峠 (Nara-tōge – Nara Pass), we had no idea that the road would suddenly vanish into a rough hiking trail as we crossed into Toyama Prefecture. Soon enough, we were walking the bikes, ringing our bells to keep any bears at bay, and clambering over rocks through thick brush. At one point we were descending slower than we had climbed, which tested both patience and humor. I kept saying, “at least it’s not raining.” We kept thinking the road should open up soon because it was showing as a bigger road on our GPS devices. Overall, the descent reminded us of different b, c, and single track roads we ride through Iowa.

After about 2 miles (3.2 km), the trail opened into a better descent, and our mood brightened. That is, until we reached a completely closed road. A lone construction worker stood guard, shaking his head firmly, and from the best we could understand it looked like there was no way we were going to be allowed to pass the locked gate. We explained, gestured, pleaded, and probably annoyed him more than a little, but at last he relented. Leading the way in his tiny construction van, we followed him through the winding, narrow roads until we reached the spot where the road had been washed away by heavy rain. Then, under his watchful eye, we wheeled past machinery, over big rocks, and freshly packed gravel. Lisa joked that maybe we should ride it, but with the construction guard watching, we thought it would be best to walk. After we made it through, we were grateful that persistence and kindness had paid off. I’m still not sure what we would’ve done if we had been forced to retrace the route we had taken so far.

From there it was smooth sailing to a quiet soba restaurant where steaming bowls of noodles and hot bowls of rice with egg rewarded our appetites. By evening we arrived at our Gokayama guesthouse, a beautifully remodeled traditional Japanese home. Tonight we’re the only guests, which made it feel like our own little retreat. After a bit of bike maintenance and rest (and a little work for Lisa), we ventured out to the only restaurant in town. We were again the sole patrons, welcomed by the owner who kept the television tuned to sumo wrestling while serving us a plate of mountain vegetables and two cold beers. We raised our glasses with a hearty いただきます (itadakimasu – let’s eat), laughing at our fortune of always finding good food in the smallest of places.

Back at the guest house, we cooked up yakisoba from the grocery store, a simple meal but somehow perfect after a long day in the saddle. As we finished, Lisa practiced saying, ごちそうさまでした (gochisōsama deshita – thank you for the food), grateful for the ride, the food, and the kindness of strangers who continue to make this journey feel so alive.Read more