🎌🥶Day 44🥶🎌

59 mile / 5,625 ft. / 5:18

We started the day in Gunma, in a small area called Okkai. With a strong forecast of rain starting at 9:00 a.m., we planned to get on the road early. We woke up around 6:15, hustled through our morning routine, and were out the door by 7:00. Our hope was to beat the rain over the pass and stay ahead of it.

As we stepped outside the guesthouse, a cold mist was already falling, but we convinced ourselves it would clear once we climbed higher into the mountains. Once again, this was supposed to be one of the most beautiful rides of the trip — a long 24 mile (38.6 km) climb with about 5,000 feet in elevation gain on Route 120 over the pass, followed by a descent down the famous Tochigi Prefectural Route 120, known for its endless switchbacks and incredible autumn views of the Japanese Alps.

Instead, the rain only got heavier. By the time we reached the top of the climb, visibility was down to about 30 feet (10 m). The tunnel at the summit felt like it might be a gateway to better weather, but on the other side it was somehow even worse — thicker fog, harder rain, colder wind.

It’s hard to explain the feeling of putting hundreds of hours into planning a route, dreaming for 25 years about cycling through the Japanese mountains in autumn, and then not being able to see more than a few feet in front of you. All those brilliant red and gold leaves we imagined were just ghostly shapes in the mist.

We were wearing almost every piece of clothing we brought—five layers on top, leg warmers, wool socks, plastic bags over our shoes, and two pairs of wool gloves — and we were still freezing. It’s hard to believe we started this trip in 100°F (38°C) heat, and now we couldn’t even feel our fingers. At this point, I’d say the Japanese typhoon season has officially beaten me.

The descent, which should have been an incredible ride through the mountains, was pure survival — slow, tense, and wet. Every turn was slick, and we gripped the brakes so hard our hands ached. This was supposed to be the kind of ride you dream about. Instead, it was the kind that wears you down and tests every bit of patience you have left.

Shivering and soaked from the descent, we spotted a Lawson (ローソン, Rōson) convenience store and knew we needed to take shelter and grab something warm to eat. Luckily, there were a few seats by the window where we could sit and watch the touristic city of Nikkō (日光, Nikkō) through the drizzle. Lisa had a hot bun filled with beef, and I had a steaming bowl of ramen. We also picked up some hot cans of coffee, which felt amazing just to hold in our frozen hands.

While we were thawing out, a friendly guy from Australia struck up a conversation with us, and he told us about the Nikkō Tōshōgū Autumn Festival (日光東照宮秋季大祭, Nikkō Tōshōgū Shūki Taisai) happening nearby — a celebration with men dressed as samurai on horseback performing yabusame (流鏑馬 – horseback archery), all in honor of Tokugawa Ieyasu (徳川家康), the founder of the Tokugawa shogunate.

We decided to venture up to see the reenactment and stood among the crowds trying to catch a glimpse of the event. With all the umbrellas and people packed together, it was hard to see much, so we slipped away from the crowd — and luckily, we ended up right along the path where the horses and samurai re-enactors processed toward the festival. It was perfect. We were nearly alone and got to see the horses and samurai warriors up close, their armor glinting with rain.

We were too cold and drenched to go visit the famous shrine afterward. Nikkō is well known for its shrines, especially the Tōshōgū Shrine (東照宮), part of a UNESCO World Heritage site. Still, we weren’t too disappointed; we’ve often found more beauty in the smaller, hidden shrines where the big tour groups don’t go.

By evening, we made it to a part of Nikkō called Kinugawa-Kawaji Onsen Village (鬼怒川・川治温泉郷) and were relieved to find that our hotel had an onsen (温泉 – hot spring). That small discovery lifted our spirits immediately. We had our own little private bungalow, and after a long soak in the onsen, a few encouraging texts from Annie and Yuki, and Lisa doing her best to keep me from losing it completely, I started to feel a bit better. It had still been a rough day — but at least it was ending warm.

We decided to head out for dinner, hoping to finish the day with a proper meal. The curry restaurant we’d marked on the map was supposed to stay open until 8:00 p.m., but when we arrived at 6:30, the sign said “Closed for the night.” We walked another quarter mile to an Italian restaurant, only to find it was “reservations only.” At that point, we gave up and went back to 7-Eleven (セブン-イレブン, Sebun-Irebun). The food was warm, filling, and honestly not bad — but it still felt disappointing after such a long, tough day.

Today was one of those days that reminds you cycle touring isn’t always magical. Sometimes it’s cold, wet, frustrating, and a bit demoralizing. But that’s part of what makes the good days so meaningful — you have to earn them.

Tonight, we’re just grateful for a hot bath, a roof over our heads, and a bit of warmth. Tomorrow will be another day, and sunshine is in the forecast.
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About Nikkō and Kinugawa-Kawaji Onsen Village

Nikkō (which means “sunlight”) has been a sacred site for centuries, blending Shintō and Buddhist traditions in a stunning mountain setting. The Tōshōgū Shrine, dedicated to Tokugawa Ieyasu, is one of Japan’s most ornate, covered in intricate carvings and gold leaf. The surrounding cedar-lined avenues were designed to honor the spirits of the Tokugawa shoguns and have inspired travelers for generations.

A short distance away, Kinugawa-Kawaji Onsen Village sits along the Kinugawa River, known since the Edo period for its healing mineral waters. It became a popular getaway for Tokyo residents seeking relaxation after pilgrimages to Nikkō’s shrines. Even today, the air feels charged with that same calm energy — a quiet reminder that sometimes the best part of the journey comes not from grand views, but from simple warmth and renewal.Read more