🎌🗾Final Post🗾🎌

Part 1: Trip Home

We loaded the minivan with Justin at the English House in ひたちなか市 (Hitachinaka shi – Hitachinaka City) at 7:45 a.m. on Thursday, hearts full of gratitude and a bit of sadness that we were leaving Japan behind. Twenty four hours and a world of miles later we were in Houlton, Wisconsin, pulling into Adam and Danielle’s driveway like two sleepy homing pigeons. Pizza appeared as if by magic, and we surrendered to it gratefully with stories shared about travel with Adam, Danielle, and Tyler. One night of deep sleep, then a five hour drive through early morning fog and a blaze of autumn leaves across Wisconsin, Minnesota, and northern Iowa brought us safely home to Iowa City by about 1 p.m. on Friday. After all that distance and all those vehicles, it felt almost impossible that the same two bikes that carried us through Japan were quietly hanging in our garage, intact and ready to be reassembled for the next journey.

Airports are usually just waypoints, but Denver gave us a welcome home surprise. We literally ran into our friends Kelly and Tammy Ruddick. I had been thinking of sending Kelly a quick photo since they live in Boulder, and then Lisa heard her name called. There they were, big smiles, a random reunion that felt like a small blessing. In 1993 I crossed the United States by bicycle with Kelly from Spokane, Washington to Niagara Falls. Seeing him again in that in-between place tied the past and present into one neat knot.

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Part 2: Readjustment and Reflection

We always reach for something profound at the end of these journeys and then sometimes we skip the wrap up altogether because we can never find the right words. Jetlag fogs the thoughts, but even without jet lag it is hard to explain the reentry. We love our friends, our neighbors, our own bed, and the simple joy of a kitchen that knows our hands – it feels good to come home. And yet, how do we describe the trip in a way that truly conveys how our hearts and minds have been touched? How do we bring home the everyday grace we experienced in Japan while honoring and enriching our culture in Iowa and the U.S. through that perspective?

In convenience stores across Japan, we heard いらっしゃいませ (irasshaimase – welcome) and ありがとうございます (arigatō gozaimasu – thank you very much) sung like small prayers. At airports, we watched staff step beyond their duties to guide a lost traveler with a quiet どうぞ (dōzo – please). Back in the United States, the contrast in pace and volume is noticeable. It’s not any one thing—just the collective hum of a culture that moves differently. Neither is right or wrong—it’s simply a reminder of the different rhythms that shape daily life.

On the road, the difference was especially clear. After nearly 1,700 miles space was given, gentle words of encouragement were offered out of car windows and from the roadside. In Japan people seemed to accept us wherever the road, path, or sidewalk led us. Cyclists will understand how astonishing that is. We will miss dearly hearing the calls of encouragement – がんばって (ganbatte – do your best, good luck) and 気をつけて (kiotsukete – be careful) – called out as we climbed or turned a corner. It made us smile every time.

We often think of rice as a metaphor for the way societies move. Japanese rice is short-grain and sticky, grains clinging close, forming something whole. American rice is long-grain and airy, each piece separate, proud in its independence. It’s an image that stays with us — the feeling of how people of a nation embrace or release one another. In Japan, the grains seemed to hold together, bound by invisible threads. In America, they fall apart more easily — in their own freedom, but less attuned to the shared pulse of a compassionate society.

We do not pretend to fully understand Japan after fifty days. We know we barely scratched the surface. We saw temples where Shinto and Buddhism share space. We heard temple bells. We smelled incense. We ate noodles, raw seafood, and soft serve dusted with gold. We visited cities, stayed in small mountain villages, and rode along the coastlines on both the east and the west. We laughed with kids who wanted to practice English and us our Japanese, visited old friends, and chatted with elders who wanted to share their best advice on our route, places to visit, or the best local foods. We learned to say すみません (sumimasen – excuse me or I am sorry or thank you depending on the context) and いただきます (itadakimasu – I humbly receive, said before eating). Those words carry weight. They pull you toward humility and gratitude.

Back home we rejoin our card group, and it is wonderful to be in that circle again. We took a 30-mile sunset ride with Pat, and the gravel roads and freshly harvested fields helped us feel the comforts of home. It brought back memories of 1991, when Pat and I rode 3,500 miles from Seattle to Washington, D.C. in 50 days—another journey that tied the past to the present. Still, our minds keep drifting back to ridgelines and cedar forests, to the way mist sat in the valleys at dawn, to the soft calls of おはようございます (ohayō gozaimasu – good morning) and がんばって (ganbatte – good luck) from Japanese locals as we rode by in the morning.

Also, Lisa is back teaching her yoga classes at Oaknoll Retirement Community, a group of dedicated friends who followed our journey each day. She is happy to be back on the mat with them, sharing what she has learned in Japan — the calm breath, the quiet focus, and the simple reminder that kindness travels far. Together they stretch, laugh, and continue the spirit of goodness and compassion that carried us across Japan.

Lisa and I talk about the feeling of being a little unsettled. Would we be better off living in Japan, or somewhere else in the world? Or is this just the fog of reentry, the ache that comes when the heart grows new rooms and is not sure which one to sleep in.

We try to hold space for every kind of person. It can be hard to watch the shouting matches and the certainty that the other side is beyond reason. In Japan, even when opinions differed, we felt a steady attention to community. We still hold on to hope that the U.S. can be many grains that still cook together.

Our head keep stitching threads between Stoicism, Buddhism, and the Enlightenment. Stoicism gives us the practice to focus on what is within our control. Buddhism, especially the gentle wisdom of Thích Nhất Hạnh, invites us to be fully in the present moment — to breathe, to notice what is right in front of us, and to let awareness soften the noise of wanting and worry. The Enlightenment reminds us of reason, curiosity, and the dignity of each person. In the end, it all points to the same simple truth: speak less, notice more, and practice Seva (selfless service done with compassion and without expectation).

There is humor in all this too. We learned that convenience store rice balls and local curry udon (noodles) can make you tear up with their deliciousness. We learned that two 外国人 (gaikokujin – foreigner) fumbling through an ice cream kiosk can turn confusion into connection with nothing more than a smile and a bow. We learned that pizza in Wisconsin after a long flight tastes exactly like gratitude. We learned that ringing your bicycle bell and playing loud music on your iPhone seems to keep the 熊 (kuma – bear) away. And we learned that friendships in Japan can stretch across twenty-five years and still fold back together as if no time had passed—proof that the heart keeps its own calendar. Even in airports, the universe can hand you a surprise reunion.

As for what comes next, we do not know yet. Maybe we settle back into our small Iowa City bubble for a while. Maybe we chase another long line on the map. Whatever we do we will do it together and enjoy every moment. That has always been our quiet promise under everything.

Thank you to everyone who followed along, who sent messages and gentle words of encouragement. Thank you to our hosts and helpers in Japan who became friends. Thank you to the drivers who gave us space and the shopkeepers and guesthouses who warmed us with their greetings and kindness. Thank you also to the Japanese TV crew — in our short time together, we learned so much about the kindness and harmony of working within the Japanese work culture, and the quiet determination to create something meaningful and compassionate together. An especially heartfelt thank-you to Yuki, Kakeru, and Annie, whose guidance, generosity, laughter, and enthusiasm made this journey possible.

We are home. We are a little lost. We are very grateful. And we are trying to bring back what we learned. Bow a little more. Thank workers. Let people merge. Have a little more patience. Say excuse me with feeling. Remember that in the end we are all grains in the same bowl.
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A few simple Japanese phrases we are keeping in our pockets:
1. ありがとうございます (arigatō gozaimasu – thank you very much)
2. すみません (sumimasen – excuse me or I am sorry or thank you)
3. いただきます (itadakimasu – I humbly receive, before eating)
4. ごちそうさまでした (gochisōsama deshita – thank you for the meal, after eating)
5. よろしくお願いします (yoroshiku onegai shimasu – please treat me kindly, nice to meet you)
6. おかげさまで (okage sama de – thanks to you, I am well)
7. がんばって (ganbatte – do your best, good luck)
8. 気をつけて (kiotsukete – be careful)
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Small suggestions we are going to try at home:
1. Greet workers and say thank you out loud every time
2. Leave places cleaner than we found them
3. Wave at drivers who show patience
4. Share food more often and say いただきます before the first bite.
5. Practice Seva more.

❤️心からありがとう (kokoro kara arigatō – thank you from the heart).❤️Leia mais