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Jim Cochran
Jim Cochran

Jim Cochran

traveled in 15 countries Read more🇺🇸Iowa City
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  • Japan
    1

    Day 31

    October 3 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C

    “Rest Day” in 中野方町 (Nakanoho-chō)

    Today was what we called a “rest day,” again anyone who knows us by now understands that means more movement than resting. We are based just north of 恵那市 (Ena-shi – Ena City) in the quiet mountain village of 中野方町 (Nakanoho-chō).

    The morning began slowly with our first breakfast: toasted sweet bread and coffee. Then a little lounging, a little laundry, and soon enough it was time for our second breakfast of cereal with strawberry milk and another cup of coffee. By mid-morning we were on to our third breakfast, the best one yet: a ham and cheese omelette with orange juice, Aquarius sports drink, and yes, still more coffee. Clearly we are trying to live like hobbits in 岐阜県 (Gifu-ken – Gifu Prefecture).

    I spent some time planning a short “rest day” route while Lisa caught up on work. My masterpiece was a 10-mile ride up to 中野方ダム (Nakanoho Dam). The dam itself wasn’t large, but it came with a perfectly paved 1 km loop. Of course, we joked about creating a Strava segment and racing laps like kids. From there we meandered through the village, spotting chestnut and persimmon trees heavy with fruit. The climbs were steep and short, and we laughed about how rest days never really feel like rest. At least our bikes were light without luggage.

    The villagers were wonderfully curious about us. The owner of our guesthouse had told us that for many residents, foreigners were almost unheard of until recently, so our bicycles rolling through the hamlets felt like something unusual. School children stared wide-eyed as they walked home, and even at the local Buddhist temple, I felt confident we might be the first American cyclists to stop there.

    Lisa kept asking me if my carefully crafted route would pass the famous giant roller slide we saw in the distance as we came into town the day before. I teased her to have faith in my route planning. Sure enough, we rolled up to the playground, climbed to the top, and both gave it a try, laughing and filming ourselves like kids.

    Eventually hunger caught up with us, and we stopped at a tiny riverside restaurant. At first we thought we weren’t too hungry, but once we saw the menu, we ordered the set meals. Lisa had 焼うどん (yaki udon – grilled udon noodles) while I went with 焼きそば (yakisoba – fried noodles). Both sets came with rice, miso soup, salad, fruit cocktail, and the obligatory wobbly Japanese jelly. We washed it all down with glasses of hot 麦茶 (mugicha – roasted barley tea). The married couple running the place were cheerful and welcoming, and we had the whole place to ourselves while we ate outdoors with a mountain view.

    We thought we might order some takeout for dinner, but our phones refused to translate. After some confused attempts, I realized our 30-day eSIM had expired, and without Wi-Fi we couldn’t renew it. With our broken Japanese, we managed to find out that curry rice wasn’t available for takeout anyway, so we paid our bill and headed toward the grocery store. The first time we arrived it was closed, but given how stuffed we were, it didn’t matter. Later in the evening we returned, and the owner, who had already met us yesterday, greeted us warmly again. This time we gathered pasta, a simple bag of spaghetti sauce, and dinner rolls—just enough after a day of three breakfasts and a huge lunch.

    Somewhere between all of this, I also recorded voice clips for the Japanese TV crew that is preparing their documentary. It was short, fun, and just a little robotic, but it felt exciting to be part of something bigger that will air later this year.

    By 7:30 PM we headed down to the shared kitchen and met a sweet young Taiwanese couple who had just been married seven days ago and were on their honeymoon. They offered us a package of ramen from Taiwan and kindly showed us how to prepare it. Lisa cooked up our pasta with tomato sauce and cheese, and we all sat together at the long table, mixing Japanese, Taiwanese, and English to share stories and laughter. A young traveler from Israel was also cooking her meal nearby. She had unfortunately lost her bag on the 新幹線 (shinkansen – bullet train) the day before, but with the kindness and safety of Japan, we were all confident she would get it returned. To top it all off, the guesthouse owners surprised us with a sweet chestnut treat from the local harvest, and we all enjoyed it together.

    It was the kind of evening that reminds us why we love staying in guesthouses. Simple meals, new friends from all corners of the world, and the shared joy of being travelers on the same winding path.

    Rest days like this are a reminder that the slower pace of rural Japan has its own charm. Sometimes the best discoveries come not from long rides, but from noodle shops by the river, curious schoolchildren, and even a roller slide in the mountains.    Read more

  • Japan
    1

    🇯🇵 Manhole Covers! 🇯🇵

    October 3 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 22 °C

    It started as a little interest, but now I can’t stop noticing them and stopping for a photo!

  • Japan
    111

    🎌🌰 Day 30 🌰🎌

    October 2 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 24 °C

    37 miles / 3,830 ft. / 3:58

    Knowing that we only had a short ride ahead (about 40 miles, with a few climbs to keep us honest), we allowed ourselves to enjoy a slow morning. Out of our hotel window we could see a 城 (shiro – castle), a 神社 (jinja – shrine), and the 若い太陽の塔 (Wakai Taiyō-no-tō – Tower of the Young Sun), a strikingly modern tower with bold lines and a futuristic design. The real highlight of the morning, though, was a FaceTime call with Sebastian and MK—hearing their voices and seeing their smiles gave us an extra boost for the day.

    Breakfast provided with our stay was 和食 (washoku – Japanese-style meal), complete with grilled fish, rice, miso soup, and pickles, though there were also a few Western touches like cereal, yogurt, toast, and jam. Afterward we lingered over a couple cups of コーヒー (kōhī – coffee) and a slice of rolled cake before heading back to the room to pack up and roll onward.

    The weather was pleasant, cool enough to ride comfortably but with sunshine filtering through the hills. As we ascended one of the steeper climbs, we passed through 神道の丘公園 (Jindō-no-oka Kōen – Jindō Hill Park), where a sign told us about the 水仙プロジェクト (suisen purojekuto – daffodil project). This local effort has planted thousands of daffodils on the hillsides so that every spring, the slopes burst into yellow bloom. It was a beautiful thought that flowers of remembrance and hope would welcome future visitors up the same climb.

    At the peak of the climb, we found a massive playground. We zipped down the ジップライン (jippu rain – zip line), scrambled up to the lookout tower, and raced each other down the roller slides. All around were bells that visitors (although, we were the only ones there) could ring, their soft tones drifting across the hills and valleys.

    Nearby stood the 杉原千畝 (Sugihara Chiune) Memorial, three pyramidal structures each holding a bell—one for charity, one for spirit, and one for courage. Sugihara, a native of Gifu, was a Japanese diplomat stationed in Lithuania during World War II. Against orders, he issued thousands of transit visas that allowed Jewish refugees to escape Nazi persecution, saving as many as 6,000 lives. Today he is often called the “Japanese Schindler.” As we stood there, looking out over the valley we had just ridden through, we rang the bells quietly. It was a moment that blended the beauty of the land with the courage of a man who chose kindness in the face of immense risk.

    Our breakfast had been hearty enough that we skipped lunch, instead saving our energy for the viewpoint we had heard about. There, we unwrapped our leftover 枝豆 (edamame – green soybeans) and finished off a half-eaten bag of chips while gazing out over 棚田 (tanada – terraced rice fields). The patchwork of approaching autumn colored paddies stepping down the hillside felt like a living mosaic, each terrace offering a unique earth tone color. The valley stretched far below us, framed by mountains rising in gentle waves, their ridgelines soft in the haze. It was one of those moments when Japan shows her timeless side: human work and natural beauty woven together over centuries.

    From there came one a thrilling descent through the terraced fields. A narrow decent that every cyclist dreams of, winding and fast but still just safe enough to let gravity do its work. At the bottom, the road delivered us right into our overnight town: 恵那市 (Ena-shi – Ena City).

    Ena is a small but historic town in 岐阜県 (Gifu-ken – Gifu Prefecture), once a key post town on the 中山道 (Nakasendō – the old travel route connecting Kyoto and Edo). Surrounded by mountains and rivers, Ena is known for its crisp air, hiking trails, and seasonal foods like 栗 (kuri – chestnuts) and 柿 (kaki – persimmons). Chestnuts are especially famous here, made into sweets such as 栗きんとん (kurikinton – chestnut paste). As we rolled through, we noticed groves of chestnut trees ready for autumn harvest. The chestnuts, some still in their porcupine-like shell, were almost as big as the Iowa hedge balls.

    Before checking into our lodging, we stopped at the grocery store next door for a few snacks and to scout out what we might cook later. Shopping in the mountains was an adventure in itself—the shelves had fewer options compared to what we’re used to in bigger cities or back in the U.S., but that made it fun, like a treasure hunt.

    Our home for the next two nights is a small guest house called Hanioheto, tucked quietly into Ena. After dropping our bags, we enjoyed a snack together, showered, and then went back to the store to gather ingredients for dinner. Tonight’s menu: カレーライスヌードル (karē raisu nōdoru – curry rice noodles) with ham and scrambled egg, and Gyoza. Cucumber with salt and soy sauce for an appetizer. While Lisa navigated the kitchen and prepared dinner, I spent about an hour and fifteen minutes in a meeting with the Japanese TV crew from 「なぜ日本に？」(Naze Nihon ni? – Why Did You Come to Japan?). We were working to wrap up the production so the episode would be ready for broadcast in November or December. It felt a little surreal to be deep in conversation about edits and storylines from a quiet mountain guest house, but it made the evening all the more memorable.

    The guest house itself has its own story. The owner is originally from Peru; his parents immigrated to Japan when he was seven years old. He has now lived here for more than 30 years, married a Japanese woman, and together they are raising two children—a sweet baby girl only three months old and a lively two-year-old boy. The mix of Peruvian roots and Japanese life gives the house a unique, hippie vibe: warm, welcoming, and alive with laughter. With the energy of children, gentle kindness of two blended cultures , and the cozy atmosphere, it feels more like staying with friends than at a guest house.

    Later in the evening we took a short walk to watch the sunset. The sky turned soft pink and gold, and we looked out over rice fields, fruit orchards, and chestnut trees glowing in the fading light. It was the perfect close to the day, reminding us that sometimes the simplest things—quiet walks, home-cooked food, kind people—make the richest memories.

    It was a simple day, but it carried all the best ingredients: beautiful views, a little adventure, a touch of history, good food, and the warmth of cozy guesthouse .    Read more

  • Japan

    🇯🇵🏯⛈️🌸 Day 29 🌸⛈️🏯🇯🇵

    October 1 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 25 °C

    Lisa woke up early, excited for her morning meeting, while I tried to sneak in a few more minutes of rest. As she wrapped up her notes, our kind host of the Kishida House in Sabae appeared with steaming coffee. They shared a wonderful conversation together, then before we knew it, she was stirring up a warm bowl of 味噌汁 (miso shiru – miso soup). A simple act of kindness can set the tone for the whole day, and this breakfast felt like a hug from Japan itself. It was tough to leave the guesthouse, but the road was calling. We tacked on an extra 8 miles (13 km) just to enjoy the views along 琵琶湖 (Biwa-ko – Lake Biwa), before finding our way back to the original route.

    We made the rookie mistake of ignoring the growing dark clouds, lured instead by the promise of fresh baked goods. By the time we walked outside, the rain had already begun, and with no overhang for our bikes, we decided to gamble on outrunning the storm. But mountains have a way of laughing at plans like that. The climb arrived, the downpour caught us, and the sideways rain made even the meek overhang we found seem like a joke. For twenty minutes, the heavens opened up. Then, as quickly as it started, it began to ease. Trucks roared past, spraying puddles like tidal waves, but somehow we picked just the right moment to get back on the road. Soaked but smiling, we crested the hill, then whooped our way down the descent. “We’re doing great!” became our mantra.

    In a quiet residential neighborhood, we spotted a flower garden bursting with color. On impulse, we turned back, deciding it was time to take a photo “for our moms.” The owner emerged, full of cheer and conversation, clearly proud of her blooms. Before we left, she picked a single flower and handed it to us with a smile and the words 気をつけて (ki o tsukete – take care). The storm had passed, the sun was shining again, and it felt like the universe had just patted us on the back.

    Lunch was a picnic beside 大垣城 (Ōgaki-jō – Ōgaki Castle), a fortress that once stood as a stronghold during the famous 関ヶ原の戦い (Sekigahara no tatakai – Battle of Sekigahara) in 1600. From there, the day turned into a dance of stoplights, stop signs, left turns, right turns, and weaving through the urban sprawl of 岐阜市 (Gifu-shi – Gifu City) taking a toll on our weary legs. At times it felt like we weren’t moving at all, but slowly, steadily, we pressed onward.

    Eventually, we reached 墨俣一夜城 (Sunomata Ichiya-jō – Sunomata “One-Night” Castle). Legend says this fort was built in just one night by Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s forces, a bold act of strategy and deception. Today it stands as a reconstructed museum, but walking the grounds gave us a sense of the ingenuity and daring that shaped Japan’s history.

    Crossing the wide 木曽川 (Kiso-gawa – Kiso River), Lisa laughed and dubbed it “the Mississippi of Japan.” In truth, its basin has fed communities for centuries. We missed the 岐阜県 (Gifu-ken – Gifu Prefecture) sign at first, so naturally we turned back over the bridge to snap a photo, laughing as we posed awkwardly from a safe distance while cars whizzed by. Sometimes you just have to claim the little moments.

    From there, the cycling was bliss: smooth, flat trails winding along the river into 犬山市 (Inuyama-shi – Inuyama City). The preserved 本町通り (Honmachi-dōri – Honmachi Street) awaited us, lined with traditional wooden shops and merchant houses. It reminded us of the charm we found back in 富山 (Toyama), a place where time slows and history whispers from every corner. At the end of the street rose the silhouette of 犬山城 (Inuyama-jō – Inuyama Castle), Japan’s oldest original surviving castle keep, perched above the river since 1537. We were a little too late for entry, so we admired it from a distance, imagining the view samurai once had over the Kiso plains.

    On the way to the hotel, we grabbed a few snacks at a grocery store, then checked into our room at the Inuyama Miyako Hotel. Once we were settled, Lisa noticed there was an Indian restaurant in the shopping center nearby. Curiosity turned into delight as we savored green lentil curry, pumpkin chicken curry, butter chicken with rice, and fluffy チーズナン (chīzu nan – cheese naan). I don’t know why Iowa City hasn’t caught onto cheese naan, but let me say this: it’s life-changing.

    Stuffed and content, we wandered back through the historic district, this time under lanterns and soft night shadows. Taking “夜景 (yakei – night view)” photos, hand in hand, we felt that mix of exhaustion and joy that only travel can bring. Romance here isn’t in grand gestures, but in sharing soggy climbs, trading bites of naan, and watching a castle glow across the river with someone who makes every detour feel like home.

    Yes, today had thunderclaps, lightning, rain-soaked shoes, wrong turns, and endless stoplights. But it also had laughter, kindness, castles, flowers, and the quiet comfort of a day well lived together. And as we keep reminding each other: we’re doing great.    Read more

  • Japan
    1

    🎌🌸🌻 Flowers for our Moms 🌻🌸🎌

    October 1 in Japan ⋅ 🌙 22 °C

    We were going to take some pictures along the road side of flowers for our mothers, but we found all of these in one garden. This is the lady whose garden it is. She chatted with us for a long time!

  • Japan

    🎌 Day 28 🎌

    September 30 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 22 °C

    52 miles / 2,540 ft. / 4:33

    A short day brought us back toward the mountains and 琵琶湖 (Biwa-ko – Lake Biwa) in 滋賀県 (Shiga-ken – Shiga Prefecture). We started with a buffet breakfast at City Hotel Sabae. It was quite the spread, almost overwhelming, with too much to list. Different from an American breakfast, we found fried pork cutlets, chicken nuggets, rice, 味噌汁 (miso shiru – miso soup), 納豆 (natto – fermented soybeans), raw eggs, salad, pickles, and grilled fish. But there were also familiar comforts like scrambled eggs, yogurt, ham, coffee, and orange juice. From the 8th floor, we had a view of the city waking below, and with blue skies lined in puffy white clouds, we were eager to ride.

    Our morning pedaling was peaceful along the 日野川 (Hino-gawa – Hino River), framed by mountain ridges on both sides. Rolling through 福井県 (Fukui-ken – Fukui Prefecture), we made our way toward the climb of the day, 栃ノ木峠 (Tochinoki-tōge – Tochinoki Pass), the gateway into Shiga. At mile 40 we passed through a short tunnel, and suddenly, there she was—Lake Biwa stretched wide before us, glittering under the sky. We coasted down a short, steep descent toward the water. It grew too sheep to safely ride, so we dismounted, left the bikes and walked down to the lake to sit, snack and enjoy the view. Mountains wrapped the horizon, and 沖島 (Okishima – Oki Island) stood proudly in the middle. I looked around for 富士山 (Fujisan – Mt. Fuji), but it seems she does not show herself from here.

    Lake Biwa is Japan’s largest freshwater lake, and there is a cycling route that loops all the way around it. We briefly entertained the idea of trying it since our riding day was short, but quickly realized the scale—it is 200 kilometers (124 miles) around. A bit ambitious for a whim! Instead, we followed flat roads through rectangular rice fields east of the lake. The golden rice was heavy with harvest, and the air carried the gentle scent of freshly cut stalks, mixed with the soft smoky smell of piles of rice husks smoldering at the corners of fields. It was not unpleasant, but almost comforting, like autumn itself resting in the air.

    Today was the opposite of rushed. We slowed down, stopping for scenic photos, silly photos, and plenty of moments to breathe in the crisp air. The mountains around the lake felt like quiet guardians offering us their embrace. Even at this relaxed pace, we reached our destination village, Kohoku-chō Koima), well ahead of schedule. At 3 p.m. we were two hours early for check-in, but our host kindly replied that our room was already ready.

    Before settling in, we stopped at a grocery store to pick up simple supplies for dinner and breakfast. The guesthouse was tucked inside a small, charming village with surprising beauty. We found neatly tended gardens, many old stone monuments, and a lovely little shrine glowing softly at dusk. After checking in, we wandered the streets at sunset, enjoying the quiet life of the village.

    Back at the guesthouse, the evening unfolded in its familiar rhythm: uploading photos, sharing stories from the day, looking ahead to tomorrow, and simply relaxing. Lisa did spot one small hiccup on our walk back—my rear tire was flat. Tomorrow’s problem for me. Tonight, it was enough to rest well after another gentle day on the road.    Read more

  • Japan

    🎌 🌊 Day 27 🌊🎌

    September 29 in Japan ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C

    70 miles / 1,425 ft. / 5:10

    Today was not about sightseeing or strolling through gardens, but about the long road ahead. From 金沢 (Kanazawa – golden marsh) we pointed our bikes south toward 鯖江 (Sabae – mackerel river), covering nearly 70 miles (112 km). Although the route wasn’t heavy on elevation, the forecast promised rain and a stiff 頭風 (atama kaze – headwind). And sure enough, the wind greeted us the moment we rolled away from Kakeru and Kaori’s house and reached the Sea of Japan coast.

    The bicycle trail hugged the shoreline, and we were treated to an endless view of gray-blue waves colliding with concrete walls. Occasionally, one wave would leap high enough to give us a misty kiss. Sand and moisture filled the air ahead of us, like a blurry painting. Still, we kept pedaling, whispering a determined “let’s go!”

    The rhythm of the ocean and the steady whistle of the wind were interrupted at times by the thunderous roar of fighter jets streaking overhead. I always enjoy watching them fly by when I’m cycling. They were clearly rehearsing for the 小松航空ショー (Komatsu kōkū shō – Komatsu Airshow) happening next weekend. The sight of them carving across the clouds added an unexpected thrill to our ride.

    We took a brief detour to gaze at the windswept beauty of 尼御前岬 (Amagozen misaki – Amagozen Cape). Legend has it that the cape is named after a court lady who threw herself into the sea centuries ago, choosing loyalty over dishonor. The view was powerful and melancholy, fitting for the story. The cape itself juts into the sea, battered by centuries of storms, yet still standing strong. It reminded us of why traveling by bicycle is special: history doesn’t just sit in books, it lives in the land, the waves, and the wind.

    By midday, as we reached busier streets as we turned inland. The miles seemed to tick by like pedal strokes.

    As lunchtime grew near, we found a quiet corner for our usual picnic. Today’s lunch was simple: おにぎり (onigiri – rice balls), potato chips, and cold drinks. There’s something humbling about eating such humble food while thousands of years of history swirl around you.

    The rain teased us all day, and just as we thought we’d escaped, dark clouds opened up ten miles from our destination. We sought shelter under a bridge along the bike trail, where Lisa lit up with joy—not because of the weather, but because she could finally eat the 相撲せんべい (sumō senbei – sumo rice crackers) gifted to us by Seira and Akinari. We laughed at how snacks often seem to be the best part of any storm.

    The last stretch passed quickly, with a stop at a small shrine for photos before rolling into 鯖江市ホテル (Sabae City Hotel) around 3 PM. We had managed to cover the 70 miles in just over five hours, a small victory for our weary legs.

    Sabae itself is a city with a unique claim to fame: it produces the majority of Japan’s eyeglass frames. Nearly every pair of glasses you see in Japan likely started here. Walking its quiet streets in the evening, umbrellas in hand, we reflected on how this unassuming city quietly shapes the daily lives of millions.

    Dinner was something unexpected yet comforting: Japanese-style American pizza at テキサスハンズ (Texas Hands). The familar toppings of pepperoni and jalapeños, the warmth of the place, and the familiar scent of pizza, made us feel at home.

    Back at the hotel, we discovered our floor had been overtaken by a lively high school girls’ hockey team. The giggles, running feet, and door-slamming chorus lasted until about 9 PM, when suddenly, silence fell. We finally drifted off to sleep, legs heavy but hearts grateful. We had dodged most of the rain, met the sea head-on, and ended the day with pizza. Not bad at all for the start of our D Spoke.    Read more

  • Japan
    12

    Day 26

    September 28 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C

    Day 26: Rest Day #2 in 金沢 (Kanazawa)

    Today was our second rest day in a row, and we had a casual plan of visiting the local bike shop, stopping at a 百円ショップ (hyaku en shoppu – 100 yen store), walking through the fish market, and finally making it to the temple we had missed on our earlier cycling detour.

    Lisa and I started off by strolling down to the local bike shop while Kakeru was still getting ready. On the way, we took on the surprisingly fun challenge of buying eight postage stamps at the convenience store. It’s amazing how small tasks like this become little adventures when you need to use Japanese. I managed to say, 「切手を八枚ください」(kitte o hachi mai kudasai – I would like 8 postage stamps please). With a mix of Japanese, hand gestures, and big smiles, the transaction was a success.

    The bike shop was fun to look around, but we didn’t really need much. One of the great things about traveling by 自転車 (jitensha – bicycle) is that you can’t carry too many souvenirs, which became our mantra again later at the ¥100 store.

    Our first big stop of the day was the ¥100 store inside the Apita department store. 百円ショップ are beloved in Japan, offering everything from kitchen gadgets to stationery, cleaning supplies, snacks, and quirky little items you didn’t know you needed until you saw them. They’re sort of like a treasure hunt—practical, affordable, and fun. While browsing, we spotted a perfect pair of shoes for Lisa to replace her worn-out walking shoes. Her feet let out a silent sigh of relief after so many miles on the old ones.

    On the way out of Apita, we couldn’t resist stopping at a little stand for たこ焼き (takoyaki – octopus dough balls). Fresh off the griddle, the golden spheres were piping hot, topped with a drizzle of savory sauce, a sprinkle of seaweed, and dancing flakes of bonito. We juggled them carefully, trying not to burn our tongues, and the soft batter and chewy bits of octopus were a bit more to my liking than the first time when I tried them 25 years ago.

    From there, we made our way to the famous 近江町市場 (Ōmichō Ichiba – Ōmichō Market), known as “Kanazawa’s Kitchen” since the Edo period. The market was buzzing with tourists and locals alike, stalls overflowing with every imaginable sea creature: gleaming crabs stacked in baskets, squid lined up in rows, octopus tentacles coiled like sculptures, shellfish piled high, and plenty of fish we couldn’t even name. Many people were sampling delicacies right at the stalls, while others lined up at small food counters for fresh sushi or grilled meat skewers. We enjoyed the sights and smells, but decided to slip away to a quieter sushi shop nearby for lunch.

    Kanazawa is famous for のどぐろ (nodoguro – blackthroat seaperch), and we made sure to try it among Kakeru’s sushi choices for us. Tender, rich, and slightly sweet, it was definitely a highlight. Along with a comforting bowl of 味噌汁 (miso shiru – miso soup), it made for a satisfying meal.

    Our next stop was 大乗寺 (Daijō-ji), a serene Zen temple of the 曹洞宗 (Sōtōshū – Sōtō school of Zen Buddhism). Founded in the 17th century, it has long served as a training monastery for monks, emphasizing meditation and discipline. The temple grounds were peaceful, shaded by tall cedars, and carried a sense of timelessness. For travelers in Japan, it’s helpful to remember that 神社 (jinja – shrines) are Shintō, dedicated to kami (spirits), while 寺 (tera – temples) are Buddhist, places of meditation, prayer, and ancestral remembrance.

    After exploring the temple, we wandered through 大乗寺丘陵公園 (Daijōji Kyūryō Kōen – Daijoji Hill Park), a beautiful green space with views stretching over Kanazawa. In winter, families flock here with sleds, turning its gentle hills into snowy playgrounds. On clear days, the park opens westward toward the 日本海 (Nihonkai – Sea of Japan), and beyond those waters lies the Korean Peninsula—a reminder of how close Japan is to its neighbors across the sea.

    Back at the house, we sat together around the table, enjoying the delicious meal as we watched the final matches of the 大相撲 (ōzumō – sumo tournament). By about 7:15 p.m., Akinari and Seria burst through the door, still buzzing with excitement from their weekend in 東京 (Tōkyō). They proudly presented us with omiyage—traditional Japanese crackers in a beautifully decorated sumo-themed box. Their thoughtfulness warmed our hearts.

    Later, we replayed some of the sumo bouts with Akinari scanning the crowd in hopes of spotting himself, his sister, and their grandparents. No luck this time, but plenty of fun looking.

    With rain in the forecast and a long ride of nearly 70 miles (113 km) ahead of us tomorrow, we called it an early night.

    Kanazawa, whose name means “Marsh of Gold” from an old legend about a farmer finding flakes of gold while digging potatoes, is home to just under half a million people. Historically, the city thrived as a castle town under the powerful Maeda clan and today is known for its traditional crafts, especially 金箔 (kinpaku – gold leaf), which still supports a major part of the local economy.

    Rest days like these remind us that cycling is only part of the journey. The deeper joy comes from relaxing with family, reconnecting with an old friend from 25 years ago, and catching a glimpse of everyday Japanese life. Evenings gathered around the dining room table, sharing a meal, laughing at TV shows, or watching the youngest quietly play with his new sumo dolls, become as meaningful as any miles on the road.    Read more

  • Japan

    🎌🍜 Day 25 🍜🎌

    September 27 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 26 °C

    Rest Day in 金沢 (Kanazawa)

    Sometimes a rest day is less about resting and more about enjoying life at a gentler pace. The morning began slowly, with Lisa sleeping in while I shared a quiet coffee with Kakeru in the family room. His kids, Seria (12) and Akinari (9), had already left early with their grandparents to 東京 (Tōkyō) for the autumn 大相撲 (ōzumō – sumo wrestling tournament).
    The Tokyo autumn tournament is a highlight of the sumo calendar, lasting 15 days and featuring the top-ranked 力士 (rikishi – wrestlers) battling for position, honor, and the coveted Emperor’s Cup. The atmosphere in the 両国国技館 (Ryōgoku Kokugikan – Ryōgoku Sumo Hall) is electric, with spectators shouting encouragement, vendors selling bento, and centuries-old rituals performed before each bout. It is a uniquely Japanese mix of sport, ceremony, and culture.

    His wife, Kaori, respectfully kept her distance, wearing a mask since she thought she might be coming down with a cold. We are disappointed we cannot spend more time with her, but appreciate her thoughtfulness.

    Sakura (15) joined us for our first stop of the day, a specialty snack and candy shop to gather treats for her brother’s upcoming school trip. She showed us her favorites, which are becoming our favorites as well. Lisa and I couldn’t resist stocking up on a pile of snacks for ourselves. We didn’t even make it out of the parking lot before tearing open a bag. Snacking too much might have been the theme of the day.

    After dropping off Sakura, Kakeru steered us downtown toward the famous 金沢城 (Kanazawa-jō – Kanazawa Castle). Luck was on our side, because a craft beer festival was happening right outside the castle grounds. Breweries from across Japan had set up tents, offering creative ales, IPAs, and lagers. We sampled a couple of glasses while sharing a small but delicious マルゲリータピザ (marugeriita piza – margarita pizza).

    From there we walked into 尾山神社 (Oyama Jinja Shrine), which was established in 1599 to honor 前田利家 (Maeda Toshiie), the first lord of the powerful Maeda clan who ruled the Kaga Domain for over 280 years. The shrine’s gate is striking, with stained-glass windows and a blend of Japanese, Chinese, and even European design elements. Behind the shrine stretches its strolling garden, a 回遊式庭園 (kaiyū-shiki teien – strolling-style garden). Unlike a static garden meant to be viewed from a single spot, a strolling garden is designed for walking paths that reveal new perspectives with every turn—stone lanterns tucked into moss, reflective ponds, and carefully placed bridges. Even in the bustle of the city, it offered us a moment of quiet beauty outlined by the sound of the waterfall in the garden.

    After looping back for one more craft beer sample (for balance, of course), we headed to ひがし茶屋街 (Higashi Chaya-gai – Higashi Geisha District). These historic streets are lined with traditional wooden teahouses where geisha once entertained with music, dance, and conversation. Today many are preserved as cultural landmarks, with some converted into cafés, shops, and museums. The air felt different there, slower, as if the past still lingered in the creak of wooden floors and the smell of old wood.

    Here, we treated ourselves to one of Kanazawa’s specialties: a ソフトクリーム (sofuto kurīmu – soft-serve ice cream) wrapped in edible gold leaf. Kanazawa produces nearly all of Japan’s gold leaf, and it has long been used to decorate temples, shrines, lacquerware, and now even desserts. Eating gold leaf is said to bring luck and longevity. It sparkled as it stuck to our lips and made us feel like royalty for a moment.

    Kanazawa is also famous for its 輪島塗 (Wajima-nuri – Wajima lacquerware), painstakingly crafted bowls and trays layered with dozens of coats of lacquer mixed with powdered minerals and sometimes decorated with gold leaf. This tradition, like much of Kanazawa’s artistry, reflects a culture of patience and refinement that has been carefully preserved for centuries.

    By late afternoon, hunger called us again, and Kakeru led us to a ramen shop. I went for hearty 味噌ラーメン (miso rāmen – miso ramen), while Lisa ordered fried rice, which we happily shared. After that came a grocery store run for dinner supplies and, finally, a well-earned nap.

    Dinner was Kakeru’s pork 鍋 (nabe – Japanese hot pot). Nabe is a traditional one-pot dish that is especially popular in colder months. A broth is heated in a wide pot at the center of the table, where vegetables, tofu, and other ingredients are added and simmered together. In our case, the style featured thinly sliced pork belly cooked alongside napa cabbage, mushrooms, and leeks. The vegetables are usually added first to flavor the broth, followed by the meat which cooks quickly in the bubbling soup. Nabe is typically served with rice and dipping sauces, and the meal is shared straight from the pot, making it as much about conversation and warmth as it is about food. Our nabe was accompanied by rice and miso soup, a perfect combination to relax us for the evening.

    We chatted late and had a video call with a mutual friend of ours from Iowa who now lives in Seattle, Brian Baumhover. It was a nice way to end the evening.

    It was a rest day, yes, but more than that, it was a day of reconnecting, cultural richness, and simple joys—good food, shared laughter, and the sparkle of gold on an ice cream cone.    Read more

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    🎌🗾 Day 24 🗾🎌

    September 26 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 27 °C

    41 miles / 2,592 ft. / 4:05

    C Spoke: 255 miles
    B Spoke: 216 miles
    A Spoke: 285 miles

    Our C Spoke was completed by reaching Kakeru’s house in 金沢 (Kanazawa) at about 4:45 p.m.

    Knowing we had an easier day ahead without a massive climb, and thinking it might feel mostly downhill toward the 日本海 (Nihonkai – Sea of Japan), we allowed ourselves a lazy morning. We lingered at the guesthouse until about 10 a.m., chatting more with Arnaud, then finally rolled out into the cool air under bright sunshine, with deep blue skies and dramatic white clouds.

    We first circled the small lake near our guesthouse, then turned back into the lower mountains toward Kanazawa. The roads were quiet, shaded in places, and we found ourselves enjoying the slower pace. Around noon we grabbed some おにぎり (onigiri – rice balls), chips, and cold drinks and found a shady park for a picnic. A group of seniors were out playing パークゴルフ (pāku gorufu – park golf), which seems to be part miniature golf, part croquet, and fully a Japanese favorite among retirees. Their friendly greetings reminded us again of how kindness is woven into daily life here.

    After lunch, we headed back into the mountains for one more crime to Kakeru’s house. Once we neared the top, we saw the familiar “no entry, road closed” signs. We were hopeful our luck would continue and the construction crew would let us pass. Noting the mud on their shoes, it didn’t seem likely. This time we had to turn back due to a mud slide and a void where the road once was. Down the hill and then back up the descent we enjoyed earlier to find our way around and back to our route.

    Although Kakeru’s home was only about 5–10 miles away at that point, I routed us deeper into town to follow the 犀川 (Saigawa – Sai River) down toward the coast. The cycling path was smooth and peaceful, lined with reeds and willows, and before long we reached the seaside.

    Standing at the shore of the Sea of Japan, we slipped off our shoes and dipped our feet in the cool waves. The coastline here is striking—Kanazawa faces a stretch of the sea that has long supported fishing communities and trade with Korea and China. Only a handful of people were walking the beach, and for a while it felt like we had the vast ocean entirely to ourselves. Of course, we couldn’t resist staging some ridiculous jumping photos. We’re slowly becoming professionals at finding just the right angle to make it look like we’re launching sky-high.

    On the way to Kakeru’s, we made a few stops for groceries, so by the time we rolled into his driveway it was closer to 5 p.m. than planned. Still, it was a relaxed, meandering day, the kind where the journey mattered more than the destination.

    That evening, Kakeru and I went out to pick up fresh fish for dinner. Kanazawa is famous throughout Japan for its seafood, thanks to the nutrient-rich waters of the Sea of Japan and the bustling 近江町市場 (Ōmichō Ichiba – Omicho Market), which has been the city’s “kitchen” for centuries. Kakeru piled our basket with a variety of sashimi delights: 鰈 (karei – flounder), 鰹 (katsuo – bonito), 鮪 (maguro – tuna), 鮭 (sake – salmon), and 蛸 (tako – octopus). He also grabbed sea cucumber (なまこ – namako) and 塩辛 (shiokara – fermented squid in its own salty sauce). Having tried shiokara on past trips, I politely passed this time, knowing my palate isn’t cut out for it. Lisa, braver than me, gave both a try, but admitted afterward that they were not her favorites.

    Sashimi (刺身) has deep cultural roots in Japan, dating back hundreds of years as a way to appreciate the natural flavors of the sea. The practice emphasizes freshness, simplicity, and respect for the ingredients, and sharing a sashimi meal together feels as much about connection as it does about food. Our spread also included homemade steaming bowls of 味噌汁 (miso shiru – miso soup), 枝豆 (edamame – soybeans), crisp pickles, and warm rice. It was simple, but in that simplicity came richness, and it felt like a celebration of friendship as much as dinner.

    By 9 p.m. we were ready for sleep. The C Spoke had come to an end, and while it felt a little bittersweet, there was comfort in reconnecting with Kakeru and his family. The journey had carried us from the mountains to the sea, and in a few days, the D Spoke back to Yamanashi will begin.    Read more

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    🇯🇵 🎂 Day 23 🎂 🇯🇵

    September 25 in Japan ⋅ 🌧 26 °C

    46 miles / 3,875 ft. / 4:41

    Lisa started my birthday by sneaking into the room with a steaming cup of coffee ベッドでコーヒー (beddo de kōhī – coffee in bed) before she started her 6:00 a.m. meeting. Once she wrapped up, we had a quiet breakfast at the guesthouse in 五箇山 (Gokayama), reading my birthday card from Sebastian, a card from Lisa, and a few thoughtful messages from friends back home. It was a peaceful start, though the morning radar gave us little confidence that the rain would hold off. So, with panniers wrapped in their bright rain covers, we wheeled the bikes out, ready for some sightseeing and the much-anticipated “mystery climb.”

    The “mystery climb” had been nagging at me ever since I pored over Google Maps back in Iowa City. No Street View, fuzzy satellite images, and no clear indication of whether the road was even open or washed out. Our host, Hiro, whom Lisa affectionately calls “Hero,” urged us not to try it. After a few rounds of iPhone translation struggles, he finally relented with a shrug: “Well, you can try… but beware of bears.” 熊 (kuma – bears), he repeated several times, and then insisted we blast music and ring our bells the whole way up. Nothing says adventure like pedaling uphill while doubling as a one-man marching band.

    Before testing our luck with the climb, we stopped at the 世界遺産 (sekai isan – World Heritage) village of 菅沼 (Suganuma). The steeply pitched 合掌造り (gasshō-zukuri – “praying hands” style) thatched roofs were striking, designed to shed the heavy snow that buries this valley in winter. These homes, some more than 200 years old, were once shared by extended families who raised silkworms in the attic and rice in the paddies below. Just as the skies opened, we ducked under the eaves of shelter near one of the farmhouses and stayed dry for a bit.

    By late morning, we rolled toward the base of the climb. True to Japan’s reputation, the road was blocked by construction. But instead of turning us away, the crew paused their crane and chainsaws, helped us heave our bikes over the barrier, and even cleared the path with a leaf blower. We bowed, muttered countless すみません (sumimasen – excuse me) and ありがとう (arigatō – thank you), and pedaled on. In Japan, everyday kindness feels woven into the fabric of life. Whether it is helping two soggy foreigners through a work zone or greeting strangers with a polite bow, these small gestures remind us that culture here is built on respect, humility, and an unspoken sense of community.

    Then the climb came along, steady, warm but relentless, as we ground our way up grades between 7–9%. I cranked the only offline playlist I had on Spotify, Moodswings, through my phone, tucked under my rain jacket. The soundtrack was strange but perfect: part dance party, part survival strategy. Between bear warnings, the dense forest, and the constant bell ringing, we were a traveling circus on wheels. At one point, a pair of wild boars burst from the brush, scattering up the road ahead of us. Heart pounding, we laughed nervously—better boars than bears.

    The climb dragged on for more than an hour, finally easing as pavement gave way to gravel. The views were worth every soggy pedal stroke: mist rising from the valley, mountains stacked in dark green layers, the kind of scenery that you could not think would get any better, yet did with every pedal stroke upward. Lisa tried to describe it as a “real life oil painting.” At last, we reached the top, relieved to find the road continued, and dropped into a paved descent. We rang our bells out of habit, dodged boulders, and eventually spilled out by the tunnel exit that we could have taken had we gone the “easy” way. But easy does not make for birthday memories.

    The valley below was warmer, and the sun broke through the clouds to help dry our soggy bodies and clothing. We grabbed supplies at a grocery store, then picnicked by a small lake with vegetarian sushi and golden potato croquettes. By 3:30 p.m. we rolled into our guesthouse, tucked away in the foothills. Lisa rode back to the コンビニ (konbini – convenience store) for a few extra birthday treats, and when she returned, our host immediately noticed her damp shoes. Without hesitation, she offered a stack of newspapers to stuff inside and dry them overnight. Lisa had felt a little embarrassed about putting wet shoes in the shared shoe storage area but that simple yet thoughtful gesture was another reminder of how 日本人 (Nihonjin – Japanese people) go out of their way to make guests feel comfortable, often anticipating needs and offering kindness.

    We spent the evening snacking, chatting with a fellow traveler, Arnaud, and having a quiet birthday dinner of curry. It was, in every way, an unforgettable birthday: kindness at every turn, history under our wheels, and a reminder that adventure is always richer when it is shared with the one you love. 明日 (ashita – tomorrow) we will close out the “C leg” of our journey, rolling into 金沢 (Kanazawa) where we will visit Kakeru’s family. A fitting end to this part of our trip.    Read more

  • Japan

    🎌🎂🎉 58 ! 🎉🎂🎌

    September 25 in Japan ⋅ 🌧 24 °C

    As I pedal along the mountainsides of Honshū, Japan, looking across the grape and pear orchards at the densely populated Kōfu basins of Yamanashi, I can’t help but reflect on how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.

    When I first lived in Japan from 1999 to 2001, teaching English at Kushigata Junior High School (the sister school connection between Marshalltown and Kushigata), I was 32, filled with adventure and curiosity. I brought along my Schwinn Moab aluminum mountain bike. Back then, carbon frames were rare, electronic shifting unheard of, and there was certainly no Google Maps or cycling GPS devices. My navigation system was a Japanese atlas—photocopied pages with no English writing—taped together during my lunch breaks at school. With those, a motorcycle generously loaned to me by my friends Masa and Yuki, and a little card written in Japanese with phrases like “Help me, I am lost. Can you point me toward Kushigata?” I pieced together my cycling adventures one road, one direction, one kind stranger at a time.

    Not long after arriving in Japan, I found a climb from my house up to Lake Inagako. It was about 50 minutes of steady uphill pedaling, but the return home took only 10 or 15 minutes of pure downhill joy. It was on that ride that I first fell in love with cycling in Japan, and how much the landscape and architecture here could capture my curiosity.

    Often, I would find myself lost in the mountain backroads, stopping a farmer or passerby and asking in my best Japanese, “Sumimasen, Kushigata doko desu ka?” (Excuse me, where is Kushigata?). I rarely understood the reply, but a kind smile and a pointed finger would send me rolling down the next lane until I stumbled upon something familiar. I was young, brave, and adventurous. The beauty of the countryside and the kindness of the people made me feel welcome.

    One memory that still makes me smile came near the end of my time in Japan. I was bombing down a steep unfamiliar descent when I clipped a guardrail, bounced back into the road, and blew out my front tire. A construction worker stopped his dump truck, leaned out the window, and asked gently, “Daijōbu desu ka?” (Are you okay?). Bleeding, I answered with an embarrassed grin, “Daijōbu.” It was then I learned that perhaps I should be a little more cautious on the Japanese descents.

    Now, at 58, returning to Japan to fulfill my dream of a longer cycling adventure, the contrast is remarkable. With an eSIM card and an iPhone, I can zoom in on maps to see every trail, road, café, or convenience store. Reservations that once felt impossible to arrange are now just a click away. On the fly translation with AI, Google translate, etc. Only seemed like an unbelievable sci-fi Dream on Star Trek.

    I doubt this trip would have been possible 25 years ago without the technology we take for granted today. Back then, my time was limited, weekends short, and planning routes was an exhausting puzzle. I often wondered recently why I had not explored more in those days, but the answer is clear: I simply did not have the tools or the time.

    Yet, in all that has changed, the most important things have not. The ridgelines of the Minami Alps still rise like they did when I first saw them—in particular, the comb-shaped mountain called Kushigata Yama, and Mount Fuji in the distance, like she is overlooking and protecting Yamanashi. Rivers and waterfalls still carve their way through green valleys, and the small villages are still surrounded by rice fields that glow golden in autumn. The temples, shrines, and stone Buddhas tucked along quiet roadsides remain. And most of all, the people: endlessly kind, endlessly generous. Their joy that we are here, appreciating their country and culture, is the same joy I felt 26 years ago.

    Best of all, this time I am not riding alone. I am sharing this journey with my best friend and the love of my life, and together we have navigated over 20 days from the east to the west of Japan, reliving with her why I fell in love with Japan. Together we are experiencing sights and kindness too difficult to explain, and are enjoying every moment. We have shared the joy of touring side by side, turning the pedals, sharing the views, and collecting stories that will warm our souls forever.

    As I reflect, I realize this love for other cultures and people was planted long before Japan. My parents taught me by example: my father, who welcomed international students as a director at our community college, and my mother, who volunteered teaching English as a second language. Our home was always open to foreign exchange students, and kindness to others was never optional—it was a way of life. I was raised to believe that every person deserves the freedom to live authentically, as long as it does not harm others.

    In a world that often feels divided in fear of others, travel reminds me of what truly matters: sharing cultures, building connections, and discovering kindness in unexpected places. The road teaches you humility, gratitude, and a sense of belonging that transcends borders.

    So today, on my 58th birthday, I ride these mountain roads not as the young man discovering Japan for the first time, but as someone deeply grateful to have returned. Time, technology, and age may change me, but the beauty of this land, the kindness of its people, and the love of traveling remain timeless.

    It’s hard to look back on this journey without giving thanks to the many influences that nudged me deeper into cycling. Long before touring, racing, or overseas adventures, my bike was my freedom in Marshalltown. I rode it to deliver papers, to see friends, to get across town—long before I had a driver’s license, and even after I got one, I still often chose the bike over the car. It wasn’t just transportation; it was independence.

    Mike at Mike’s Schwinn first took me under his wing, letting me assemble bikes for a few dollars an hour. That’s where I bought my first “real” machine—a Schwinn Voyager 11.8—and where I felt the pull of something bigger than just getting around. My parents didn’t dismiss me when I spent nearly $400 on that bike in 1984; instead, they supported me. Then there was Ken Riggle, a family friend from Ohio, who pedaled across the U.S. and stopped by our house. Watching him roll in on loaded panniers lit a spark: I wanted to do that someday.

    From there, the miles stacked up. RAGBRAI X opened the door when Mark Hoober and I rode over 530 miles across the state of Iowa in 7 days. Then came epic rides with friends: with Mark, riding back from California to Iowa in a month; with Scott Lund, starting in Canada and rolling home through Minnesota to Marshalltown; with Pat McKay, my childhood best friend, riding coast to coast from Seattle to D.C. (the longest tour of 3,500 miles and 50 days); with Kelly Ruddick and Matt Doyle, from Spokane to Niagara Falls, and later from Wisconsin to Maine with Matt (as he had to bail out earlier on the other trip to Niagara Falls). There was a tour in New Zealand, a rides home from Salt Lake City to Iowa (my only solo tour), a week long loop in Colorado, and countless days cycling in Iowa—well over 150,000 miles by now.

    Racing, too, became a big part of my cycling days: road races, criteriums, cyclocross—each discipline sharpening my legs, lungs, and love of the sport in different ways. The competition pushed me, but it was always the camaraderie, the community around the bike, that mattered most.

    By the time Lisa and I took our first mini tour to Anamosa in 2007—with her brake rubbing for half the ride—I already knew cycling wasn’t just a pastime for us. But that trip sealed something even deeper: the start of sharing this life on two wheels together. Looking back, nearly all of my friendships, adventures, and even the turning points of my life seem to have been framed by the simple act of pedaling forward.

    And now, as I connect these reflections from Marshalltown to Kushigata, I can see more clearly than ever: every road, every friendship, and every mile has been leading me here … deep in the mountains of Toyama Prefecture, on the way to visit Kakeru, now in his 40s with a family of three children—long ago my weightlifting companion, before I helped him off to Marshalltown for high school.    Read more

  • Japan

    🎌 Day 22 🎌

    September 24 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 26 °C

    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

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    🇯🇵 🍡 Day 21 🍡 🇯🇵

    September 23 in Japan ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    Our “rest day” in 高山 (Takayama) began at 5:30 a.m.—which, if you ask me, felt more like waking up to deliver the Des Moines Register newspaper back in high school than a lazy day off. But with the promise of the famous morning markets, we couldn’t resist. By sunrise we were wandering the stalls of 宮川朝市 (Miyagawa Morning Market) and 陣屋前朝市 (Jinya-mae Morning Market), surrounded by the chatter of vendors setting up and the earthy aroma of fresh produce and street foods sizzling on grills.

    Breakfast came in the form of steady grazing: skewers of grilled 団子 (dango), crispy たい焼き (taiyaki)—a fish-shaped cake traditionally filled with sweet bean paste but now often stuffed with custard or chocolate, beloved across Japan as a nostalgic festival treat; 焼きそば (yakisoba) with rich 飛騨豚 (Hida pork); and a stick of sizzling 飛騨牛 (Hida beef), the pride of Gifu Prefecture, famous for its intense marbling and melt-in-your-mouth flavor, often compared to Kobe beef and considered a true delicacy. Somewhere along the way we nibbled on 焼きおにぎり (grilled rice ball) brushed with miso, and then stepped into the warm embrace of Takayama’s oldest coffee shop, Coffee Don.

    Family-owned since 1951, Coffee Don still carries the scent of 昭和 (Shōwa)-era nostalgia mixed with the aroma of strong morning brew. We ordered the classic set: toast, a hard-boiled egg, orange juice, coffee, and a small biscotti cookie. As I fumbled through my Japanese (「日本のテレビに出るかもしれません！」—“We might be on Japanese TV!”), the owner and his daughters lit up with excitement. Photos were snapped, laughter filled the shop, and we left smiling. But just half a block away, one of the daughters came running after us, breathless, carrying a box of beautifully wrapped roll cakes. The kindness of the gesture nearly brought both Lisa and me to tears. Later in the day we circled back to thank them again, sharing our blog’s QR code so they could follow along. I was so glad we chose their coffee shop instead of a vending machine that morning.

    By 9:00 a.m., our “rest day” already felt like a full day. We had visited both markets, sampled fresh produce, bought a juicy 梨 (nashi pear) and a small gift for Masa back in 山梨 (Yamanashi), and walked more than 2 miles (3.2 km). Lisa wisely suggested a mid-morning pause at the hotel so she could catch up on work while I updated Find Penguins. We also made time to FaceTime Lisa’s mom. It felt good to catch up! ❤️

    Not long after, we set out again, tracing the route I had originally mapped for cycling. It carried us through 城山公園 (Shiroyama Park), a green haven where tall cedar trees muffled the sounds of the town below. The serenity was a gift, but soon enough we were back in Takayama’s lively streets, browsing antique shops in search of a rare marble (spoiler: no treasure today). Still, people-watching and weaving through the aromas of sizzling street food was its own reward.

    The rest of the day was a dance between relaxation and small adventures: numerous cups of coffee, leisurely walks, and holding hands as we meandered. By the time we tallied it up, we realized we had logged nearly 7 miles (11 km) on our “rest day.” I’m starting to think “rest day” in our vocabulary really means: no 50-mile bike ride, but definitely a 10k walk—snacking every few blocks.

    Evening found us stretching tired legs before wandering to 7-Eleven for a humble dinner run. We grabbed fried rice and curry rice—proof that even convenience store meals in Japan can hit the spot.

    As the sun began to set over the 陣屋 (Jinya), we headed up to the rooftop bar to catch the final moments of daylight. There we met Liam, a friendly bartender from Sydney, Australia, and swapped stories about living in Japan.

    Later, we returned to our hotel room, warmed up our pre-made meals, and enjoyed a quiet dinner. With our bellies full and our hearts lifted by the kindness of the day, we felt refreshed by this slower rhythm in Takayama.

    Tomorrow, the mountains call again as we ride toward Kanazawa to see Kakeru and his family.    Read more

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    🎌 ⛰️ Day 20 ⛰️🎌

    September 22 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C

    44 miles / 4,825 ft. / 3:54

    Breakfast at Irodori set the mood for the day—simple, cheerful, and playful. Lisa and I couldn’t resist making a funny little video in our hotel’s 浴衣 (yukata – casual cotton robe), laughing at ourselves before the serious business of climbing began.

    Less than a tenth of a mile into the 13.5-mile ascent toward the famed 乗鞍スカイライン (Norikura Skyline), a wild fox darted across the road, its auburn coat flashing in the morning sun—a rare and auspicious greeting. The climb itself unfolded under perfect conditions: cool mountain air at about 56°F, skies painted with drifting white clouds, and a road nearly silent save for the whir of a few cyclists’ wheels and the occasional tour bus winding its way upward.

    This Skyline is no ordinary road. It is one of the highest paved roads in all of Japan, cresting above 2,700 meters inside the 中部山岳国立公園 (Chūbu Sangaku National Park). Private cars are banned, leaving the route to buses, taxis, hikers, and cyclists. The pavement threads through alpine meadows, volcanic slopes, and vistas that stretch across the Northern Alps. Our goal was to reach the top in two hours, and we rolled into the summit area at 畳平 (Tatamidaira) in one hour and fifty-eight minutes—just under the wire.

    Along the way we kept leapfrogging with another cyclist, exchanging nods and encouragement each time one of us pulled ahead. Near the summit we finally stopped together, shared a few laughs, and took some photos to mark the climb. Sadly, I forgot his name, but the memory of that shared effort—a strangers pushing toward the same goal as us—will stay with us.

    From there we traded cycling shoes for hiking shoes, wandering for nearly an hour and a half among short trails to windswept peaks. Souvenir shops clustered at the plateau offered the usual trinkets, but we chose something a little more personal: a pair of socks embroidered with the mountain’s name and elevation, a reminder of the climb and the thin air at the top.

    The descent was nothing short of exhilarating. Switchbacks stacked one after another as we dropped into 岐阜県 (Gifu Prefecture). For a stretch we tucked in behind a construction truck that served as a windbreak, our speed soaring beyond 40 miles per hour. Eventually the Skyline delivered us into the valleys, where I had marked a soba shop on our map. True to form, it delivered exactly what we needed.

    One thing we’ve noticed is the difference between Japanese and European lunches. In much of Europe, lunch can be a leisurely ritual—multiple courses, long pauses, perhaps a glass of wine, often stretching into two hours or more. In Japan, even at sit-down restaurants, lunch feels purposeful and efficient: order, eat, and be on your way. It’s not rushed, but there’s a kind of respectful quickness, perfect for travelers who want to keep moving.

    Afterward, the road grew busier for a while before turning quiet again, shafts of afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees and warming our shoulders. Soon the spires of 高山 (Takayama) appeared—a city often called 小京都 (Ko-Kyōto – Little Kyoto) because of its beautifully preserved Edo-period townscape. Its prosperity was built on the timber and carpentry skills of the 飛騨 (Hida) region. Hida craftsmen, known as 飛騨の匠 (Hida no Takumi – master carpenters of Hida), were so skilled that they were summoned to Kyoto and Nara centuries ago to build temples and palaces, a legacy still honored today.

    We checked into the Sunset Jinya, a hotel perched just across from 高山陣屋 (Takayama Jinya). This historic building once served as the shogunate’s regional headquarters from 1692 until the Meiji era. Because of its rich forests, Hida was placed under direct Tokugawa control, and the Jinya became the seat of magistrates overseeing taxes, forestry, and justice. Today it stands as the only surviving jin’ya in all of Japan and is preserved as a National Historic Site, complete with tatami-lined offices, interrogation rooms, rice granaries, and tranquil gardens.

    From our window, the view framed both the landmark and the setting sun, so we order craft beers from Guston, a young Argentina man who is spending a year working in Takayama, and carried them up to the rooftop bar to watch the evening light fade over the tiled roofs and the surrounding hills.

    There we met Bart and Jill, a friendly couple from Melbourne on a sightseeing tour of Japan. Conversation flowed easily—travel stories, impressions of the country, and laughter carried on the breeze. Later, Lisa and I strolled the lantern-lit streets of 三町筋 (Sanmachi-suji – preserved merchant district), Takayama’s historic quarter where dark-latticed machiya houses line narrow streets. At night the atmosphere is hushed and timeless, broken only by the soft glow of paper lanterns. I stopped often to take photographs—wooden facades glowing under warm light, noren curtains swaying in the breeze, and the sense that these streets have barely changed in centuries.

    We ended the day simply, with a few snacks from ファミリーマート (FamilyMart – convenience store) and the comfort of a peaceful hotel room. Tomorrow we’ll rise early to wander the 宮川朝市 (Miyagawa Asaichi – Miyagawa Morning Market) and 陣屋前朝市 (Jinya-mae Asaichi – Jinya-mae Morning Market), when farmers and craft sellers set up their stalls along the river and in front of Takayama Jinya, a tradition stretching back more than 300 years.    Read more

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    🇯🇵 🐒 Day 19 🐒 🇯🇵

    September 21 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C

    40 miles / 4,455 feet / 4:07

    We began our 朝 (asa – morning) at our Airbnb in 下諏訪 (Shimosuwa), in the heart of the 諏訪 (Suwa) district. Breakfast was light but memorable: coffee, yogurt, bananas, and the special apple danishes that Eiko—the former head English teacher I worked with in Kushigata—had carefully baked and sent with us as a gift for our journey ahead. As we loaded the bikes, the owners, Seiichi and Keiko, cheerfully saw us off, taking plenty of pictures and waving until we disappeared down the street.

    Our first stop was at Suwa Taisha Shimosha Akimiya (諏訪大社 下社秋宮), one of the four main shrines of the Suwa Grand Shrine complex—among the oldest in Japan, with a history stretching back over a thousand years. It has long been a place of devotion for mountain and harvest deities. The grounds were serene, shaded by towering cedars, with views reaching toward 諏訪湖 (Lake Suwa). We paused at the racks of 絵馬 (ema – wooden prayer tablets), reading the heartfelt wishes left by countless visitors before us.

    From there, we visited the Manji Stone Buddha (万治の石仏 – Manji no Sekibutsu), a massive statue carved in 1660. According to legend, the mason who built the shrine gate carved this Buddha afterward as a vow to the gods. Locals still circle the statue three times while making wishes, believing in its quiet power. Its worn face seemed to embody centuries of prayer and patience.

    We then climbed to Enrei-Onodachi Park Viewpoint, battling grades as steep as 23%. The struggle was real (especially with the slick moss moist from yesterday’s rain), but the reward was immense: sweeping views of the lake below and the surrounding peaks. For a moment the clouds parted, revealing the distant silhouette of Japan’s sacred mountain on the horizon—Mt. Fuji a breathtaking sight.

    After carefully descending, we stopped at a 7-Eleven to restock on snacks and water, then pedaled toward Seinan Park, near the small airfield. The park was quiet and green, the sort of local spot where families gather on weekends and children play freely. We had a light picnic of the normal Japanese snacks from 7-Eleven, but this time Jim also tried the ham and cheese burrito and Lisa the ham and cucumber sandwich on white bread (with the crust cut off).

    After lunch, the road carried us into fertile farmland. Orchards heavy with apples (りんご ringo), pears, and peaches lined the hillsides, while golden rice paddies rippled in the breeze. 玉ねぎ (tamanegi – onions) and leafy greens filled neat rows in the valley bottoms. Nagano is known as the “fruit kingdom” (果物王国 kudamono ōkoku), and today’s ride proved why. The cooler air at this altitude gives the fruit a crisp, balanced sweetness unlike anywhere else.

    Near 松本 (Matsumoto) in the Hata district, we rode along a quiet mountain road beside the river. There we had our first sighting of wild monkeys (日本猿 nihonzaru)—darting across the pavement before disappearing into the trees.

    Another short shop stop for evening essentials, then my ever adventurous routing experiment led us along the Azusa River, where parts of the old road had been half-washed away by landslides. We pushed our bikes carefully across rough patches before rejoining Route 158. Sunday traffic was heavy with hikers heading to the mountains, and the endless tunnels made the riding tense.

    We took a detour to one of the large dams and found it strangely deserted—just quiet water and dramatic scenery, while the busy highway buzzed not far away. Lisa and I sprinted across it, laughing about creating a Strava segment. We saw more monkeys while waiting at another long tunnel, before finally tackling the toughest climb of the day into 松本安曇 (Matsumoto-Azumi).

    Our guesthouse, Irodori, greeted us warmly. We checked in, celebrated with cold beers, and soaked in our own private 温泉 (onsen – hot spring bath), a perfect recovery after the long ride. Dinner was humble but exactly what we needed: instant cup noodles, crispy French fries, a bit of karaage fried chicken (唐揚げ), salty edamame, and Meiji chocolate for dessert.

    Today’s weather made a big difference—cooler temperatures kept us comfortable, though we fought a steady 風 (kaze – wind) approaching the climb. Luckily, once the road tilted upward, the breeze shifted just enough to give us a gentle push from behind. A small gift that helped carry us through the hardest miles.

    Tomorrow we’ll take on the famous Norikura Skyline (乗鞍スカイライン)—a climb of about 13.5 miles (22 km) at an average grade of 6.5%. It’s the highest paved road in Japan, topping out above 2,700 meters. Known for its alpine meadows, sweeping switchbacks, and views into the Northern Alps, it’s a true bucket-list ride for cyclists in Japan. A big test awaits us in the morning.    Read more

  • Japan

    🇯🇵 Day 18 🇯🇵

    September 20 in Japan ⋅ 🌧 22 °C

    47 miles / 3,475 ft / 4:11

    The C-Spoke began with a bittersweet feeling. We were eager to find the solitude of the Japanese mountain roads once again, yet it also meant leaving behind the warmth of Yuki, Masa, and their home. This also meant saying goodbye—at least for now—to our TV crew, who had become not only our travel companions but also our friends.

    After several rounds of bows, hugs, and kind words, we rolled out onto the familiar roads of 山梨県 (Yamanashi-ken). Jim pointed to places along the way, recalling stories and memories from years past. The morning brought a steady, gradual climb, and with our legs refreshed from rest, it felt smooth and almost easy.

    Just as we pulled into a 7-Eleven for a quick hot canned coffee, the skies opened up. We sheltered under the awning, sipping our drinks and writing the blog post for the previous day. Once the rain lightened, we pushed onward toward 長野県 (Nagano-ken). But soon the downpour returned—harder this time. Luckily, near a small post office we spotted a narrow overhang and ducked under, grateful for the small reprieve.

    We opened the snacks Yuki and Masa had packed for us, little comforts to brighten the gray afternoon. As the chill started to set in, kindness arrived in the most unexpected way. Two women—Setsuko and her daughter Kazumi—waved from across the street and invited us into their home with warm smiles and a gentle “どうぞ, dōzo” (please, come in). With Jim’s Japanese and their bits of English, plus plenty of smiles and gestures, we managed to share our story—through words, photographs, and laughter. We learned Kazumi’s daughter was studying to be a teacher (先生 – sensei), and they seemed to understand the spirit of our journey.

    By the time the skies began to clear, our hearts and bodies were already warmed. As we prepared to leave, Setsuko and Kazumi surprised us with a gift: a bunch of the famous Yamanashi grapes. Their kind “どうぞ, dōzo” as they handed them over brought tears to our eyes. Offering shelter to two rain-soaked strangers was already more than enough, but to also send us off with a gift of their prized grapes… it was a moment that will stay with us forever.

    On the way into 諏訪 (Suwa), we made a quick stop at a Mont-Bell store and picked up some natural mosquito repellent—hopefully strong enough to ward off the stealthy “ninja” mosquitoes that always seem to find us. By the time we reached town, the streets were buzzing with weekend visitors, many gathering for tomorrow’s 花火 (hanabi – fireworks) exhibition.

    We followed the lakeshore bike path, which loops completely around Lake Suwa, and about two miles from our Airbnb we stumbled upon a free hot spring foot bath. It was exactly what we needed. Lisa had been chilled from the rain, and my right foot had cramped on and off most of the day. Slipping our tired feet into the steaming mineral water was pure relief, and we lingered there before heading on.

    After a quick stop at a 7-Eleven for some basics, we arrived at our Airbnb, where our hosts Seiichi and Keiko welcomed us warmly. They mentioned a nearby street festival, and after getting cleaned up we joined them under umbrellas for the short walk there. The narrow street was lined with food stalls, smoke rising from grills, and the air rich with savory aromas. But with the rain still falling, we decided to duck into a local Chinese restaurant instead.

    Hunger had definitely set in—we’d only had a rice ball earlier in the day—so we ordered a spread of appetizers and main dishes to share. The food was delicious, the large bottles of beer refreshing, and the price once again reminded us how surprisingly affordable eating out in Japan can be.

    Afterward, Lisa and I wandered back through the festival stalls for one last look. Near a yakitori stand we ran into a father with his two daughters, who insisted on treating us. We tried to politely decline with a laugh and an “おなかいっぱい (onaka ippai!)” – our stomachs are full – but he had already bought them. So, with good humor, we sampled skewers of grilled chicken skin and chicken neck. The flavor was bold, the outside pleasantly crisp, but the texture wasn’t quite to our taste. Still, his generosity was touching, and we shared a smile over the moment.

    Back at our Airbnb, Lisa and I sat together, laughing about the day behind us and all the unexpected twists it brought. A day that began with heartfelt goodbyes and stormy skies had ended with warm company, good food, and yet another reminder of the kindness of strangers. 明日 (ashita) we climb back into the mountains, heading west toward Kanazawa.    Read more

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    🇯🇵 Day 17 🇯🇵

    September 19 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C

    Our second rest day in a row, and last one before the beginning of our C Spoke.

    The morning started with some much-needed maintenance. The zipper on my Bontrager rain jacket had failed—quite a disappointment—and the zipper on my top tube bag wasn’t working either. Lisa and Yuki helped me with repairs, and I even got to use some of my long-forgotten sewing skills. I put a fresh coat of Silica Top-Off wax on the chains and repaired the handlebar tape.

    We lingered around the familiar dining room table with Masa and Yuki, sipping coffee, nibbling on fresh grapes, and laughing about yesterday. The three cats (猫 – neko) kept us company—sometimes jealous that we were stealing attention from their parents—jumping into our laps or scratching the chairs to remind us we were sitting in their chairs.

    By 11 a.m. we were off for lunch with Eiko Ishikawa and her husband. Eiko, who had been the head English teacher at Kushigata Junior High during my years there. She was such an invaluable help back then, especially since there was no internet or translation apps. She would write Japanese phonetically so I could practice easy phrases, and she explained countless school lunches (給食 – kyūshoku) to me. I’ll never forget the day she told me that the “roast beef” I thought I was eating was actually whale—served on the anniversary of school lunches being introduced in Japan. By then I had been here nearly two years, and not much surprised me anymore.

    During lunch with them today we spent time reminiscing about the junior high school, looking at photos, and talking about past and future travels. Lisa and Eiko worked together in the kitchen while Ishikawa-san and I studied a world map and traded travel stories.

    Lunch was a feast: freshly fried tempura—chicken, shiitake mushrooms, carrots, eggplant, sweet potato, and a delicate green leaf called shiso (紫蘇) with its light, refreshing flavor. Alongside came two kinds of cold noodles: soba (蕎麦), the nutty buckwheat noodles, and sōmen (素麺), thin white wheat noodles, both dipped in soy-based sauce with chopped green onions. For dessert, we had a beautiful bowl of Yamanashi’s famous pears and grapes. A home-cooked meal, prepared with such care, was the perfect gift for our rest day.

    Just as we were about to eat, I checked my messages—the TV crew wanted us at Big Boy Restaurant at 2 p.m. and told me to save room because they wanted me to order the same dish I had eaten 25 years ago. I chuckled—this felt exactly like my first time in Japan: never quite knowing what was next, always surprised by what unfolded.

    Before we knew it, 2 p.m. had arrived. The Ishikawas hurried us back to Yuki’s house where the crew was waiting. They asked us to wear the same clothes as the day before, but since we had just washed them that morning, Yuki helped us get them dried in time.

    The filming began with us doing a “fake walk” toward Big Boy from Yuki’s house, chatting casually about dinner plans. Then we hopped in the car, drove closer, and finished the walk while acting surprised that Big Boy was still standing after all these years. Inside, I ordered the same hamburger plate with the all-you-can-eat salad and drink bar. Close-up shots captured Lisa and me carefully analyzing the flavors, just as though it were a Michelin-level tasting. Somehow, despite the huge lunch we’d just eaten, we managed to make it look believable.

    Afterward, the crew filmed a final interview near the library before returning us to Yuki’s house. There we met Noriko, one of my former students, and spent some time catching up around the dining room table.

    At 6 p.m. the Kawazumi family arrived, and the TV crew stuck around to film our reunion outside. Chizuru greeted us, her energy and bright smile lighting up the whole area brighter than the TV cameras. Tsuyoshi, ever the shy one, stayed back in the car—unwilling to be filmed. Soon after, the filming wrapped up for the day, and Lisa and I left with Tsuyoshi and Chizuru to visit their mother’s home.

    We hadn’t seen her in ten years, but she welcomed us like family. At 94 years and one month, she proudly told us that our visit cheered her so much it would add years to her life. She kept telling Lisa how beautiful she was. We posed for photos together, feeling deeply touched by her warmth.

    Dinner at Chizuru and Tsuyoshi’s house was another feast: steaming bowls of ramen, fried rice, and no fewer than seven different cakes made by Mari, one of my old students, who now works as a professional baker. It’s hard to explain the feeling of reconnecting with this family, who were my neighbors 25 years ago. Back then, Mari was in ninth grade, Satomi in eighth, and little Yukiko (now going by Yuki) just starting private English lessons with me. Today they are grown women, with families, jobs, and lives of their own—yet being together felt like no time had passed at all.

    Satomi now lives in China with her husband and three children. Mari, lighthearted and kind, beams with pride in her work as a baker. Yuki has become a designer, creating building window displays. Tsuyoshi hasn’t changed: the same laugh, the same shy smile, and his subtle humor that sneaks up on you. And Chizuru remains her vibrant, radiant self, full of energy and kindness.

    By 9 p.m., after hugs, photos, and goodbyes, it was hard to leave. Back at Yuki’s house, we stayed up another hour chatting, watching Tokyo track-and-field events on TV, and recapping the many funny moments of the day.    Read more

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    🇯🇵 Day 16 🇯🇵

    September 18 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C

    Rest Day

    Today was a day of reconnecting and revisiting.

    The morning started with a relaxing breakfast with Yuki and Masa, followed by laundry and the usual “rest day” duties.

    Then it was off to lunch with our old friends Mokoto and Yuriko (Kakeru’s parents.) They welcomed us with their usual laughter and stories of travel. Yuriko prepared カレー焼きそば (karē yakisoba – curry fried noodles) and even shared her secret recipe with us so we could make it at home and think of them. We also enjoyed some 漬物 (tsukemono – fermented pickles) and a delicious creamy イチジク (ichijiku – fig) dessert.

    After lunch we headed to the junior high school for a ceremony to kick off the 学園祭 (gakuensai – school festival), where we were introduced as surprise guests. Jim gave a short speech in both 英語 (eigo – English) and 日本語 (nihongo – Japanese). The principal’s care in making the event special, along with the thoughtfulness of the teachers assigned to help, made the whole experience feel like an honor. The students were captivated and supportive, cheering loudly.

    Following all the excitement, we took a nostalgic walk (TV crew in tow) through the school. Jim shared stories of walking the hallways, sitting at his old desk, and pretending to teach in his former classroom. The crew was especially interested in how the school had changed since Jim’s days there. He noticed エアコン (eakon – air conditioning), computers at every teacher’s desk, Google Chromebooks in classrooms, whiteboards replacing blackboards, and brighter interiors thanks to LED lighting.

    After more cheers and waves from the kids, as we got into the car to leave and made our way to the 図書館 (toshokan – library)—a place Jim had always found relaxing. Some parts were unchanged, while others had been updated: a model of 東京タワー (Tōkyō Tawā – Tokyo Tower) honoring the architect from Kushigata, and the auditorium where Jim once attended meetings, still decorated with its striking curtain artwork. He led us to the 英語の本 (eigo no hon – English book) section, filled with titles (some gifted from Iowa), and pointed out where he used to sit and read the 新聞 (shinbun – newspaper), often with a view of 富士山 (Fujisan – Mt. Fuji) in the background.

    One last stop on the tour was along the 川 (kawa – river) where the festival is celebrated each spring. After saying goodbye 「またね！」(“matane!” – see you again!) to the TV crew, we headed back to Yuki and Masa’s for a short rest and a tour of their son’s beautiful new home under construction.

    Later, we visited Cassie and Hiro’s Kid’s Design Class (https://kidsdesignclass.com), a modern Japanese-style space where kids and families can express their creative talents. Work on graphic design projects. It is a super cool idea. The students work on one project for seven weeks, such as designing wrapping paper, playing cards, waterbottles, postcards, and even Rubik‘s cubes. These graphics can then be turned into gifts or even items to be sold.

    Cassie is Annie’s sister and one of my prize English students from 25 years ago.
    It was heartwarming to see how well she is doing, to reconnect with het, get to know her husband, and meet their children, who were busy creating art and enjoying the space while we shared a meal together.

    Another fun filled day with many events and another seven hours with the TV crew had us exhausted in a good way.

    Two more nights at Yuki’s house and we are off for our C Spoke to Kakeru‘s house in Kanazawa.    Read more

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    🗻🇯🇵 Day 15 🇯🇵🗻

    September 17 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 32 °C

    32 miles / 2,340 ft / 2:57

    B Spoke completed: 216 miles (209 predicted)

    We woke up to first light in our hotel room and pulled the curtains, hoping for even the smallest glimpse of Fuji (富士山 – Fujisan). And there she was—completely revealed, her slopes painted in the red glow of pre-sunrise light. It felt like she was exposing her soul to us, inviting us into another full day of adventure, connection, and compassion.

    Moments like this feel like gifts. All they require is presence. Scroll the phone, sleep in, or forget to look out the window, and you risk missing magic that could shape your whole day.

    Although Fuji stayed the same, the landscape around her shifted constantly: mist rising, shadows stretching, colors deepening. No wonder she is considered sacred in Japan—she feels alive.

    Breakfast awaited us downstairs. We were greeted warmly not only by our new film crew friends, but also by a table spread with a true Japanese morning feast: salted fish grilled to perfection, a raw egg to crack in our hot rice 卵かけご飯 (tamago kake gohan – raw egg over rice), and natto (納豆 – fermented soybeans, sticky and strong in flavor, but famously healthy). A few small bowls of pickles (漬物 – tsukemono) completed the tray. The fresh raw egg cracked over hot rice, usually seasoned with soy sauce, is a classic Japanese breakfast staple: the heat of the rice slightly warms the egg, creating a creamy, savory bowl that’s simple but beloved across Japan. Even the humblest Japanese breakfast is balanced, seasonal, and beautiful—a meal designed to ground you for the day.

    As we lingered over breakfast, we met Tom, a friendly cyclist from Indianapolis. Every year he takes a two-week cycling adventure, and this year marked his very first trip to Asia. Japan had already captured his heart, and it was inspiring to see the same sparkle of discovery in his eyes that we’ve felt so many times on this journey.

    Fueled and happy from breakfast, we rolled down to Lake Motosu (本栖湖 – Motosu-ko), one of Fuji’s “Five Lakes.” Its deep, cobalt-blue water mirrored the mountain perfectly. This very lakeshore is where the iconic view printed on the back of the ¥1000 bill was photographed. Standing there, gazing at the real thing, we felt like we had stepped straight into Japan’s national identity.

    Of course, what goes down must climb back up. Our exit from the lake was an 18% grade—mercilessly steep and whipped by wind. Behind us, Yoshi, the director, pedaled on his Specialized e-bike, grinning. A little later, Rio, experiencing her first assignment in the field, bravely joined the ride. We unintentionally initiated her with a “climb” that wasn’t a climb at all—just a steep carpet of leaves in the forest. Laughing, we turned back to take the tunnel instead. She admitted later she loved the challenge but found the tunnel terrifying, with its echoing trucks. Welcome to riding in Japan!

    The mountains offered more tests: a narrow, arched bridge with no railing, switchback climbs, and unexpected detours. Jim guided us toward safer routes when needed, always balancing adventure with care. ❤️ Each climb, no matter how grueling, paid us back with sweeping views of valleys and ridgelines. As we drew closer to the Kōfu Basin (甲府盆地 – Kōfu Bonchi), vineyards and orchards appeared. Yamanashi is Japan’s fruit kingdom—renowned for peaches, grapes, and wine made from the local Koshu grape. Even the air smelled sweeter.

    We also tried to give the TV crew a true taste of our kind of touring. That meant challenging climbs, fast descents full of switchbacks, detours when the road disappeared, and even getting separated before finding each other again on the maze-like mountain lanes. Lunch was a picnic from 7-11 (セブンイレブン – Sebun Irebun) enjoyed at an overlook park with sweeping views, simple but perfect. We stopped at small shrines tucked into the roadside, lingered at mountain vistas, and tried to act as naturally as possible—as if they weren’t filming us at all. In the end, we were just having fun together, and it felt good to see them sharing in the adventure.

    The crew surprised us with how game they were—adventurous and thoughtful every step. They sweated through climbs, laughed down descents, got lost on winding roads, and regrouped with us when paths split. The driver was cautious and protective, the cameraman’s smile never wavered, and Midori, our translator, patiently carried every nuance across languages. They may have been shy about using Japanese themselves, but their kindness radiated. Our only regret: forgetting to take a group photo!

    At last, we reached Minami-Alps (南アルプス – Minami Arupusu). Jim slipped into tour guide mode, showing us his old stomping grounds: the middle school where he once taught, his former house, and even the site of the gym where he used to train—now nothing but a vacant lot.

    Finally, we rolled up to Yuki and Masa’s house, with the TV crew still in tow. The welcome was immediate and warm, full of long hugs—the kind you get from family when you return home, when all the weariness of travel melts away.

    And the surprises weren’t over. Emi, one of Jim’s friends from 25 years ago, appeared at Yuki’s door. From our first hug, I felt her goodness. Sweet, genuine, and deeply kind—like someone I had known forever, not just minutes.

    Later, when Yuki finished teaching, things quieted down and Masa and Yuki took us to a local Chinese restaurant. After a day of climbing, bowls of steaming ramen and sizzling plates of meat and vegetables tasted like heaven. The meal was delivered, to our delight, by a robot waitress—an only-in-Japan blend of tradition and technology.

    Although we didn’t interact much with locals today, our connections with the film crew deepened. Their effort, resilience, and warmth made the day unforgettable.

    Tomorrow brings a special chapter: lunch with Jim’s old friends, and our introduction at the school festival.    Read more

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    🎌📺 Day 14 📺🎌

    September 16 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 27 °C

    27 miles / 3,270 feet / 2:39

    We woke up buzzing with excitement because today was the day we were meeting the TV crew from Why Did You Come to Japan? Our stay at Torinami View Guesthouse (鳥波ビューゲストハウス – Torinami Byū Gesutohausu) had already been rich with human connection. The night before, we prepared dinner in the kitchen with Christine, a French traveler staying there too. In the morning, the owner introduced us to her aunt, who had immigrated from Thailand more than 30 years ago and built a life here in Japan—a quiet reminder of the many different paths people take to call this country home. As we loaded up or bikes and began down the road, everyone cheered us on warmly, waving until we disappeared down the road.

    Not far into the ride, we paused on a street corner to catch our breath. A farmer walked by, gave us a nod, and we exchanged greetings. “暑いですね!” (Atsui desu ne! – “It’s hot, isn’t it?”) he said with a knowing smile. We laughed and agreed—it was already a steamy morning. Those small, shared moments always lift us up.

    About five miles in, we took a left turn—and suddenly there they were. A big van full of five people, cameras blazing, all pointed directly at us. What a surprise and complete joy! We joked to each other that maybe it was good we’d gotten the wrong turns out of our system earlier.

    Our first stop together was under the 100-year-old Kariyado-no-Gebazakura (狩宿の下馬桜 – Kariyado-no-Gebazakura). Cameras rolled as we gave a long interview, laughed with the crew, and watched them try to lift Jim’s loaded 自転車 (jitensha – bicycle). Then learned quickly it’s not as light as it looks. Soon we were wired up with microphones and GoPros, one cameraman trailing us on an e-bike, while the van leapfrogged us up the road. Lisa later said, “It felt like the Tour de France! I half expected them to hand me a water bottle so I could grab on and get pulled up this climb.” When the van pulled alongside, one crew member commented how Lisa was always smiling. Jim grinned and said, “Lisa is always smiling when she’s on the bike.”

    At Shiraito Falls (白糸の滝 – Shiraito-no-Taki), we decided to eat first. A small restaurant welcomed us with yakisoba (焼きそば – stir-fried noodles). The proud owner came out and told us about his special sardine-sprinkle topping. I bravely tried it at the urging of the crew, though in the end I leaned toward the spicier red pepper flakes. Lisa laughed as the cameras captured every bite. As we headed toward the waterfall, more than a hundred elementary school children were filing down the stairs while we climbed up, all chorusing cheerful “Hello!” greetings. Between the kids and the TV crew following closely, we must have looked like quite the spectacle.

    Back on the bike, the climb took us through Mount Fuji’s Dairyland. We stopped at Asagiri Dairy Farm (あさぎりフードパーク – Asagiri Fūdo Pāku), where two kind ladies behind the counter carefully served us iced coffees made with fresh local milk. Even the ticket machine was a challenge, but a passerby kindly stepped in to help us navigate the screen. It’s always the little kindnesses that make the day.

    Finally, we rolled into Kouan Guesthouse (浩庵ゲストハウス – Kōan Gesutohausu) on the shores of Lake Motosu (本栖湖 – Motosuko)—and as if on cue, Mount Fuji (富士山 – Fujisan) revealed herself. A perfect ending to the ride.

    Dinner was a feast of fish, chicken, rice, potato salad, pickles, mushrooms, and of course, steaming bowls of ほうとう (hōtō – hearty noodle stew). The cook beamed with pride as he explained his homemade spicy paste for the hōtō. The TV crew egged me on to try it, and the fiery kick brought big smiles all around. Cameras or not, the warmth of the evening was real.

    At last, we said goodnight to the crew, retired to our room, shared a Mount Fuji chocolate, and toasted the day with a cold beer.

    Today had it all: friends new and old, waterfalls, dairy cows, kind strangers, a bit of fame, and a lot of smiles. Until tomorrow.    Read more

  • Japan

    🇯🇵🍘 Day 13 🍘🇯🇵

    September 15 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 30 °C

    28 miles / 3,705 ft / 3:25

    One of Lisa’s favorite things while touring is to wake up and make coffee for me, and I love it! Today was no different. Our cozy backpacker accommodation made for another good night’s sleep, and this time none of the other guests were up and about. We had our whole morning routine to ourselves: coffee, bananas, yogurt, and a sweet roll.

    Although it wasn’t part of the original plan, we decided to detour down to the ocean. The shore of Suruga Bay (駿河湾 – Suruga-wan) was misty and nearly deserted. We wandered for a while, looking for shells, sea glass, and unique rocks. The only other person around was a fisherman in the distance, who didn’t appear to be having much luck.

    Knowing we had short mileage, but a lot of climbing ahead, we eventually turned our wheels inland. Clouds hung heavy, and Mount Fuji (富士山 – Fujisan) stayed hidden all day, but our route carried us into the mountains and small hillside villages. It’s rice harvest season, and we passed farmers gathering their golden stalks in the paddies. The road wound past shrines, roadside parks, and scenic overlooks with sweeping views of the valleys and the Fujikawa River (富士川 – Fujikawa) below.

    As lunchtime drew near, and with the humidity pressing down, we stopped for an “emergency” onigiri (おにぎり – rice ball) and a cold drink. The real treat came after the next climb, where the road dropped us down to the river’s edge and a welcoming mountainside café. What an incredible feast! Lisa ordered a hamburger–spaghetti curry, while I had a hamburger–omelette curry. As is common in Japan, the setto (セット – lunch set) included salad, pickles, a little quiche, rice, and a drink.

    We shared a table next to four Japanese women clearly enjoying a long-overdue catch-up. Their laughter filled the café, and they seemed as intrigued by us as we were by them. When we finished, we lingered over coffee, then thanked the chef. Proud to try his English, he walked us out, smiled, and said, “気をつけて (ki o tsukete – be careful, take care).”

    With just five miles left, we made one more detour to a convenience store (コンビニ – konbini) for dinner snacks and tomorrow’s breakfast. Soon after, we rolled into our Fuji-view guesthouse, kicked on the air conditioning, showered, and settled into the evening in our Japanese-style pajamas (浴衣 – yukata). None of the other guests seem to wear them as faithfully as we do, but we chuckle at ourselves, and no one else seems to notice.

    Not all was easy today. Some of the climbs pitched over 20%, and with moss-covered pavement, our tires spun out searching for grip. Still, the views and quiet mountain roads made it worthwhile.

    Today’s ride took us through Fujinomiya (富士宮市 – Fujinomiya-shi) and into Shizuoka Prefecture (静岡県 – Shizuoka-ken), southwest of Fuji. Mount Fuji itself is shared between Yamanashi (山梨県 – Yamanashi-ken) and Shizuoka, and of course there’s the eternal debate: which side is more beautiful? Having lived in Yamanashi for two years, I may be biased—but today’s rugged Shizuoka scenery gave that argument some competition, even without Fuji showing her face.

    By day’s end, we had left the bustle of the industrial city edges and begun to slip back into countryside quiet.

    The climbs today were brutal. We logged nearly double our usual 30-day elevation average, and our pace slowed to about 8 mph. No surprise with grades hitting over 20% and slick mossy Shizuoka’s mountain roads.

    Something very interesting is going to happen tomorrow… stay tuned!    Read more

  • Japan
    112

    🎌🗻 Day 12 🗻🎌

    September 14 in Japan ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C

    54 miles / 1,715 ft. / 4:15
    We woke to a honobono (ほのぼの – heartwarming, gentle, glowing) view of Mount Fuji, its peak capped in clouds but still magnificent. The hostel, aptly named Honobono, set the tone. Nearby, children gathered in neat rows for their school sports day, parents buzzing with anticipation. The orderly rhythm of whistles and speeches carried across the field, contrasting with the stillness of moss-covered lava rock and dense black volcanic forest.

    Breakfast was simple, but conversations gave it meaning. James, the Navajo traveler we met yesterday, was off to climb Fuji with his nation’s flag. A young man from China prepared nervously for his boating exam. Both were brimming with anticipation, and we wished them well. Masaya, the hostel owner, darted about, ferrying kids and gear. We laughed, “These kids get up early and get going — maybe we should learn from them.”

    From Lake Kawaguchiko (河口湖 – Kawaguchi-ko) we rolled past Lake Saiko (西湖 – Sai-ko), then detoured to Lake Shojiko (精進湖 – Shōji-ko) for a beautiful view of Fuji across the water. A trail promised a shortcut, but became our most rugged challenge yet: stairs, mosquitoes, and pushing bicycles uphill. At least the mossy forest was close enough to touch, its damp hush reminding us why Fuji’s foothills feel so alive.

    Later, smooth downhill roads carried us to the Fuji Highlands, where we stumbled upon Milkland (富士ミルクランド – Fuji Mirukurando), a dairy farm and visitor park. We joked that our good friend Doug, who loves milk would consider this place heaven. Families wandered between barns and shops, while a small crowd joined us trying help us figure out the ticket machine for ice cream. No English, plenty of buttons, and soon eight people were gathered, laughing, pointing, and helping us order, as we held up the line, but no one seemed annoyed. Then, when the clerk finally handed Lisa her cone, she accidentally stuck her finger in it. Mortified, she bowed and repeated “ごめんなさい” (gomennasai – I’m sorry). Lisa smiled back and reassured her with “大丈夫” (daijōbu – it’s OK). The woman insisted on making a new cone, a small mishap with a lot of laughter turned into a special memory.

    A little further on we stopped at Shiraito Falls (白糸の滝 – Shiraito no Taki), where three cheerful obachans, a warm, affectionate word for older women, (おばあちゃん – grannies) sat on a bench, enjoying a local treat called dango (団子 – chewy rice or potato flour dumplings). These were golf-ball sized, roasted and glazed with a sweet, smoky brown sauce. The women urged us to try, and of course we couldn’t disappoint. They watched closely as we bit in — the sauce fiery and sweet — and in our most dramatic Japanese we exclaimed, “おいしーーーい!” (oishiiii – delicious!). Their faces lit up with delight, nodding and laughing as if we had passed a test. Another simple but unforgettable exchange.

    Further down, we found ourselves at Taisekiji (大石寺 – Taisekiji), the head temple of Nichiren Shōshū Buddhism. Founded in 1290, it sprawls across 70 hectares with towering gates, a five-story pagoda (which I didn’t even even have us routed past, but we did stumble upon it), and the modern Hōandō Hall. The sōryo (僧侶 – monks) we met were kindness itself, guiding us through the immense grounds and showing us which path to take. One even offered to take our picture (写真 – shashin), smiling as he framed Fuji in the background. The grounds were hushed, solemn, but full of warmth too.

    By late afternoon, traffic thickened, but everyone on the road was patient and respectful. We ducked into a hidden parking lot behind a business, unpacked 7-Eleven snacks, and enjoyed a quiet moment before the descent.

    At last, we reached Fuji City (富士市 – Fuji-shi), an industrial port that looks out on Suruga Bay (駿河湾 – Suruga-wan), Japan’s deepest bay at over 8,200 feet (2,500 meters.) The salty humidity clung to us as we rolled into a bustling matsuri (祭り – festival). Food stalls lined the park along the bay: we chose yakitori (焼き鳥 – grilled chicken skewers), roasted sweet potatoes with sugar, a curious drink with jelly-like cubes topped with fizzy grape Fanta. The crowd was lively, and we were likely the only Americans there — every vendor trying to win our attention with smiles and gestures.

    Kindness was constant. Whether it was strangers helping us order ice cream, locals happily taking our photo when we asked, or the warmth of three obachans at Shiraito Falls, generosity flowed through the day.

    Later, at a grocery store, an older woman approached us as we packed our bags. Her English was excellent, and we chatted for ten minutes about our trip. She was 80 years old, she told us proudly, and still rides her bicycle every day. As we checked into our hostel we joked with the owner about being late because a sweet obachan had talked our ears off. When we showed him her photo, he laughed — she had once been his English teacher and now they are friends.

    The day closed at our hostel near the bay. We picked up orange chicken, potato croquettes, 赤飯 (sekihan – red bean rice), a roll cake, and pudding from the grocery store, washing it down with a couple of beers. We shared the dessert with Simon, a German traveler now living in Switzerland. He’s spending a month in Japan before heading to China, exploring culture and history along the way. His studies in robotics led us into a fascinating conversation about experimental cafés in Tokyo, where robots are remotely controlled by people with disabilities, giving them meaningful work and social interaction. Technology, he reminded us, can be deeply human.

    As the sun set over Suruga Bay, we felt the warmth of the day’s encounters more than the miles in our legs. At check-in, the hostel owner was waiting on the street, fist raised in triumph: “You made it!” It was a welcome as heartening as the morning’s view of Fuji.    Read more

  • Japan
    111

    🎌 Day 11 🎌

    September 13 in Japan ⋅ 🌧 24 °C

    39 miles / 2,123 ft / 3:19

    We woke to a rainy morning at our hotel on the lake. Lisa walked to the nearby 7-Eleven for breakfast while I watched the rain ribbon across the glass. The hotel staff showed us kindness, letting us linger in the lobby after our check out and chatting warmly about our trip. We finally rolled out around 10:30 a.m.

    Our route circled Lake Yamanaka (山中湖 – Yamanakako), one of the Fuji Five Lakes at the base of Mount Fuji. Clouds and thunderstorms kept Fuji hidden, but we still climbed to various viewpoints. The signs and overlooks made us chuckle, and I said,“This is where Mount Fuji would be…” We noticed others were doing the same, and not letting the weather dampen their spirits. People were jet skiing, paddle boarding, fishing, and cruising on the famous swan-shaped sightseeing boat (白鳥ボート – hakuchō bōto) despite the weather.

    Of course, Jim’s routing wasn’t the easy, direct loop. He strung together climbs along the mountainsides, aiming for those classic Fuji viewpoints. Today they were simply climbs into the mist—quiet, contemplative breaks from the weekend crowds.

    We stopped at Arakura Fuji Sengen Shrine (新倉富士浅間神社 – Arakura Fuji Sengen Jinja) and the Chureito Pagoda, usually a world-famous spot for Fuji views. The area was quiet in the rain, and though Fuji was hidden, we still enjoyed the hike up to the overlook. Jim had also scouted a little snack shop on Google Maps that sells roasted sweetheart potatoes, so after traveling thousands of miles we finally visited the exact place he had starred. The older woman running the shop smiled kindly as she served us a large, caramel-sweet 焼き芋 (yaki-imo – roasted sweet potato), which we enjoyed with ice-cold 烏龍茶 (ūron-cha – oolong tea) before tackling the next climb.

    That climb led us into the woods and away from tourists. We rang our bells from time to time—like carrying 熊鈴 (kuma-suzu – bear bells)—hoping any nearby bears would take the hint and amble off.

    From there, we rode to Kawaguchi Asama Shrine (河口浅間神社 – Kawaguchi Asama Jinja), founded in 865 after a major Fuji eruption to honor Konohanasakuya-hime (木花咲耶姫), the goddess of Mt. Fuji and volcanoes. The shrine is famous for its ancient cedar trees (杉 – sugi), some more than 1,200 years old and towering over 150 feet (46 meters.) The most striking are the 七本杉 (Shichihon Sugi – Seven Cedars), designated as a natural monument of Yamanashi. A pair called the 両柱杉 (Futahashira Sugi) stand side by side with intertwined roots, wrapped in sacred 注連縄 (shimenawa) ropes, symbolizing harmony and blessings for relationships.

    Along the way we also met people whose kindness shaped the day: a man directing traffic near the train station, dressed similar to a policeman, wished us safety and guided us toward bicycle parking; the hotel cleaning staff who encouraged our journey; and the warm smile of the sweet potato vendor. These small encounters carry as much weight as the scenery.

    We pedaled along Lake Kawaguchi (河口湖 – Kawaguchiko) under a light sprinkle. The ride was beautiful—mist curling across the water, leaves glistening, and quiet roads beneath our 自転車 (jitensha – bicycles). By 4:00 p.m. we rolled into our hippie-style hostel Honobono (which means friendship), greeted by the owner, Masaya, and his wife who welcomed us with genuine hospitality.

    That evening we met James, a young man from New Mexico and a member of the Navajo Nation, staying at the hostel before attempting his own climb of Mount Fuji. He shared his plan to carry the Navajo Nation flag to the summit, a journey he hoped to mark with a photograph. He will be spending the next year in Japan, studying and living with his Japanese girlfriend. Meeting him reminded us again of how travel brings unexpected connections.

    Dinner was simple yet perfect: another round of 7-Eleven premade meals, enjoyed together at the hostel in our quiet tatami mat room—a fitting close to a day filled with rain, climbs, ancient cedars, and the kindness of strangers.    Read more

  • Japan

    🗻🇯🇵 Day 10 🇯🇵🗻

    September 12 in Japan ⋅ 🌧 22 °C

    40 miles / 4,600 ft / 4:21

    Yuki and Masa loaded us up with breakfast, snacks, and a heartfelt farewell. Within two minutes of rolling out, the skies opened and we were pedaling into rain. An older Japanese man looked up from the vending machine where he was retrieving his can of morning coffee and, clearly wanting to practice his English, smiled and called out, “Good morning!” It lifted our spirits before the climbing began.

    The road pitched up quickly after our stretch riding along the 釜無川 (Kamanashi-gawa – Kamanashi River) — five miles, some grades hitting 18%. Just as our legs burned the hardest, we came to a road closed sign. What to do? Lisa suggested we ask, and while debating, we pulled out one of Masa’s magical gifts: a まんじゅう (manjū – sweet bean-filled treat). Its 餡子 (anko – sweet bean paste) cheered our spirits as we stood in the rain. Almost on cue, the construction crew appeared. With a bit of Japanese charm, Jim asked if we might pass. Smiles, nods, and a wave later — we were through. Otherwise, we would have faced a brutal detour down one side of the mountain and up the other.

    The descent that followed was treacherous — moss-slick pavement, wet leaves, and falling rocks. But eventually we reached a smoother highway and, to our delight, a small roadside rest stop. At first, we thought only of vending-machine coffee. But the smell of hot udon and curry drew us inside, where older women in aprons served us steaming 天ぷらうどん (tempura udon – udon noodles with tempura). For just ¥600 (about $4), we enjoyed hearty noodles, crunchy lightly battered vegetables, and the kindness of the cooks. Alongside came free ぶどう (budō – grapes), an extra couple for us since we were sharing the bowl of soup, and 冷たい麦茶 (tsumetai mugicha – cold barley tea).

    When we returned our trays, we fumbled through broken Japanese: 「ありがとう！」 (arigatō – “thank you”) and 「気をつけて！」 (ki o tsukete – “be careful”), they said in return, bowing. As we packed our 自転車 (jitensha – bicycles), one cook hurried out the back, dug through the passenger side of her car, and reappeared with warm 抹茶もち (matcha mochi – green tea rice cakes) filled with 餡子 (anko – sweet bean paste). A parting gift that warmed us as much as the soup had.

    Soon another climb delivered us to the longest tunnel of our trip so far — 2.6 km (1.6 miles). Cars roared by, but respectfully, and we glided through. Emerging on the far side felt like stepping into another world: the region of the Fuji Five Lakes (富士五湖 Fuji Goko). From there, a long descent swept us into the basin of Lake Kawaguchiko (河口湖 Kawaguchiko). Lisa savored her gift of mochi by the shore as we dipped our hands into the warm water, Mount Fuji hidden in mist above us. We lingered for photos of the lake, coffee, and the slow rhythm of riding around the touristy area before pushing toward our evening goal: Lake Yamanakako (山中湖 Yamanakako).

    Just before our final miles, we stopped at an Ogino grocery store. As we packed up, a friendly man approached — a Japanese local now living in Melbourne. Curious about our 自転車 (jitensha – bicycles) and journey, he chatted with us about Australia and Japan. The storm clouds rolling across the lake cut the conversation short, and we pushed on quickly. With only a mile to go, the rain began falling on the far side of the lake, sweeping toward us. We reached our guesthouse just in time.

    Our inn was quiet, with a 10 tatami-mat room (畳 tatami), a wood-floored nook overlooking the lake, and a shared bath and toilet — though we saw no other guests. We peeled off our soggy cycling clothes and slipped into fresh 浴衣 (yukata – traditional inn robes), provided at Japanese guesthouses. Dry, comfortable, and slightly ridiculous-looking on our bike-weary bodies, we laughed at ourselves lounging around like we’d been born to it. From our “balcony,” we watched the storm lash the lake while sipping local beers and munching snacks.

    Later we visited the private little 温泉 (onsen – hot spring bath), ate dinner, tended to our chains and 自転車 (jitensha – bicycles), and finished the evening with a miniature Mount Fuji cake — a sweet reminder of where we’d arrived. As we settled in, a small earthquake (震度2.8 shindo 2.8 – magnitude 2.8) rattled the tatami beneath us. Should we worry? Perhaps not. Perhaps we should just be grateful it was only that. Tomorrow, Fuji waits in clearer skies — though the weather forecast does not look good. We reminisced about the bad luck we had with rain in France last year, and laughed at the familiar pattern.    Read more

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