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Japan
  • Jim Cochran
  • Lisa DeShano

Japan

25 years ago I lived in Yamanashi, Japan. I always dreamed of returning for a bicycle tour someday. Now, with my love, Lisa, we are planning an adventure around central Japan's countryside. We will also revisit some great friends! Читать далее
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  • Начало поездки
    2 сентября 2025 г.
    Japan

    68 Hours Until Departure!

    30 августа, Соединенные Штаты ⋅ ☀️ 25 °C

    We’re now just 68 hours from our departure, and the final pieces of this adventure are falling into place. On Monday, we’ll drive up to Houlton, Wisconsin, where we will stay at Lisa’s brother Adam’s house (Adam and Danelle are away in Budapest, helping their daughter settle in for her pro hockey career). First light Tuesday morning, their son Tyler will shuttle us to MSP for our 8:50 AM United flight. Because we’re flying economy, our checked-bag allowance covers both bike boxes at no extra cost, but we always call ahead to confirm that they’ll count them as standard sports equipment. Occasionally airlines tack on a $100 fee each way for special equipment, which can add $400 to the ticket price, but this time United’s policy works in our favor.

    Packing for a 7-week long cycling tour in Japan is like solving a Rubik’s Cube. Each bike box weighs 9 lbs, the frames run about 25 lbs, and we pad every component meticulously—bubble wrap, zip ties and all—to protect handlebars (turned sideways) and front wheels (removed). Our goal is to keep each box under 50 lbs, but we’ll stretch the limit to 54 lbs with a 4 lb daybag tucked on top, ready to slide into our carry-ons if the gate agent asks us to lighten up. Those backpacks themselves are already bursting at roughly 30 lbs each, filled with gifts for friends, and gear for the trip.
    Every segment of our route is pre-loaded into our cycling computer with GPS so we can savor the scenery instead of digging for directions. We’ve color-coded each “spoke” of our trip and pink denotes rest days. I’ve even created a “Diff” index (0–100) to rate each day’s challenge based on miles and elevation gain. Since our hotels and guesthouses are all reserved through Booking.com and Airbnb, there’s zero wiggle room: slip one day and the rest of the itinerary unravels. Feel free to explore the entire route here and zoom in on any section: https://ridewithgps.com/routes/52452648

    Last night we capped off our packing and Lisa’s work with a 30-mile sunset ride, then gathered friends for a low-key going-away party. Today’s agenda is laundry, a quick house clean, haircuts, installing new cleats, and those final boxing maneuvers—measuring, weighing, adjusting—until everything clicks under the airline’s limits. If time allows, we’ll sneak in one ride before loading the car. Next post: a deeper dive into the gear we’re carrying (spoiler: no camping kits or WarmShowers stays this time—comfort and efficiency are our on the agenda for this trip. Drop any questions in the comments, and I’ll tackle them in the next post.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    1
    1112

    25 Years Ago!

    31 августа, Соединенные Штаты ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C

    From August 1999 through August 2001, I called Kushigata in Yamanashi, Japan my home. I was there on a Sister City exchange with Marshalltown, Iowa, spending my days teaching middle school, dropping into the local elementary schools, leading an adult evening class, and even working one-on-one with private students. Every classroom felt alive with newness, and through each lesson I found myself learning as much about Japanese culture as I was teaching English—this was a very special time in my life.

    About ten years ago, Lisa and I returned to Kushigata so I could show her where I had lived and taught. It was a joy to walk those familiar streets together and share stories from my time there. Our son Sebastian, who was twelve at the time, did a homestay with a Japanese family for about ten days. He jumped right in—trying new foods, practicing his Japanese, and soaking up the culture. Both Lisa and Sebastian fell in love with Japan on that trip, and now, a decade later, we’re heading back again. This time, it’s not just a visit—it’s a full-blown cycling adventure.

    I came to love the gentle rhythm of countryside life—the mist hanging over the rice fields at dawn, the way cherry blossoms carpeted the orchards in spring, the blazing red of the autumn Japanese maples, the clean white snow dusting the mountains surrounding the Kōfu Basin, and the hidden onsen towns tucked into forested valleys. Strangers greeted me with bows as easily as neighbors might wave in Iowa. That warmth, coupled with the elegant mystery of customs so different from my own, turned every outing into an adventure in discovery.

    Since 2003, Kushigata has been part of Minami-Alps City, celebrated as Japan’s kingdom of fruit trees. Its orchards yield cherries, plums, peaches, grapes, pears, persimmons, kiwi, and apples throughout the seasons, and local farms still send bushels of fruit for jam-making and fresh markets alike. Wandering those groves, I imagined tasting each variety straight from the branch—and packing jars of jam to share back home.

    The bond between Iowa and Yamanashi reaches back to 1960, when devastating typhoons damaged Yamanashi’s farms and Iowa communities sent relief supplies. The famous “Hog Lift” shipped 35 breeding hogs and thousands of bushels of corn across the Pacific, modernizing Japanese hog production and forging deep goodwill. In gratitude, Yamanashi gifted Iowa the Bronze Bell of Peace and Friendship, which stands today near the State Capitol in Des Moines. Since then, student exchanges, cultural delegations, and civic collaborations have kept that spirit of friendship alive for more than six decades. I was lucky enough to join an elaborate Japanese celebration for the 40-year reunion and spent the evening sharing a beer with Mrs. Vilsack—former Governor Tom Vilsack’s wife. To this day, I still tell people it was the fanciest party I ever attended!

    On free weekends and afternoons, I’d venture out on my Schwinn Moab, heading for winding mountain roads. I traced river canyons, climbed to ridge-top shrines, and discovered hidden waterfalls—all while dreaming of returning someday for a full bicycle tour. Each pedal stroke revealed another slice of Yamanashi’s breathtaking scenery, and every hill I climbed etched itself into my memory.

    Tomorrow, Lisa and I will drive to Minnesota, embark from MSP on Tuesday, and begin our own 1,600-mile, seven-week odyssey through those same hills and valleys. I’m eager to revisit old friends from Kushigata, taste the fruits of orchards we once admired from afar, and feel again the kindness of strangers. With Lisa by my side, that long-cherished daydream transforms into reality—and Japan’s mountains are calling us back.

    Enjoy these photos from our trip 10 years ago and some of nature, my home, my trusty transportation, and a few others from yesteryear—just don’t judge the hair or my early-2000s fashion choices!    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    11

    🇯🇵 Touchdown in Japan

    3 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 31 °C

    After months of anticipation, our departure day for Japan finally arrived. We kicked things off with a ride from Tyler to the Minneapolis airport, followed by a connection through Denver. The long-haul flight from Denver to Tokyo clocked in at about 12½ hours. We both managed to catch a few hours of sleep, which helped take the edge off the jetlag. All in all, it was a smooth, uneventful travel day… until we landed.

    At baggage claim, we were greeted not just by our luggage—but by a small act of kindness that left a big impression. Our bicycle boxes had been carefully placed on individual luggage carts, ready for us to roll away. We’ve traveled to quite a few countries with our bikes, but this was a first. That simple gesture felt like a warm welcome to Japan and a preview of the thoughtful hospitality we’d continue to experience.

    Then … as we stepped out of customs, scanning the crowd for Justin (Annie’s husband), we were intercepted by a television crew filming for a show called “Why Did You Come to Japan?” They were curious about our journey and eager to hear our story. What followed was a spontaneous 30-minute interview where we shared the purpose behind our trip, our cycling plans, and our connection to Japan. The crew was incredibly enthusiastic, and we had a blast chatting with them. If we make it onto the show, we’ll definitely share the link!

    Meanwhile, Justin patiently waited on the sidelines, watching the whole scene unfold. It was great to finally meet him in person, and even better to have him there to help us navigate the next leg of our journey.

    From the airport, Justin drove us to Hitachinaka, where Annie and Justin run their English school. The drive took about an hour and a half, and along the way, we passed one of Japan’s most awe-inspiring landmarks—the Ushiku Daibutsu. This towering bronze statue of Amitabha Buddha stands at a staggering 120 meters tall, making it one of the tallest statues in the world. Completed in 1993, it’s not just a marvel of engineering but also a spiritual beacon. Seeing it from the road was surreal—a gentle giant rising above the landscape.

    Before settling in, we stopped by a local grocery store to pick up supplies. Justin kindly walked us through the aisles, pointing out essentials and offering tips on what would be easy to prepare during our stay and while on the road. His guidance was invaluable—especially when navigating unfamiliar packaging and ingredients!

    We arrived at the English school just as Annie was still wrapping up her final lessons of the day. The walls near the entrance of the school were decorated with a storyboard of our upcoming adventures in Japan. At the completion of our trip, we will be doing a presentation for the English school students, so they are excited to track our progress and follow our adventures.

    Justin, Kena (Annie and Justin‘s 13-year-old son), Lisa, and I took a short walk to a nearby Indian restaurant for dinner. After a long day of travel, a warm meal and good company were just what we needed.

    We left Houlton, Wisconsin at 5 AM on Tuesday and finally collapsed into our accommodations around 8 PM on Wednesday. That’s roughly 24 hours of travel—not counting the 5-hour drive from Iowa City to Houlton the day before our flight.

    🛠️ What’s Next: Recovery & Reunion

    Tomorrow will be a slower day. We’ll focus on recovering from jetlag, assembling our bicycles, and maybe taking a short ride to make sure everything’s working properly. We’re also looking forward to reconnecting with Mike and Yoshie—dear friends who supported me during my time living in Yamanashi 25 years ago. They’ve since moved to Hitachinaka to be closer to their grandchildren and to help Annie and Justin with the school. It’ll be wonderful to catch up and reminisce

    More stories, sights, and cycling to come 🚴‍♂️🇯🇵    Читать далее

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  • Japan

    🇯🇵 Day 2 🇯🇵

    4 сентября, Япония ⋅ 🌧 27 °C

    🇯🇵 Jet Lag, Bento Boxes & Bike Building in Hitachinaka

    Today was all about slowing down, syncing up with local time, and reconnecting—with both people and pedals.

    We managed a decent night’s sleep, though our internal clocks still had us up by 7 AM. The morning was quiet and refreshing: a couple of walks near the English School in Hitachinaka, some breakfast, and the calm before the bike-building. Soon enough, Justin, Annie, and Ethan arrived, curious spectators to our bicycle assembly efforts. There’s something oddly satisfying about turning a pile of parts into a road-ready machine, especially with friends cheering you on.

    Lunch was a highlight—a traditional Japanese bento box feast shared with Annie, Justin, and Ethan. Beautifully arranged, delicious, and somehow both energizing and comforting. Afterward, we gave in to the jet lag and took a much-needed nap, followed by more organizing and prep for the journey ahead.

    In the afternoon, we took the bikes out for a short 2-mile spin to make sure everything was dialed in. The looming threat of rain (thanks to the typhoon chatter) kept us close to the English School, but it felt good to stretch our legs and test the gears.

    Dinner was a cozy affair in our little spot near the school. Yoshie Komiya outdid herself with homemade fried chicken and a dipping sauce that deserves its own spot in a restaurant. It was the kind of meal that makes you feel cared for, and we were grateful. ❤️

    We also managed a small domestic victory—successfully navigating the laundromat across the street. Clean clothes, dry socks, and a sense of accomplishment.

    By 9 PM, we were organized, packed, and ready to roll. Exhausted, yes—but in that good way that comes from a day well spent. Reconnecting with old friends like Annie, Mike, and Yoshie was a joy, and getting to know Justin and Ethan added a fresh spark to the day. We could’ve talked for hours—and honestly, we kind of did.

    Tomorrow, the road calls. But tonight, we rest.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    2

    🇯🇵 Day 3 🇯🇵

    5 сентября, Япония ⋅ 🌧 25 °C

    Our First Cycling: From Rain to Sunshine.

    52 miles/1700 feet of climbing/4:52

    We departed Hitchinaka, Ibaraki around 9 AM under a steady, unrelenting rain. The whole crew, Annie Justin, Ethan, and Mike and Yoshie, were there to give us a lively and encouraging departure.

    The morning was slow-going—navigation was clumsy and slick, the roads unfamiliar, and the left-side riding kept us cautious and alert. But even in the wet chill, there was a quiet thrill in finally setting out. We passed a couple of shrines early on, their torii gates standing like sentinels in the mist, reminding us that even the smallest moments can hold reverence.

    We took a break from the rain at a large shrine in Kasama, and then pedaled on to the high point of our day which came with a steep 15% grade climb that tested our legs and our patience. Mosquitos cruised alongside us, matching our pace with unsettling precision, drawn to our warmth and sweat. The descent that followed was slick and technical—rain-polished sidewalks, narrow roads, and the constant mental gymnastics of staying left. It was a stretch that demanded focus, but it also offered a kind of clarity.

    At mile 40, we found a roadside chicken curry stand—an unexpected oasis. The woman running it greeted us with a smile that felt like a gift. Her curry was rich and comforting, and she offered us a free donut-style dessert filled with sweet bean paste called “anko,” a gesture that felt deeply personal. With that photos together, and shared a lot of laughs over me, trying my Japanese and the lady trying her English. Lisa, still soaked and smiling, said later, “That curry stand and the kindness of that woman saved my life.” Her warmth, her generosity was nourishment beyond the food. It was the kind of kindness that sees you not as a customer, but as a fellow traveler.

    At mile 51, we stopped at a 7-Eleven to pick up a celebratory beer and two hot snacks called nikuman (hot doughy buns filled meat.) this has become sort of a ritual for us to pick up a little treat at the end of the day to enjoy while we check into our resting place.

    Just before reaching the guesthouse, we passed a small bicycle shop. Hundreds of old bikes were lined up outside, some rusted, some waiting patiently for repair, others as spare parts. Inside, an elderly man—perhaps in his late 70s—was working with quiet precision on a single bike. I slowed as I passed, peering into the shop. Our eyes met. I bowed gently, both hands on the handlebars. He returned the gesture with a kind bow and said, “Ah, sugoi ne.” A phrase that loosely translates to “Wow, impressive,” or “Amazing, isn’t it?” But it wasn’t about the bike or the ride—it was about the moment. A mutual recognition. A subtle kindness exchanged without pretense.

    We arrived at the Kuranomachi Guest House around 3:30 PM—soggy, a bit chilled, and deeply relieved. The rain had finally stopped. Megumi, greeted us with radiant energy and a smile that felt like sunlight. Her joy at our arrival by bicycle was genuine and infectious. She excitedly showed us the amenities of the family-run guesthouse with pride and care, and her presence reminded us why we travel this way: to meet people like her, to be reminded that kindness is a universal language, and that compassion often shows up in the simplest gestures—a smile, a bow, a warm welcome.

    Later, while searching for a laundromat to dry our soaked cycling shoes, we crossed paths with the bicycle repairman again—this time with his wife by his side. He recognized us instantly. And perhaps if we hadn’t shared that earlier moment—a bow, a glance, a smile —he might not have felt as comfortable engaging. But now, he stepped forward with warmth, guiding us toward the laundromat with gentle gestures and quiet enthusiasm. Another act of compassion. No fanfare, no expectation—just a willingness to help, to connect, to be kind.

    We found the laundromat and, to our delight, a shoe dryer—a 20-minute contraption like an oven for shoes.. While our shoes baked, we performed a bit of bicycle maintenance, undoing the rain’s assault on our freshly waxed chains. It was a small moment of restoration, both mechanical and emotional.

    As the sun began to set, we wandered along the Togichi city canal. The moon was rising over the Japanese style. History lingered in the stone and water, and nostalgia hung in the air like incense. As we look down into the water, the Koi were hoping we would toss them a treat for dinner. The scents of Japanese dinners being cooked, the gentle bows from walkers and bikers, the quiet rhythm of traffic—all of it felt like a soft poem. We watched high school students walking home in their uniforms at 6 PM, the sky already dark, their long day etched into their quiet steps. There’s so much that can’t be captured in writing—the nuance of smells, the softness of voices, the way compassion is woven into everyday life here. But we’ll keep trying. Because these moments matter. They remind us that travel isn’t just about seeing new places—it’s about being seen, and seeing others, with open hearts.

    As darkness settled over the canal, our walk led us past a ramen shop we’d noticed earlier in the evening. Something about it had stuck with us, and now, with the rain behind us and our spirits lifted, it felt like the perfect place to end the evening. The owners welcomed us with the same quiet kindness we’d come to recognize throughout the day. The wife, doubling as host and server, greeted us with gentle enthusiasm, while her husband worked in the kitchen with focused grace.

    They were curious about our journey—amazed, even—when we shared that we were planning on cycling 1600 in Japan. After our meal, the husband emerged from the kitchen with a smile and a small gift: a pack of Japan’s beloved Koala’s March cookies, each one filled with chocolate and shaped like tiny bears. It was a sweet gesture, both literally and figuratively. We took a few photos together, grateful for the connection, and stepped back out into the night.

    By then, the canal lights had come on—soft outlines tracing the water’s edge, casting a gentle glow that made our walk back to the guesthouse feel almost cinematic. It was romantic in the quietest way, and a special way to end our evening walk.

    Back at the guesthouse, we began winding down, reflecting on the day and piecing together our blog post. Lisa drifted off to sleep mid-sentence, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion. Moments later, a loud thud shook the room, followed by a sudden, disturbing tremor. A 4.2 magnitude earthquake—just enough to rattle the walls and our nerves. It was as if the day, already full of movement and emotion, had one final punctuation mark to offer. Strangely, no one else seemed fazed. Life outside our walls continued undisturbed.

    By 9:30 PM, we were both asleep—tired, full, and deeply grateful. The day had given us rain, curry, steep climbs, warm bows, shoe dryers, canal walks, ramen, cookies, and an earthquake. But more than anything, it had given us kindness. Quiet, unassuming, and everywhere.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    🇯🇵 Day 4 🇯🇵

    6 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☀️ 32 °C

    Pedaling with Heart: Mountain Shrines, Kind Encounters, and Riverside Serenity:

    60 miles / 2,500 ft / 5:01

    We started our second day cycling in Japan at a 7-Eleven, after a warm goodbye from Megumi. We grabbed breakfast and headed toward a quiet hilltop shrine. The climb was steep enough to wake up our muscles and get our sweat rolling. The view at the top made it worth it! We ate our breakfast overlooking the city we had stayed in the night before. Later, we walked around the shrine, marveling at the architecture of the buildings. That’s where we met an 86-year-old man who had also made the climb hiking. He smiled proudly, bent down to touch the ground with ease—like it was nothing—showing us how active he still was. No words were needed. His pride emanated from his smile.

    At one of the lookouts during the day, we met a kind Japanese man who was proud of the area he lived in. He shared how he used to come to that very spot as a child to observe the mountains, the forest, and Mount Fuji in the distance. You could tell by the way he spoke how much he loved his country, his prefecture, and the land he called home.

    From there, we rode through mountain roads still damp and scattered with leaves from yesterday’s typhoon. We took it slow, letting the quiet guide us. Eventually, we dropped down to a riverside trail, following the water as it made its way to the Pacific. The path felt comforting—like a mother’s hug. Tall grasses lined the trail, brushing our legs as we passed. It was 92°F, and the salt on our biking shorts told the story of the heat.

    As we entered the basin, mountains rose around us, though many were hidden behind the thick humidity. Mount Fuji stayed out of sight again today, but Yuki sent us a photo from Yamanashi where she caught a glimpse of the majestic mountain.

    You could tell it was Saturday. Japan loves its hobbies. We passed hikers, cyclists, baseball games with parents sitting under umbrellas, fishermen standing in the river, golfers on the greens, and a remote-control airplane club. One group was playing park golf—a simple game with a wiffle-style ball and a club like a croquet mallet, often played in parks by people of all ages. Still, the heat kept things quiet at times. We’d go long stretches without seeing anyone and joked, “Where is everybody?”

    We crossed into Gunma Prefecture and ended our ride in Takasaki, following the Karasu River. Around 3:15 PM, we wrapped up the day’s cycling but had to wait to check into our Airbnb. So we found a shady spot near the river and enjoyed a cold drink while the day settled around us.

    The simple moments today were some of the most rewarding. The clerks at 7-Eleven helped us figure out the checkout machines and how to use our Suica cards—a rechargeable transit card used for trains, buses, and even convenience store purchases. Strangers smiled and bowed as we passed, curious about our loaded bikes. We heard many greetings—ohayō gozaimasu (good morning), konnichiwa (hello)—and felt welcomed at every turn.

    One moment stood out: a kind woman at the shrine, where we were wondering if it was okay to eat our breakfast, hurried off to find the owner of the outdoor seating area to ask. She returned, smiling and excited, saying daijōbu desu—a phrase that means “It’s okay” or “No problem.” It’s one of the most commonly used expressions in Japan, often said with a reassuring smile to let you know everything’s fine.

    Later, in Sano-Horigomecho, a young entrepreneur waved us down from his car and asked us to stop at the next convenience store. He showed us the bicycle bags he’s making from recycled inner tubes—named after dango mushi, the Japanese word for roly-polies. He was so excited to share his work, and he’s already emailed me more info. Communicating was fun—some hand gestures, a little Japanese, a little English, and our phone translators doing their best to keep up.

    Dinner was at a traditional izakaya—a cozy Japanese pub where people gather for small plates and drinks. The word izakaya comes from i (to stay) and sakaya (sake shop), hinting at its roots as a place to linger. We had tonkatsu (crispy pork cutlet) and udon (thick noodles in broth), served by the Airbnb owner’s mother, who ran the place with quiet warmth.

    Tomorrow’s ride is shorter—about 50 miles—but with nearly double the climbing. For now, we’re grateful for a day filled with kindness, connection, and the subtle magic that makes Japan feel so alive.

    If you’re following along and there’s anything you’d like to know more about—whether it’s the food, the route, the people we meet, or the little cultural details—feel free to ask in the comments. We love sharing! 💕    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    111

    🇯🇵 Day 5 🇯🇵

    7 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☀️ 32 °C

    Sunday meant activity day again for many of the Japanese. We passed rugby players warming up, baseball players with their gear neatly organized and lined up as they got ready for the day’s games. It was interesting to watch them prepare the field and the bleachers with such care for the game ahead.

    We saw farmers working in the fields, rice being harvested in quiet rhythm. We ate a little GORP (good old raisins and peanuts) in the morning and departed our Airbnb at 7:30. The morning ride out of Takasaki was beautiful. One of the highlights was stopping at Syorinzan Daruma-ji, where the white Byakue Dai-Kannon bodhisattva statue (representing the goddess of mercy) towers above the trees—white-robed, serene, and 137 feet tall. That’s nearly half the length of an American football field. I ran up a few of the temple stairs pretending to train for Cyclocross Nationals in December we paid the ¥300 each and walked up the stairs inside the statue to overlook the basin below. While high in the 12,000 pound structure, Lisa said one of our funny sayings that is starting to develop as those often do during cycling trips together, “Please don’t let there be an earthquake now.”

    A fruit smoothie from 7-Eleven held us over until lunch, which we spent sitting on the steps of a Buddhist temple, enjoying a few rice balls and some chips. The riding was fun and challenging, with steep ascents and smooth descents, and beautiful scenery as we were getting further into the mountains. We rode near a giant beautiful bridge heading into Chichibu, our destination city for the evening.

    We’ve been enjoying getting up early and getting in before dark. The sun rises and sets early here in Honshu, so that makes for an early bedtime and an early rise. Tonight there’s a full lunar eclipse at 3:15 AM. We’ve set the alarm. Whether we actually wake up is another story.

    We had a few great interactions today. “Bicycle bows” are now officially a thing—our term for doing a Japanese-style bow while riding past other cyclists. Of course we didn’t invent this. We learned from fellow Japanese cyclist. At a local grape stand, 1 mile from our destination, the owner was so proud of their grapes. They gave us a sample, we bought a bunch, and then they handed us another bunch equal to what we’d purchased. A simple act of generosity was a perfect way to end the ride as the temperature on my Garmin computer read 104.6°!

    Our lodging tonight is an entire modern Japanese home! We showered, Lisa washed and hung the laundry, and we both took care of the usual post-ride tasks. Then we walked the short distance to the grocery. On the way we found a Recycle Shop—Japan’s version of Goodwill—and found a new bag for the back of the bike, as mine seamed to not repel the rain our first day. It was fun to poke around and see what kind of secondhand treasures were tucked away. At the grocery store we spent a curious hour wandering the isles, looking at interesting Japanese items and buying supplies for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. The packaging, the variety, and the layout were all fascinating. We picked up some premade food at the grocery store (fried rice with chicken, salad, yakisoba, and a pudding style dessert, which we later found out was pumpkin, Yum! ) Enjoying the quiet evening together as we sat at the kitchen table reminiscing about the day behind us. The owner and his girlfriend, Sam and Yuki, stopped by—eager to meet us and hear about our adventure. We think Sam may be a bit famous as he has some newsclippings showing him running around Japan and eating different food.

    We also had a few small but meaningful moments with clerks and workers at convenience stores and grocery shops—helping us figure out what we were buying, showing us how to run the smoothie machine, and pointing us toward what we needed.

    As we sat around after our dessert, drinking the most delicious, low-alcoholic beer I have ever had, I joked with Lisa about one of the embarrassing things that happened to me on multiple occasions on my previous years in Japan was walking out of a Japanese bathroom still wearing the slippers that say トイレ (“toilet”) on them. Nothing says “foreigner” quite like that. A moment later, she almost did that exact thing. 😉    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    🎌 Day 6 🎌

    8 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☀️ 33 °C

    38 miles / 4660 ft / 4:01

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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  • Japan
    21

    🎌🏔️ Day 7 🏔️🎌

    9 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 32 °C

    52 miles / 5,381 ft / 5:07
    (Be sure to watch the route video!)

    We were up just after dawn, nerves already stirring about the long climb ahead. At 6:30 AM we pushed away from Morino Yado guesthouse in Ōme (青梅), knowing we had a big mountain day in front of us.

    The road followed the Tama River (多摩川), whose emerald waters carve a dramatic path through the Hikawa Gorge (氷川渓谷). To reach our breakfast spot, we walked across a long suspension bridge—Lisa, of course, couldn’t resist wiggling it side to side. On the far bank, we unwrapped our 7-Eleven feast: coffee, yogurt drinks, and sweet bread. Simple fuel, enjoyed with the roar of whitewater echoing through the valley.

    Climbing steadily toward Lake Okutama (奥多摩湖), the morning light sparkled on the reservoir, its surface ringed by steep forests. We passed bold bridges painted in solid colors—red, blue, green—little markers of our progress. Near the lake, we stopped at a roadside souvenir shop. The kindly owner offered us samples of local snacks, while Lisa discovered something more unusual: a giant bug for sale. As tempting as it was, we decided he wouldn’t make the best travel companion and left him to find a more suitable family.

    By midday the heat set in—close to 100°F, with humidity so heavy it blurred the valleys in a gray haze. Dragonflies swarmed in their thousands above the quiet roads, cicadas buzzed in the trees, and sweat streamed down our backs. Parched, we spotted a vending machine, only to realize we didn’t have the right coins. Then luck struck—there, in the coin return tray, sat exactly the coins we needed. Enough for two bottles of cold water, just in time.

    The last ten miles to Yanagisawa Pass (柳沢峠) were punishing: endless switchbacks, hot asphalt, and legs burning. At 4,830 feet, Yanagisawa is among the highest paved passes in Kanto, long linking Musashi (武蔵) with Kai (甲斐), the historic name for Yamanashi. At the summit café, we collapsed with well-earned ice cream—アイスクリーム (aisu kurīmu). Of course, we ate ours so quickly that Lisa had to pose with the plastic display cone for the photo.

    Then came the reward: the descent. A spiraling, loop-de-loop road cut into the mountainside, tunnels flashing past as our bikes touched nearly 40 mph. The Kōri Basin (甲府盆地) stretched out below, ridge after ridge dissolving into the humid haze.

    Crossing into Yamanashi Prefecture (山梨県), the scenery transformed. This is Japan’s fruit basket—famed for cherries, plums, and especially grapes, 葡萄 (budō). In September the vineyards are heavy with fruit, each bunch carefully wrapped in paper to protect it from insects and sun. The care and patience of Yamanashi’s farmers was evident in every row.

    By 3 PM, we rolled into Koshu (甲州市). At the grocery store we stocked up on dinner supplies—beer, gyoza, and edamame—and were thrilled when our host at Vineyard Vista said we could check in early. Later that afternoon, a dear friend from Tachikawa (立川) came to visit. I hadn’t seen her in 25 years, and it was a joy to reconnect in person after so long. She also brought a gift of local grapes, sweet and refreshing—the perfect welcome to Yamanashi’s wine country.

    That evening, instead of cooking, we joined our hosts and fellow travelers in the dining room. Dinner stretched into three or four hours of conversation, laughter, and new friendships. Our hosts, Takeshi and Kikuchi, a sweet couple married just this past March, made the night even more special by sharing their music—tin flute and acoustic guitar, Irish folk melodies filling the room. When they played Down by the Salley Gardens, it was doubly moving: not only our wedding song, but also the very same one sung at our ceremony in May by Lisa’s friend Monica’s daughter. The circle felt complete.

    Nearly 50 miles, almost all uphill, had tested us. But from roaring rivers and dragonflies to chance vending machine miracles, from hazy valleys to wrapped grapes and shared music, the day left us with memories as rich as the land itself.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    1

    🍇🇯🇵 Day 8 🍇🇯🇵

    10 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 31 °C

    35 miles / 3,315 ft / 3:41
    The morning at Vineyard Vista began with inari-zushi (稲荷寿司), sweet rice tucked in fried tofu. Before leaving, we gave small gifts — bicycle earrings for Kikuchi and an Iowa City bicycle sticker for Takeshi. We then rolled out into the heavy heat. By 9 a.m. it was already over 90°, and we aimed our wheels toward the Minami Alps, known as Kushigata when I lived there from 1999 to 2001. This ride would complete the first spoke of our journey, Spoke A. I told Lisa today would be like an Iowa City loop, 30 miles with a little climbing. Optimism, in the extreme heat, was a hopeful wish.

    We cut through vineyard lanes to avoid the traffic basin. Farmers looked up as we climbed; one called out “すごい!” (sugoi – “amazing!”). I returned a breathless “こんにちは” (konnichiwa – hello), though I think he was more amazed we were out in 100° heat than impressed by our heavily loaded bikes.

    At a grape stand, a proud farmer handed us samples of every variety he grew. After sweet muscat (マスカット), koshu (甲州ぶどう), and one he referred to as “black something,” we bought a single すもも (sumomo, plum) for the road — easier to carry. In Yamanashi, grapes (ぶどう, budou) are the pride of the region, and it was clear from his enthusiasm that each bunch was a treasure.

    At Daizen-ji (大善寺), the “Grape Temple,” we ate the plum in the shade. The temple’s history goes back to the 8th century, when a monk had a vision of Yakushi Nyorai (薬師如来), the Buddha of healing, and introduced grape cultivation to the region. Wooden carvings of grapevines still adorn the temple buildings. We sat in the shade near a line of stone statues enjoying the juicy, cool plum, and we are learning the Japanese mosquito are quiet, sneaky, and extremely itchy!

    Not long after, we had one of the day’s funniest challenges: Highway 20. To cross under it, the “path” was not a road but a long staircase. Together we manhandled Lisa’s bike up the long staircase, sweating and laughing like a two-person pit crew. A few minutes later we realized we could have just taken a bridge a block away and stayed on our bikes the whole time. Call it the scenic route.

    By the time we reached Misaka Tōgenkyō Park, the heat was brutal. We watched koi circling lazily in the pond while we tried (and failed) to buy a drink. Again, another learning lesson to keep more change with us.

    The salvation from the heat was Mitamanoyu Onsen (みたまの湯). After two bottles of icy cold water, one where we added green tea powder, Lisa and I split into men’s and women’s baths and reunited an hour later glowing clean, cool, and refreshed. While in the onsen, I rotated between the mineral-rich hot baths but spent most of my time in the cold plunge, exactly what my body needed to forgive the abuse of the sun and heat.

    Our last stop before Yuki’s was the Kabuki Culture Park, where we stumbled upon two young women in yukata posing with a photographer’s crew. The photographer kindly assured us that it was OK for us to take pictures also. The park preserves the art of 歌舞伎 (kabuki), a theater style born in the 1600s and famous for its flamboyant makeup and exaggerated movements. Though kabuki began with female performers, they were banned in the Edo period, leaving an all-male tradition. Seeing the girls pose there felt like a playful reclaiming of the stage. It was also a reminder that kabuki, like cycling in Japan, is dramatic, stylized, and sometimes requires more energy than you expect.

    Before we reached Yuki’s house, hunger got the better of us and we ducked into a 7-Eleven for a much-needed cheese curry croquette (チーズカレーコロッケ) and a shared Coke. The salty-sweet crunch and sugar hit were exactly what we needed to keep pedaling those last miles.

    Finally, we rolled into Yuki and Masa’s home. From the driveway we heard pounding footsteps, then Yuki ran from her calligraphy studio, arms open, wrapping us in hugs that erased the tiredness of the miles ridden. This led to our first sighting of Mt. Fuji, majestically rewarding us from the clouds for completing the first part of our trip.

    Before settling down to dinner, Lisa and I took a short walk in the dark to another 7-Eleven we thought we had visited a decade earlier. Whether it was the same one or not didn’t matter — Japanese convenience stores blur together in their neon familiarity. It felt like another thread of connection across the years, a small ritual before the evening meal.

    After showers and relaxing, dinner was at their table — the same one I knew 25 years ago — with skewers of yakitori (焼き鳥, “grilled bird,” though plenty of vegetables and meats appear too), beers, salty snacks, more grapes, cheese, and the sweet cake. We half-watched the Tokyo Giants and the Hiroshima Carp while laughing at the commercials, which were easily the highlight reel.

    Spoke A at 285 miles, not the 280 I had promised. Let’s just say our wrong turns and U-turns were “cultural detours,” and leave the math at that.

    Japanese lesson of the day: 焼き鳥 (yakitori) — “yaki” (焼き) means grilled, “tori” (鳥) means bird. Traditionally chicken, but the skewers often include pork, vegetables, or even liver and skin. Best enjoyed with cold beer and good company.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    11

    🇯🇵 Day 9 🇯🇵

    11 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C

    After days of pedaling, climbing, and sweating through the heat, today was a gift: a rest day with no schedule, no rush, and no alarms. Yuki and Masa had planned a day of relaxation—suspension bridges swaying over rivers, forest trails, waterfalls, and plenty of time outside with friends.

    We hiked, talked, laughed, and let the pace of the mountains set our rhythm. The Minami Alps (南アルプス – Minami Arupusu) are not only stunning but also steeped in history, once serving as natural boundaries and a source of water and life for villages below.

    We spent the afternoon exploring the Minami-Alps Biosphere Reserve (南アルプスユネスコエコパーク – Minami Arupusu UNESCO Ekopāku), a UNESCO site that protects rugged peaks, forests, and rivers in Yamanashi. Near the town of 雨畑 (Amabata), we crossed a long, narrow suspension bridge (吊り橋 – tsuribashi) over the river, then hiked to 見神の滝 (Kenshin no taki), a waterfall tucked into the forest.

    We also visited 小柳川渓谷 (Oyanagawa Keikoku – Oyanagawa Gorge) in Fujikawa Town, a park famous for its dramatic scenery. The gorge trails wind along the river and through a forested canyon, linking about ten rope and suspension bridges with narrow stairways and cliffside paths. With five waterfalls scattered along the route, it felt like an adventure playground built by nature itself.

    The reserve and gorge together blended wild alpine beauty with traditional village life, showing how people and nature in Yamanashi have long lived side by side in harmony.

    The day ended with the most meaningful of gifts: a home-cooked dinner, promised by Yuki as a wedding present. She delivered a feast. The meal began with an appetizer of three varieties of horse meat, known in Japan as 馬肉 (baniku). One was dry and sweet from careful cooking, another more gummy and chewy, and the third was raw horse sashimi—馬刺し (basashi)—thin slices dipped in soy sauce with ginger and slivers of onion. The taste, surprisingly delicate, reminded me of rare prime rib. From there, Yuki’s famous カツカレー (katsu karee – pork cutlet curry rice) filled the table with rich warmth and comfort.

    Lisa, always the hero, managed to fit in laundry during the day’s events, getting us ready for the next spoke of our journey. Another highlight was seeing Yuki and Masa’s youngest son, Masanari, now all grown up. I hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years. Once the boy running around the house, he is now a happy and successful businessman, running his own hair salon just next door. Time truly moves quickly.

    We ended the evening the way so many families in Japan do: with baseball. The game was between the 広島カープ (Hiroshima Kāpu – Hiroshima Carp) and the 東京ジャイアンツ (Tōkyō Jaiantsu – Tokyo Giants). Lisa and I didn’t last to the final inning—sleep caught us first—but from the kitchen we heard Masa and Yuki cheering, so we figured the Carp must have been winning.

    It was a day of rest, but one rich with friendship, memory, and meaning. Tomorrow the wheels turn again to the five lakes of Mount Fuji (Spoke B.)    Читать далее

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  • Japan

    🗻🇯🇵 Day 10 🇯🇵🗻

    12 сентября, Япония ⋅ 🌧 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    111

    🎌 Day 11 🎌

    13 сентября, Япония ⋅ 🌧 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    112

    🎌🗻 Day 12 🗻🎌

    14 сентября, Япония ⋅ ⛅ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan

    🇯🇵🍘 Day 13 🍘🇯🇵

    15 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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!    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    🎌📺 Day 14 📺🎌

    16 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    112111

    🗻🇯🇵 Day 15 🇯🇵🗻

    17 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    🇯🇵 Day 16 🇯🇵

    18 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    🇯🇵 Day 17 🇯🇵

    19 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan

    🇯🇵 Day 18 🇯🇵

    20 сентября, Япония ⋅ 🌧 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
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    🇯🇵 🐒 Day 19 🐒 🇯🇵

    21 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    111

    🎌 ⛰️ Day 20 ⛰️🎌

    22 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan
    1

    🇯🇵 🍡 Day 21 🍡 🇯🇵

    23 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☀️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan

    🎌 Day 22 🎌

    24 сентября, Япония ⋅ ☁️ 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.    Читать далее

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  • Japan

    🎌🎂🎉 58 ! 🎉🎂🎌

    25 сентября, Япония ⋅ 🌧 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.    Читать далее

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