What really blows your mind is what no one talks about. How beautiful Japan is and how big the moutains are, how generous Japanese people can be and what joy it is to travel there on a bicycle — weird cycling lanes, lugubrious tunnels and all else included!
Kampai! BY JANICK LEMIEUX AND PIERRE BOUCHARD
After a glance at the topographical contour lines found
very close together on page 121 of our Shobunsha Japan Road Atlas, we estimated Tani Pass to be approximately 900 metres high. When our Suunto wrist-top computers indicated 600 metres, we stopped for some inari-zushi, a good dose of calories to push us up and over. Within minutes of sitting back in the saddle, a big flat tunnel drilled through the hill appeared. The climb was over. We didn’t know it yet but on the Japanese road network we would very rarely make it up to a conventional pass. There would always be a tunnel to cut our ascent short. A bit like sex without climax: you’re still glad you did it, but don’t scream with joy when you come (or, in one instance, don’t) out on the other end!
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These were not the only frustrating roadworks we’d witnessed since disembarking in Nagoya’s ferry port a few days before — from Taiwan, after a 24-hour stopover on Okinawa: we had to contend with the very common urban cycling paths, known elsewhere as sidewalks. Maybe sharing the narrow cement strip strewn with pedestrians, benches, phone booths and other cyclists is safer than mingling on the street with motor vehicles, but I’d be curious to know the number of broken wrists and ankles these cramped surfaces see. Japanese stereotypes abound. Most people who’ve never set a wheel or foot in the Land of the Rising Sun imagine Japan to be crowded, expensive and high-tech — I know I did — and the Japanese to be shy, meticulous and group-oriented. While some of this is absolutely true — it was fascinating to encounter an automated bathroom for the first time and to see $30 melons in the grocery store — what really blows your mind is what no one talks about. How beautiful Japan is and how big the moutains are, how generous Japanese people can be and what joy it is to travel there on a bicycle — weird cycling lanes, lugubrious tunnels and all else included!
RIDING AROUND ON THE SIDEWALKS of Kanazawa in Ishikawa Prefecture, we met an English teacher, a young man from Scotland. Filled with wanderlust, he was contemplating quitting his post to ride around the country. He’d been in Japan for a few months and still marveled at the level of safety found in the cities. “You can forget your wallet in a pub and no one will steal it,” he exclaimed, as if this could never happen in Glasgow. The usual security measures we use anywhere slowly vaporized as we made our way around Chubu region and the Japanese Alps in Central Honshu. My job as a bicycle guard dog — a position I have held through 25 countries — was quickly abolished, and I joined Pierre inside grocery stores, finally roaming the aisles and loading the basket with supplies for meals and snacks. This was probably not a good thing for our budget! Instead of free-camping away from any dwellings and making sure not one person has seen us slide into the landscape, we often set up camp in public parks, even in the middle of town. At dawn, people walking their small purebred dogs would pretend not to see us, or smile and offer a friendly “ohayo gozaimasu.” Setting up the tent, beer in hand, in the parking lot of a Michi-noEki (a uniquely Japanese road station) at the foot of Mount Ontake (3,067 metres), one of Japan’s great holy mountains, we philosophized about the freedom the safety un-situation brings to our journey. In a culture where respect for others is a key value and with a system of beliefs where every deed adds up from here to eternity, it’s assumed no one will abuse and most won’t infringe on another person’s rights. This includes free-camping and public beer drinking, the inevitable when you live outside on a bike! Eighty percent of the Japanese territory is mountainous, with a number of volcanoes, some 40 of them active. The country is a chain of islands sitting on the Pacific Ring of Fire. All this geothermal activity is responsible for Japan’s abundance of hot springs (onsen). In fact, no other country has as much hot water pouring out of its ground. The result is a unique bathing culture. Public baths (sento) are found in urban areas and are a gathering point for people (mostly women it seems) to catch up on the latest gossip. When reaching resort areas outside of the cities, elaborate spas abound, most of them with a variety of indoor and outdoor pools, saunas and steam rooms. Intimidated at first to commit a faux pas regarding onsen etiquette, we eventually became stinky enough that not bathing would have been more offensive than any blunder we could make inside the mysterious baths. After removing our Shimano sandals at the door of a small ryokan near Mount Haku (2,702 metres) and paying the 600-yen entrance fee, we were given plastic slippers and escorted upstairs by the owner. Two sliding doors side-by-side had different kanji characters written on them. This is where Pierre and I had to split. I took my cue from a woman entering the change room right behind me, stripped down and put my clothes in a plastic basket. From there, I entered the tiled room and splashed water over my body before moving further in. A
half-dozen faucets lined the wall. I sat on a Lilliputian stool in front of one of them and thoroughly washed all of my body with shampoo and soap, with the help of a small tub and my onsen towel. After rinsing off, I walked to the hot pool and slipped into the scalding bath. When I thought I might pass out, I walked out, dried off, weighed myself and got dressed. No gaffes and absolute well-being. Pierre’s experience was similar. He was sitting outside when I walked out. Our eyes met. We’d just become instant onsen addicts. “If I’m able to relax in a hot bath before retiring to my tent each night, does it mean I have just reached touring nirvana?” I asked. A small and unequivocal red logo uniformly represents onsen establishments across Japan — some 2,500 of them! We dutifully followed the onsen trail into Gifu, Nagano and Gunma Prefectures.
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