2000km without a puncture

Diary 2012.11.18

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投稿者:emma

All good things have to come to an end and this August marked the end of five wonderful years as Kamiyama’s assistant English teacher.  The huge transition straight from my Japanese life to my old British life seemed too sudden a step to take.  I decided to delay going back by 10 weeks  and take the chance to get out on my bicycle and explore parts of Japan that I had never visited.  I also wanted to combine my travel with a month assisting the recovery effort in one of the areas of Japan hit by the devastating tsunami in 2011.

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It was my first cycle and camping trip and the longest cycle tour I had ever done. My Japanese made Anchor road bike has a steel frame which is sturdy enough to carry panniers back and front. It only seemed fitting that it should be my companion on the trip after almost five years of service.  A few changes to the gearing, some thicker tires and the purchase of racks and panniers, all kindly supplied at cost price by Nakanishi cycles in Tokushima city, it was converted into a touring road bike and it, at least, was ready to roll.

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After some (very) painful dental surgery, a few too many farewell parties and a final Awa dance I departed Tokushima on the 17th August.  Riding off the ferry at Wakayama port I felt ill prepared as if I had somewhat over estimated how far I could travel in a afternoon. It was already 1pm and it took me a further hour to find the correct roads out of Wakyama city and I still had sixty-five kilometres ahead of me covering the whole of Wakayama prefecture to reach the first campsite. Climbing steadily on a congested road against a steady breeze I could hear the distant rumble of the thunder as it rattled across the valley ahead of me and as the humidity rose, I felt sure that rain was imminent and pedalled faster. Then I heard something come loose from my bike.  I looked back to see the shape of the long thin nylon bag containing my precious aluminium tent poles vunerably sitting in the centre of the road and as I struggled to stop and find a place to put down my cumbersome cycle, I witnessed with dread; as coming their way was a huge articulated truck, whose driver in a bid to avoid the tender parcel steered his colossal vehicle, instead, directly over it.  As the truck disappeared into the distance I picked up the sad bundle, the bag was ripped and frayed it felt limp, or perhaps that was just the reflection of my spirit. I was sure that the soft aluminium tubes wouldn’t have stood a chance and my valuable tent which was so carefully selected for its ability to withstand mountain gales and storms was savaged before our first night. It could be a very wet uncomfortable night.

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What a lucky person I must be that with a few minor squeezes to the ends of the poles with some cheap pliers and a splint tube I was able to mend the tent sufficiently for that night and the remainder of the trip. “I am a lucky person” and this event served on many occasions to remind myself that things were already running against the odds in my favour.

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The first week of the journey was very hard as I hadn’t trained much and my engine was very weak.  It was the hottest time of year, despite pre-departure attempts to aclimatize myself to the scorching heat and humidity by cutting out the air conditioning, temperatures on the road were often very uncomfortable and frequently unbearable.  Although my bike was already heavy carrying enough drinking water  was very important as I often found myself without much warning in uninhabited areas. Somedays I drunk over 4 litres of water started cycling at first light and sat out during the hottest hours at midday.

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It was very nice to see gentle changes in the landscape, sudachi trees and tiny rice fields, transforming in to wide rice fields and neat rows of tea bushes, and advertisements for local specialities.  I made a point to stop at each road station I rode past for a break and as a way to take a snap-shot look at each prefecture and take a lunch sample. As my desire on a bike ride is always to keep moving forward I found it difficult to concentrate much on sightseeing before the instinct nagged me away and back onto the bike.  There were many places I would have liked to spend more time in, but alas the road beckoned me forward.

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Travelling vast distances by motorbike and by car it’s easy to choose a place to sleep, a camp site an extra 20km up a steep mountain is no problem. But a cyclist is very tightly constricted by the pedable range. A wind against you of a steeper than expected climb can knock down an optomistic schedule and turn a pleasant tour in to a try to be Tour de France test of endurance. It just wasn’t possible to reach a camp ground each night. Besides Japan has no laws about camping on non-private land.  I read on several web sites that so long as you make camp late and break camp early leaving no mess, people generally have no problems with it.

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I’ll be the first to admit that for a fragile young maiden, lone, anywhere camping was not without risks, but adventure and freedom prevailed. It’s such a liberating thing to know that you carry everything with you onboard and there’s no need to break your back to reach the hotel that you have made a reservation at or the worry that the hotel you haven’t called has either closed-down or is full.  The combination of fear,  daring, and thrift was a highly intoxicating mix. Each evening as the light fades suspiciously casing out a camp spot, each morning waking at 4.30am with a the pleasant feeling that I was alive and it was over for another night.

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Along the way it was at the road stations that I met the most people. Road stations all over the country serve as an oasis for the traveller. It is not uncommon for the carpark to harbor several camper vans and people carriers down to K-vans. I was so surprised by the amount of retired couples off travelling, folding themselves up every night into small vans and waking up with the day break to their morning routine always perfectly prepared. One evening a couple with their dog positioned their car behind my tent to guard me during the night, many other mornings as I boiled water for fresh coffee I got talking with retired people from all over Japan. This encounters often involved edible gift receiving, people were often surprised to see a single women emerge from the tent and were duly concerned and impressed by my bravery/foolishness and fed me with more cakes or fruit.

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Trucks continued to be the worst part of the journey, sweeping past at speed on narrow country roads without, it seemed, any consideration of the affect an enormous truck would have on a shocked cyclist who was sucked and blown by their jet flow. The traffic was terrible around Hamamatsu and I decided that steep mountains passes were much preferable to traffic. The absolute worst was a very narrow 3km Nissoku tunnel just before Nikko in Tochigi prefecture. There was no way that I would consider cycling on the road and the sidewalk was so narrow it felt like tightrope walking with a large drop to the road. The articulated trucks were such a snug fit, especially when coming in both directions, that draft from them in such tight confines was like being in a piston. I was forced to stop wheeling my bike and lean against the filthy tunnel wall.

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However, after all the scares I was surprised by my last and closest encounter with a truck.  In Iwate prefecture a small road running parallel to the expressway, but over a steep mountain pass, served as an economical cut through for many trucks travelling at unusually low speed as they negotiated the windy road.  As one of these slow moving giants approached me in the opposite direction I could see the driver scrabbling for something in the cab.  After three weeks of almost being hit by these things I presumed the driver was doing anything other than concentrating on the road, searching for litter to throw in the forest or playing on his smart phone, watching a movie on his sat nav,  or reading manga. But as he got closer he slowed the vehicle down to a crawl and leaned down out of his high cab and passed into my surprised hand a bottle of energy drink accompanied by words of encouragement and an apology about the tent poles. So maybe I imagined the tent pole bit, but it ended the relationship on a positive note and made me question exactly how hard the route I was attempting was going to be.

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People just got kinder and kinder, and after living in Kamiyama it is hard to imagine  people even more generous. One evening I entered a shop to buy a cup raman and as the lady spoke to me she started to carefully inspect a large box filled with bunches of grapes wrapped in tissue paper and as she did her conversation moved to “do you like grapes?” I had a feeling that she was going to give me some, and I knew they must be expensive and felt that I would be little embarrased to receive such a big gift, but who could lie? No, I don’t like grapes, does anyone NOT like deep, dark, juicy, pods of necter? Not wanting to be evasive, I answered truthfully and ended up leaving  the shop with a large bunch of grapes, bananas, a rice ball and of course a cup ramen and another I bought because I felt bad.

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A couple of days later in the morning a man busy setting up his business called out to me as I checked my road map, just as I was thinking about coffee. He asked “would I like to relax in his showroom and drink fresh coffee? “As I sat in the wicker chair his business partner and his business partners wife arrived with some slices of bread and homemade blueberry jam, and a pot of  haagen daz icecream. It was all too good to be true was half expecting them to bring out a religeous book of something, but instead his reasoning was that his daughter had been treated nicely during her trip abroard so he was returning the hospitality. I really can’t imagine that foreign travellers have such a positive experience here in the UK, but I feel that I have a duty to ensure that someday I return so much of the goodwill and hospitality that has been shown to me on this trip and within my time in Japan and should I become an old lady in Japan I had better work hard now, so that I can afford bunches of  sweet grapes.

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It’s hard to explain how it feels to be travelling alone for an extended period powered entirely by your own energy. There are not such distinct highs or lows or distinct times of distress or jubilation. The simplicity of each day spent peddling, observing, unpacking, packing, peddling your thoughts also become linear.  Just sometimes I’d think “oh, I must be happy”. How often I recalled painful experiences as I struggled up hill. And as I effortlessly glided down I digested a flow of pleasant memories. Over the days I started to focus less on my lonesomeness I could recognise clearly when I was feeling happy, annoyed, tired, hungry. I became aware, perhaps for the first time, of my own state.

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2000km finished, Aomori city reward. Yes, definitely ‘Happy’.

 

Next I’ll try and write about my experience as a volunteer in Miyagi prefecture.

The best online resource for cycling in Japan.          http://www.japancycling.org/v2/

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emma

Art school graduate and former prop maker from the UK. Emma now lives in Kamiyama where she works as an assistant language teacher in six local schools.

Articles by emma

Comments

  • Great stuff Emma - absorbing read!

    11/18/2012 5:05 AM | David

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