Last Friday was pay-day. It was the first decent pay I got, as the first "month" was essentially not more than two weeks, and I had to cover other initial expenses. But this time I actually had some money to spend, and spend it I would. One thing I've been wanting to get for a while is a good bicycle. Most teachers at Active got one along with their apartments, not me though. This time, however, this unbalanced fairness would turn out in my favor, since most of their bicycles are city bikes in a medium-to-rickety condition. And if I was going to have to pay for mine, it would be decent. I saw a few mountain bikes at the local superstore, which strangely enough seemed to be the exception to the city bikes you can see all over the place. It's a weird thing that although we are surrounded by mountains in our immediate vicinity, mountain bikes are a rare sight. This becomes even more bizarre when compared to the Hungarian Plain for example, where virtually everyone rides a mountain bike, although there are no hills whatsoever anywhere nearby.
Never mind, I knew I wanted to have something to ride to work on, or to the store, but much more than this, I wanted to explore the surrounding area by bike. It's so much faster, and more fun than walking. In these parts good gears and brakes are essential. I remember borrowing the bike of one of my colleagues to find the way to the shrine we had discovered on our way back from Takabochi (see April 22 entry). It wasn't a steep climb just to the foot of the mountain, but I know I was quite worried coming down the hill. The poor bike was rattling like crazy that I thought it might shatter at any moment... only to be followed by my poor body. Fortunately nothing of this sort happened, but I swore I would not attempt to ride a hill again until I had some quality brakes, gears, and maybe shocks.
Saturday was the day. I walked into the big store that sells everything from pencil sharpeners to construction lumber, from ironing boards to second-hand dogs, and from space heaters to cardboard furniture. I asked the guy for a bike, showed him the one I wanted, and he assembled it for me, right then and there. It took only a few minutes. In the meantime I picked out the accessories, such as a light and a lock. I was expecting to spend 20,000 yen on the bicycle alone, but in the end I paid about 15,000 for everything, including a cool modular back-pack, they happened to have on sale that day. I was happy. The week before I had looked into a bike-shop in Matsumoto, where they had "real" mountain bikes starting at 40,000 yen. Wow! My bike is obviously a cheap import from some Southeast Asian place, though it looks as slick and cool as it gets. More importantly, it has 18 gears (by Shimano), front and rear shocks, and the world's strongest brakes, as I would find out the next day. The guy made sure to tell me that though it may look like one, it certainly isn't a real mountain bike, but he appreciates me shopping there anyway. Okay... whatever.
So feeling all cool about my fancy new bike, I rode to school, taught my classes, rode to get some discount sushi at the grocery store, and rode home. It was a dream to ride. To give it the honor it deserves I wanted to take it on a little spin and look for the other of the two geocaches in the 30km radius. The first one is on the Wasabi Farm (see April 15 entry). This other cache was located in a place called Minowa, about 25km South, in the neighboring valley. The only two things I could rely on to navigate me there were my GPS and a sketch of a map I drew based on some Google Earth images. It didn't seem like a rough ride, except for the first hill I had to cross to reach the neighboring valley. Still I wanted to set out early, just in case.
It was ten thirty when I hit the road. I had packed a 2 liter bottle of water along with some extra clothes and my geocaching items in my new backpack, and a yogurt-granola breakfast with two bananas in my stomach. I felt ready. Outside I checked the distance on the GPS: 25.5km by air. As I was taking the land route over mountains it might be a tad bit more. The warm sunshine and the clear air filled me with zest for action, so without waiting much longer I set out spinning.
The first half hour of the ride went by smoothly. I crossed downtown Shiojiri, and left the lettuce fields and rice paddies behind me. Time to conquer the first mountain. On the way up I realized that the excuses the others had used, whom I'd tried to persuade to join me on my trip, such as the bad conditions of their bikes or themselves, were not to be discredited. In fact, at certain points even I was not entirely convinced that my plan was that heroic after all, or much rather completely foolish: riding to this place I had no idea about, with a bike that was supposedly not made for mountains, without anything close to a decent map, and my condition that was...*phew!* ...I had to take a break just to catch my breath... no, I could not return beat like a loser! So I went on on the road that wound itself further up around the mountain.
Once I reached the top (who cares about the actual top, at least the slope turned downwards) the ride became more enjoyable. I was rewarded with a spectacular view over the neighboring valley, which I should have taken a picture of, but I was already rolling. And no way I was gonna climb back up just for that photo. On the way back, I thought.
The road led straight into the "Tirolean Forest" as it was called. I suppose that must be a national park of some sort, because there was a great parking lot, and some trails leading into the mountains. Past the lot the scenery became truly amazing. I don't know if it resembled Tirol, but it was very lovely indeed. Pine covered hills, little valleys with lakes, and even the road reduced itself to the size of a paved path. Ideal for bicyclists like me. Not that there was anybody else around. I continued on my way further and further downhill.
Leaving the beautiful Tirolean Forest, I passed by rice paddies, villages nested between the slopes, more rice paddies, and the humming highway in the distance. I was glad to be riding on the small path, still downhill along the chattering stream, and hoped this would continue for a while. My wishes were to be granted. Apparently, the way they run things in Japan at the moment, a lot of money is being spent for unnecessary projects. The reasons go back to the economical crisis back in '97 and the subsequent transition to Yankee-style capitalism, as a very smart friend had explained it. In any case, communities have to spend their entire budget in order to receive further funding, which often results in roads being built leading nowhere. I have seen a few examples of those in Shiojiri myself.
Also in Tatsuno, the town in this neighbor valley, it seemed like they found the perfect dumping ground for excess funds: the little road I was on. At places it was brand new, whereas in other parts it was so riddled with holes that it put a swiss cheese to shame. No wonder it was virtually unused. Not far from it was the parallel "main" road, where all the traffic was on, for obvious reasons. Still further ran the expressway. This gave me the peace and serenity to ride along at my own pace, stop right in the middle if I wanted to take a picture, or just admire the landscape.
As I kept going still further downhill, my worries became greater. I had to find a better way back... though the straight road led upstream, and left and right were towering mountains of indescribable hight. Going South, however, I probably could continue rolling downstream all the way to Hamamatsu by the Pacific ocean. Not exactly my plan for today. But let's find that cache first. I was only about ten kilometers away.
Slowly, the valley widened, and I went to explore the settlement of farms and village homes on the rolling slopes of the hills. Amazingly, I saw an abundance of green technology. Solar panels on the roofs, for example, or orchards with little wind generators between the trees, not bigger than a large fan. I'm sure they wouldn't generate enough power to sell it back to the government, but at least they would cut down on their own expenses, while embracing the efficiency of renewable energy sources. Very nice development to see.
Finally I arrived at the cache... that is at the foot of the mountain where it was hidden. I made sure to go around it, checking that I was not mistaken, but no. Of course it was hidden on top. The description even said, where Fukuyo castle once stood. And who would build a castle at the base of a hill? So up I went... this time I was more exhausted, and by the time I arrived on top I was virtually dead. I locked my bike and took the last steps up the hill on foot. It was exactly two. The cache itself was very easy to find, once again, superbly organized, like everything in Japan. I left a Travel Bug I had picked up while in Tokyo, and took the TB that was in the cache with me. I signed the log and hid the box where I had found it. After taking a few pictures, and the last swig from the water bottle, I started to head back home.
For a moment I thought about taking the train back home, but abandoned the idea immediately. What about the honor? What about the bike? How would I feel riding a shiny mountain bike that I rode downhill for a few hours, only to be taking the train back home? So I tackled the slope, which turned out to be not that bad after all. On the way I passed by a fountain with pure, fresh, cool, spring water. I filled up my bottle and washed my hands and face. The water tasted excellent, though not much different from the one that comes out of the bathroom tap, or the plastic bottles on the supermarket shelves. Another good thing about living in the mountains.
Going back, I didn't really bother with looking for the less traveled roads. I was going straight, trying not to lose my way, heading back North to Shiojiri, or so I thought. Until I realized that the area looked strangely unfamiliar, and after the next bend even the hills looked different. I knew I had missed my turn, but I didn't feel like going back. At the same time I was getting hungry, and since I didn't remember passing any eateries, I decided to continue on. The direction was right. I was still following the stream, which, as I remembered from the map, came from Okaya by lake Suwa, which was right next to Shiojiri, so I was all right. I kept going. Not even ten minutes later I passed by a noodle shop, where I entered and ordered the house special... whatever it was I didn't care. I was ready to eat anything. It turned out to be the best ramen miso soup yet, though the hunger and exhaustion might have helped in establishing this spectacular statistic.
After lunch I continued towards Okaya. It was past four when I got there. My GPS said 10km to home, though the sign disagreed, saying 18km on Route 20, which was the direct road. At that point I couldn't care less, either about the distance or the fact that it was the main highway. I stepped into the pedals, revived by the feeling of being almost there. Little did I know about the pass I had to cross between Okaya and Shiojiri. It kept going further and further upwards, and when I thought I had almost made it, it went on further up around the bend. The road itself was not too bad. Sure, it was crowded with semi trucks and whatnot, but I had a nice, wide section fenced off just for myself. Occasionally I would get a glimpse of beautiful lake Suwa.
As bad as it might seem, even the biggest hills and the longest slopes have a top, and I was overjoyed when I got there. From now on I would be going downhill all the way home. My legs, but especially my knees knew how to appreciate this. I switched back to high gears, and started using the brakes. How awesome, how rewarding, how majestic. Looking down at my home valley illuminated divinely by the setting sun, I rode into Shiojiri like a hero. And once again, it kept going and going. At times I felt I had gone past, but the signs kept reminding me that there were still a few kilometers to go. I kept rolling.
I arrived at six thirty, just before dusk, exactly eight hours after leaving. What a trip! The bike deservs recognition, it IS good! As for myself, I got a sunburn on both my arms,
sore hands from the handlebars, and what certain experts refer to as "bike-ass", but I can't wait to go riding again.
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