It's cold, everywhere - from the Shimanami cycle way to provincial Hokkaido

---

Toyocho station, our neighbourhood train line, was the start of the southern leg of the trip.



Dragging my backpack/ roller bag over manicured and paved streets was a noisy exercise, and P2 carting strongly by back, we had generous transition times for the Otemachi connection to hectic Tokyo station. The facially masked brigade swarmed past us by Mama-san bike, curious glances, or generally, fixated on their phones.



In the throes of the underground rail road works, the rabbit warren gave way to organised chaos. We found our place on the shinkansen bound for Shin-Kobe and then eventually, the old town centre of Kurashiki. A weekday, the train filled up to the brim by Shinagawa, and as efficient timing has it here, we connected to leg number 2.



Kurashiki put on breezy cool but fine weather, and Google maps again came to our rescue in a navigation so simple it made Sapporo’s convoluted effort in 2016 to go 20m by taxi seem a real debacle.



Hostel Cuore was a delightful spot smack bang in the Bikan historical quarter, round the corner from cherry blossom lined canals and beneath the imposing Kurashiki Achi Shrine. The left knee warming very slowly to the pilgrim sized steps, the climb to a peaceful spot was worthwhile. Over rooftops, looking into a sunset, amongst hillside joggers and curious cats, the declaration on a sign beneath it highlighted the sentiment of this place. “Peace to all”, even in Spanish!



That night, the typical consult by P2 to Trip Advisor as to where to eat, left us a little confused. Most joints seemed shut on a Monday, so a wander towards where we wanted, a Westernised bar rated 4.6, was culled as super quiet, for the option of random Yakitori bar, in a sideway alley off shopping street.



Tori Tori, a culinary hang out of business men within 200 to 300 metres of the Kurashiki station, and now, two gaijins, served us a feast with the usual intensely Japanese honorific welcome. Reading the all-Kanji menu, the waitresses so infatuated by us, continued to stare as we tried gracefully to suck on yakitori and pork cuts that only a good butcher would know. A protein fest, the pork hit P2’s gut particularly well.



Photo’s had, and questions answered about paper labelling on sake bottles, we left just as business men stumbled drunkenly out the door, heading home to their dutiful family no doubt



Bitchu-Takahashi, within a half hour local train of Kurashiki, was our goal for the next day.



Leaving the cool yet sunny morning, we got some local advice at the Tourist Centre of Bitchu-Takahashi, adjacent to the station and within a generous library complex. ‘2 hours’ we were told’ and off we set.



The route can be done by road or a steep pathway in the forest, to the left on the road ascending the back of this small town. Not aware of the former and not keen to get lost, we trekked up into the hinterland by road, and as typical, to find our gloved director motioning us onwards to the summit. ‘Shutteru basu? Takushii’? Irimasen. Strong Kiwi legs we had.



Eventually we found the entrance to the forest path, aside the bus stop and, as throughout this journey to hotspots, dead quiet. Our shoulder season trip was proving a great choice.



Luckily the ascent generated some body warmth, as the mercury would likely be around 5C by now, rain forecast and a chilly wind at the hill top. Paying our modest 300 yen fee, the Takahashi-joo (castle) is the highest castle in Japan. A hot complimentary tea machine was remedy for the temperature, as we continued onwards climbing inside, steeply and darkly onto the highest platform of the castle. All in our green plastic slippers.



Hastened by the train connection a few hours later, we made quick work of the downhill knee straining path, at what point a swarm of snow started falling moving like a veil across the valley below. Only moments earlier I had asked if it snowed here as it was mighty cold, and as the informant P2 is, it was ‘affirmative’.



Dotted in this town are several other noteworthy and elaborate buildings or shrines, including Rai-Kyu-Ji, an authentic Japanese Zen garden created by Kabori Enshu, a noted garden designer from the early Edo era. Tranquil, pondering, and an affordable place to be even for the short spell we had.



Making swift work, we transited back to Kurashiki, streaked through town at train-to-catch speed as planned to collect our bags, and headed onwards to Onomichi for accessing our start point for the cycle goal of this trip – The Shimanami Kaido roadway.



Impending fear and enthusiasm for long-distance riding, combined feelings we had prior to departure about Shimanami, were unfounded. Especially so as we reached beyond what we imagined we could achieve, nearly 100km the next day on an incredible network of roads and dedicated bike/ moped ways. This was a place where P2’s research paid off in spades and after taking in a cross legged meal on our first night at a random choice restaurant near the waterfront, our plans were consolidated. Ride first, important temple later.



Adopting the philosophy of east coast in the morning and west coast of the islands in the evening, we started off in chilly climes, wrapped to the hilt with layers.



Civilised, fuelled by a first coffee in ages, and taking one of the frequent ferries to Mukaishima island, our 10am departure from there headed up past the canals, the local Lawson convenience store, and deviating by map through the centre, the ‘moderate’ route. The 6 speed bike and our quadriceps began to be tested



Crossing at Innoshima was spectacular. Sun and light on the sea, we climbed a steady 3% incline (as all paths to bridges were) for about 1km to cross a bridge of nearly 1.5km. Mopeds and bikes mingled on one path, foot traffic aside us, and an automated gate tariff collection system, applying evidently to 2 wheels motorised transport.



Choosing the southern-eastern side of Innoshima, we figured the ‘frequent climbs’ would be achievable. Frequent stops for photos only slightly mitigated the thigh burning hills on a 6 speed. It was hardly the Andes. We finally go to the highest point looking over Habu, followed by a gentler descent, yet increasing and cold south-westerly wind.



Ikuchi bridge, the gateway to Ikuchijima island, was the next step, and with relief, gentler on the thighs. Mandarin orchards, countless minor and multiple types of industries in process (foundries, fertiliser plants) and stronger headwinds greeted us. It was shaping up as the citrus isle.



By now it was nearing our planned turn around point and we climbed the third of our bridges, that which took us into Ehime prefecture. Arriving into Shikoku, the Tatara bridge, of 1.45km length, had sweeping views of the approaching dark clouds, and, soon we would know, chilling rain showers.



By the scenic location of the public toilets facing the bridge on the Ikuchijima side, out came the roadside picnic, and by now luke warm miso soup. It lifted spirits and our legs to the next stage, about 40km more to the temple and beyond.



Kosanji otera (temple) on Ikuchijima was an incredible and worthwhile visit to this island just off the cycle road. Gobsmacking colour and elaborately decorated, it was virtually devoid of tourists, and adding to the wintery scene, our second bout of snowflakes in two days running.



Within the temple complex was the cave of 1000 Buddha’s, which could have been 2000 Buddha’s from the density of it, which led us underground deeply, and then up again. Feeling enlightened and at peace, a ‘shivery bite’ was in order. Hot vending machine corn soup for 130 yen went down well, and clutching the warm can to my chest, we finally made tracks about 4.30. I hastened wee Willy Winky in his long johns, bike pants and beanie and again he awaited my toilet stop. So many photos to take, and so little time.



30km remained, and with few breaks to take in what now became dusk and the accompanying sunset, we made good steady progress into a curse worthy headwind.



All then became calm, until hitting the outskirts of Mukaishima and our northerly approach to the town. The thick blue Shimanami cycle road line guided us in, then a sharp left turn going into suburbia led us to another port completely. Dark by now, the ‘right, left, right at the shingoo’ (lights) explanation was obviously incompletely translated on my part, such that we ended up leaving town again towards Imabari. Did we fancy an extra 75km?



Finally around 6.45pm we hit a port, somewhere completely different, but within reach of our hotel and bike drop off point by the train station in central Onomichi. I confused the ticket man with our predicament, and eventually we got over the narrow waterway, arriving at the bike drop off in the nick of time, to explain the following day’s plan.



Butt and thighs well tested, I would carry on, and P2 would walk the plank, dismounting from cycling endeavours for more photographic and antique related pursuits. We toasted the achievement with another sake, salty edamame beans, and another affordable local cuisine experience which would surpass by price any NZ Japanese meal. It was ‘kanpai’ to the shoochu, a pursed index finger to thumb as ‘ok’, and hearty ‘arigatoo’ to Torikawa Gonbei restaurant near the waterfront and train station.



Totally whacked, we slept like logs and rose to another cool and sunny morning overlooking to bustling Port of Onomichi. The Green hotel may have been pricey at a few hundred a night, but the views are incredible at the end of such exhausting saddled pursuits. I headed back to Mukaishima on the 8am ferry, took in some more wind and gentle gradients, mandarin orchard views, fertiliser fumes, and general country life. Plenty of material to discuss for our next cycle trip plans.



The local departure around midday for Itami (aka Osaka International) airport connected us to Fukuyama and onwards, which almost did not happen. Once arrived at our transit, the bells beginning to ring for closing doors, I realised had left my computer bag with everything in it under the seat. Distracted by a man we had been chatting to about NZ, and lacking space to sit, it was a frustratingly relieving moment that I got it before the worst case scenario was acted out.



Anyway …



After a scenic train platform stop, overlooking the castle, it was the Sakura Shinkansen to Shin-Osaka. Scenery slips away at 150km plus. A cramped train, a 25 minute limousine bus ride, and short walk placed us at the check in counter of JAL, with heaps of time to spare for an airport picnic and to regroup.



Osaka to Sapporo went rapidly and staff typically courteous, helpful and swift. Boarding times appeared late at 10 minutes before a scheduled departure, and come 5 minutes before we were only just all getting on. Untypically loose time.



A snowy runway and surrounds, and sun setting, greeted us as it had a year before, and within no time my revelation of where the adaptor plug was became clear. Misplaced, aka lost. Plan B, where everything and anything can be bought, Japan, had an affordable answer. The airport stores drew blanks at the tourist info ladies guide, and so Plan C was executed. Only once we found our excellent hotel, My Stays Aspen, near the North exit of Sapporo station and dumped our gear. My work had to be attended to, and eventually we set out for an evening.



Plug, check. So easy at Yodabashii Camera a multi-storied mega centre near the station north entrance.



Grocery for breakfast and snacks, not so easy. Hallways of cramped discounted items filled the Paseo centre and ESTA store, and I wondered again, as I approached a store for directions, how when you work and live in Sapporo you have no idea what is around the corner of you.



Now, stomach truly aching for food, we navigated the icy streets, several blocks to see what could be open after 9pm. P2 had his guide by iPhone, but weekday closures and distances factored in put that plan to rest.



The malls had shut their outlets and the first we approached looked OK, behind the My Stays hotel. We sat, perused the drink menu and after a long wait and chatting to the waiter eventually, it became clear very few veges were on offer, but tripe could be if you liked it 3 ways.



Plan C for meal, after stating we would not stay, was actioned. Our waiter led us to a nearby restaurant (wonder how he gets on with his boss?!) which, at first scent, was brimming with cigarette smoke. A firm ‘No’ from P2, even if we were later to wash all our clothes and hair.



Over the road looked great, colourful menu and, as we walked in, a very casual young Japanese lady whom looked like she wanted the night off from yet more patrons. We sat. I should have realised passing a cabinet of red meat that we had entered an offal restaurant. Anything aside from ‘Horumonos’ (hormones?), innards, onakas and sundry bits of animal was not available and drinking my ordered shoochu in record time, we ditched that at now 10pm for another option which had to be somewhere.



Going through the above process although frustratingly annoying, led us to what was a fantastic experience, albeit increasingly later and more tiring than intended. Shoes off, warm smiles from the kimono clad women, and modestly expensive prices at Sakagura for an authentic spread. What was only 100 metres from our hotel, it proved worthy of dining like a King or Queen.



Eventually the clothes got washed for the first time in ages, and we fell in to bed early the following day. Better late than never!



Keen to take in our late check out and later train departure as best we could, I dialled up Google Maps to find what was to be the only cheap and good swimming pool I had accessed in Japan ever. Sapporo’s Sunshine Health Club, in the south-eastern area of the city was just the tonic for the day and night before. At 756 yen, (under 9 NZD) it was a quirky and rule driven experience. On the left, they drive, but as for pools, I was shepherded into the green lane alone, and soon after, accosted to swim on the right. At my exit, one of the many slower swimmers grabbed my lane, and a vigorous sayonara from the pool attendant was sent my way.



Falling snow had begun outside and the traffic lights seeming extremely slow and favouring obviously the car and associated congestion. New skills acquired – how to jog on icy streets, how to walk on frozen puddles, and abiding by the road police’s directives. Stop means stop, even when it’s clear of traffic, and as P2 and I found out on the mission to the antique store later that morning, getting away with jay walking is not easy.



Snow fell, and fell. Sapporo was getting it bad that morning. Our jackets, my carry all valuables bag, our noses and extremities, all got chilled. The streets stayed fringed with mounds of white, the streets became white slush.



In the absolute nick of time, hoofing it back from the antique store, we made the 12pm lilac train for Furano, via Asahikawa, 10kg lighter in sweat from the sprint. Asahikawa, a central Hokkaido city that 10 years on seemed very chic and multilingual, had coffee prospects, which our saggy eyelids and bags showed the need for. It may have been Vietnamese and black but fortified by my supplies (miniature soy milks) the World was put right good and for all.



Then after arriving at our luscious digs for the next 2 days, the modestly priced but quality spot, the Natulux hotel, and getting back to our man Wollongong John for decent snow shoe hire, we’d reached spirits as high as the latitude of this place. The knee may well hold up, the Myoko shoes may well have been duds, and everything is better after an onsen or three.



Post note 25.3.17 - thanks to Roosta for nominating me for the photo of the week on 16.3.17, for the Kurashiki old town canal photo. I was wandering the streets with my partner, a photo enthusiast himself, and the light just sealed it scenically. Highly recommended to visit Kurashiki town and nearby Bitchi Matasuyama (Takahashi) castle, in the town of Bitchu Takahashi, apparently the highest or nearly the highest in Japan (lots of steps!)

---