Cycling in Hokkaido - mountains and wetlands; June 5th to 10th

---

Saikuringu was to be the focus of the next chapter. With John from the ‘Gong’s carbon framed yet touring type slick-wheeled bikes, we would be light, even if laden with drink, and for P2, a camera bag slung across his shoulder.

The penchant for dedicated cycle roads/ paths was growing in Hokkaido, like elsewhere in Japan, and with the benefit of P2’s research on A and B road trails near Furano, we set out for Tokachidake on day one. It was to be around 80km.

Aware of a climb before us, not the calibre of one of our Northern Spain experiences, we set off as early as we could muster, as recommended. It was 21C at 6.30am and the sun well risen.

16km later we had travelled a long straight road with barely a hillock of land to Kamifurano. Using the rail road as our reference, amongst an organised patchwork of rice paddies and roads everywhere, we crossed the line and steadily climbed up a gentle hill towards Tokachi.

The transformation from blistering white scenery from multiple metres of snow, to sunny and hot high 20’s weather, added labour to the climb. I led the way, P2 referring often to his poor lower gear function as reason for poorer than usual performance.

The gearing was not identical to our Giant cross bikes a home apparently, but any physical struggle was offset by the intensely loud insect and bird sounds as we snaked upwards. Barely a car in sight and so pleasurable to exercise our legs and lungs in.

Reaching the first major junction, about 19km of climb later, we turned left to head along the ridge past Fukiage onsen and towards Hakuginso where we had snow shoed last year. Side car parks, trail heads, and dense forest continued. It was capital letter GREEN with 10 exclamation marks, and meanwhile the summit of Tokachidake loomed above, spewing its fumes skywards. Stunning vistas.

Downhill riding was welcomed then, turning left at Shirogane onsen, and a making a stop at the Blue Pool as several busloads of tourists did also. 100s of snap happy Japanese posed and moved en masse, as our unsecured bikes in the car park stayed safe.

Onwards we headed, missing a turn off that was clearly not clearly marked for our eyes. We ended up after some long gradual straights into Biei, roadside weed trimmers, mowers, and trucks out in force, taming the thigh high foliage that had grown rampant in this hot spell

Water stocks down and now an unexpected 20km deviation roughly, we decided to make for Kamifurano and hope an oasis of a café or drink stop may appear.

Choosing one of the busier main highways, as our paper maps ran off piste, our desire to not add more mileage, and my GPS tracking on the iPhone failed, we rolled along undulating terrain.

Roads here are slick and well shouldered, with less numbers of apparently speeding or angry motorists, making cycling so much more pleasant than the constant rumble of a rough sealed NZ road. Military vans took their time to give us plenty of room, and for one I waved on, a cherry hello. In the near 30C heat, we probably were a local spectacle.

Not yet into Kamifurano, I crested a hill, stopped and waited for P2 to appear from more snapshotting, when a Japanese man waved vigorously at me from the other side of the road. Café Yamaichi, overseen by the friendly Shingo Saito, a passionate cyclist himself, was the man doing so.

With hydration at a very low ebb, we had to indulge then and there. Water, then coffee please, made strong and with proper fluff on top. His barista partner obliged. Standard, impressive and rapidly we had drink 2L of water and downed the caffeine. Rejuvenated! Guidance from Saito-san then followed as to our plans, and an exchange also about his cycling intentions in NZ also. Take care, we enthused, and try the quiet roads. Challenges riding a bike in NZ exist everywhere!

Soon enough we made it to Kamifurano and then Furano, by early afternoon. Furatto pool, behind the hotel, awaited, the only local pool option, albeit tepid, on this stinker of a day.

Fluids fluids fluids, a lot of that having been external so far, and, said P2, more internal fluid was needed. That’s when miso soup comes in handy.

Fukinotou would have to be tonight’s meal. If there is a place we keep returning to in Furano, it is this restaurant. Over a year on, we were welcomed in, seated in the same spots as before, and treated like friends as complimentary drinks were thrown in. Catching up, they had experienced a busy season, had a few short holidays themselves to Sapporo, and knew more news on NZ (flooding) at this time than we had bothered checking ourselves. Divine, affordable home-made food, and a fond farewell, we knew sometime soon we wanted to return.

The next day demanded a little lie in, leaving on Saito-san’s good advice for the hills, lowland hills luckily, where P2 found that lower gear was somehow working slightly better. I packed my little money bag, enough coin for a small drink each, and threw in an extra 1000 yen. Just in case.

Doing our bike checks before breakfast, I found a partial flatty. My rear tyre. P2’s had received TLC of oil and tightening of the hub with our Allen key the night before, and now it was my turn. Hesitant to botch-up a replacement tube, I inflated the rear, being convinced the valve was defective, and it remained that way over the next half an hour, remaining so when we eventually set off at 6.30am. So far so good.

The A ride took us behind Farm Tomita, near Nakafurano, and into the depths of the wheat belt, roller coaster road and reverse vistas of the valley and Tokachi dake. Interspersed with repeated inflating of the tyre with a tiring hand pump every 10 minutes or so, the problem, whatever it was, had deteriorated. Frustratingly interrupted cycling in a magnificent scenic area.

‘Let’s go to Kamifurano and cut it short’. I knew this was a big deal for P2 as we had intended to repeat a trip to a magic vista spot for an elusive photo.

Trying not to make any more photo stops, in around 20 minutes we decided to ditch trying to make Furano and rolled into Kamifurano wondering where on earth a bike repair would be.

Just before the station, on our right, the brand name of Suzuki loomed above a workshop. Two men, older gents, in overalls, were working away at motorbikes, with a string of Mama-san bikes beside them. One gaijin had already crossed the quiet streets, and enquired, ‘puncture!’. He was to be at work until 4.30pm, and they took his bike aside, passed him a slightly inferior performance Mama-san bike, and off he went. I went forwards, explained the repeated deflation scenario, and we were given a ‘fixed in 30 minutes’ answer. How much? A measly 1000 yen (~13NZD)

When we needed a vending machine, where was it? Usually on every corner, we headed to the park and ‘voila’. Just enough coin for three drinks, the true value of the extra 1000 yen manifested. In shade and rehydrated on this 31-32C day.

A siren blew, extremely loud. Was this the next tsunami warning inland? We wondered.

Naganuma-san ran an organised operation with his helpful male colleague, and explained the valve issue I’d suspected was right. His wife stood near with her accounts pad in hand, a piece of paper saying ‘1000 yen’ displayed, and the transaction was complete. Very rateable help!

Wheels that work, indescribably satisfying.

Furano was made in swift time with a strong tailwind, slightly earlier than yesterday, and doing the same swimming pool and miso soup/ lunch routine to make a dirty sweaty cyclist feel good again.

Coffee and souvenirs at Furano Marche carried us to days end, and more wandering, including past our first accommodation, Suzuki ryokan, that set our thoughts on returning here alight. Nicks Fashion gallery, behind our hotel, was also hit up for a replacement ladies belt. Luckily, a word so easily translated (katakana ‘beruto’) produced several options, some flowery, some bulky, and one classic style for around $22NZD. Transaction done, I asked how soon he would shut? Specifically, 7 minutes. Any time for stock take?

We ate out, passing Nicks Fashion gallery an hour later, whereby he had pulled his four garage door style shutters firmly down. Business closed!

This time playing it by air, and once decisions made, we settled on a chain style Japanese restaurant, served in press the button style by a possibly ten-year-old Japanese girl. Well-fed and then a sole occupancy onsen, that became a critical mix to end a physical day.

Departure day from Furano, and one more chance with using John’s bikes, allowed us to see more agricultural activity. This voyage, arranged by P2, sent us down the valley, alongside the Sorachi river, and this time on the B road sequences. Into the valley we began to climb, gently, animal warning signs (crossing the road) emblazoned on the electronic signage. Too, there was plenty more truck traffic about, before we peeled off left onto the next road.

Missing a turn off at B78, we back tracked, but in true travel style, made up for not following the ‘route’ with making our own version, with incredible views back towards the mountains.

Fields of wheat ad infinitum, and heat rising, a rear light came off P2’s bike on a patch of snow ruined road 25km out of Furano. Ricketier than usual, a small treasure hunt to find the parts yielded the battery and light eventually, and on we pushed in time to drop our bikes off before midday. The siren sounded, midday as in Kamifurano the day before. A rural lunchtime bell.

Of course, a stint in the pool had to follow, and lunch by the cold nearby fountain. It was another stinker of a day.

Kushiro was in our sights. On the 2.19pm departure from Furano, we took stage one of the three stage trip to get on to the train line to there. Replacement bus services had begun in the past few years, since a bad typhoon two years ago damaged the tracks and station area of Higashi Shikagoe. It all made sense now after talking to our driver, where our informant, the hyperdia train website, couldn’t quite compute such a trip.

Driving through Ikutora, winding up a high road to Takahashi Sohoro resort area, and eventually descending to Shintoku with the distant mountain views of eastern Hokkaido, was misty, humid, moody, and beautiful. Ten years ago, I stood outside the station, had my photo taken, and enjoyed far cooler summer temperature’s than this.

Connecting to the Super Ozora, a few hours lapsed before we arrived at Kushiro station. In no less than five minutes, we had checked in to the scaffold-covered Hotel Crown Hills, got our room on the sixth floor, and then set off to retrieve the bikes before dark

Cycle garage Paz on Wakamatsucho was our beeline. Open until 8pm, fortunate for us, and a 1.5km walk from our hotel, two Giant road type bikes were presented for a sum of just under 12,000 yen for 1.5 days. The email contact worked well, with regular reassurances our request was received. Great service.

Dinner had, scoffed down in time for their 9.30pm cut off, was a lovely set menu of 5 choices including fresh sashimi, dumpling hot pots, and fish, pork and beef variations. So good, we had to return the next day. Another onsen, a load of washing done, and the next day was prepared.

Kushiro was the polar opposite to Furano, literally. Down to a modest 11-12C on our wetland cycle day, we donned the jackets and head scarves. A sleep in had to be had, and at 8.30am our motive was not to avoid the heat but the forecast rain that afternoon.

Relentless traffic lights through our city led route out of town slowed our travel. Such was our appearance, we were accosted at a Lawson store by a lady certain we would like something called the Saikuringu road. Gesturing it was way over there somewhere, and unsure if it would be sealed or dirt, we elected to carry on our highway 53 route out to the Onnenai Wetland visitors centre. Fields of marsh-like land, plenty of solar panels, and decrepit farm buildings later, and we had expended 22km of leg power.

The centre was in a stage of repair, the staircases wonky, and being worked on by construction men.

At the info desk, an incredibly helpful man gave us a map, exchanged bird banter with P2, and advised on alternative cycle routes such as the completely sealed section from Akan town to Kushiro, about 30km. Flat, smooth and fast, the dedicated trail was to be extended in due time around the well-known wetland areas.

Exhausting a good few hours there, we headed on to a circuit towards the 243 road, 7km from the centre in an anti-clockwise direction. Rain kept falling lightly and intermittently, but then clearing to sunshine moments later. A spike in our trail elevation was ahead, and apart from the 2km section, we then coasted down the hill towards Yamahana.

Deciding on where to next, as no tsuru had been seen (too busy breeding we were told, plus bad-timing), a stop was in order.

A café appeared, Chiffon café, at the corner of the 666 and 243 roads. There was no need to suspect the means of making this broth, and we were reassured good coffee can exist here. A hearty arigatoo to that!

The eagles were our only wildlife experience thereafter, behind blue mesh, but leaving the wildlife centre was well timed as within twenty minutes the rain came down. The sea level indicators could have told us of the floods that would come up if this persisted, but the biggest thing was the cold. Drop in temperature, were we really having 30-32C in Furano two days ago?

Money was needed. The biggest bank in Hokkaido failed over a convenience store. The good old 7-11 worked, as we dodged the rain moving back to our hotel. Aptly, the street mounted speakers played ‘I’ve been working on the railroad’, followed by ‘Raindrops are falling on my head’.

After another banquet for a very affordable 1200Yen pp, we got planning for our next day, the enduring travel to Onuma and the apparent multi-change train trip.

Up early, we took in the main bridge of Kushiro, showing the four seasons in female statue form. Having got our bearings a day later than we could have needed, we then figured out where to get on the cycling road. Our landmarks of the Crane bridge, Starbucks building, and two blocks of lights along were bang on for accuracy.

On the slick surface you can streak along quickly, the only hurdle being those cross winds in open spaces that are a cyclists’ curse. I got within 10km of Akan whilst P2 feasted himself on photos, birdlife and verdant path side gardens that people had created. We dropped our bikes off, and walked back, the rain starting. ‘Raindrops are falling on my head’ played again.

Checking out, we sought a café. None were open this cloudy Saturday morning, nonetheless, from 11am if they did. Town was dead quiet. Turning my nose up at the suggested convenience store coffee purchase, we found a quaint little home style place opposite a busy pastry shop in the station.

Mama-san treated us royally, as crowds of weekend tourists milled in a rival chain-store version over the way. Being her only patrons, in seconds, water and coffee appeared. The music played overhead, a cover of ‘tie me kangaroo down sport’.

Queuing up a good 25 minutes before on Platform 1, due to not obtaining a reserved seat (unlike everything else) was our strategy. Tourist season was kicking off evidently. And we’d missed out on reserved tickets.

Anxiety was well allayed as a handful of folks entered the non-reserved carriage and stayed mostly so for that 4-hour part one trip to Minami Chitose station. Transferring in little time to the next one, bound for Onuma Kooen, there was to be a third step to Akaigawa at this point.

Getting in around 6pm, the one station one-man band conductor motioned us. Complimentary bus service was available to the Prince Hotel, and no, we would not need to go to Akaigawa. WE met an older cyclist whom warned us a 7km trek awaited should we want to camp. Gosh, that is a long trip by local standards.

Soon enough, driver-san came to our rescue. Town had emptied out, and nothing was open, despite signs of tourism of a big scale. Driver san explained, by midday tomorrow there’ll be plenty of Taiwanese and Chinese tourists, and it would be best to get up early to miss the melee. It then transpired we were from NZ. ‘Many sheep’ he mentioned, gesturing with two hands under the breasts followed by actions of pulling his hands up and down, to indicate that Hokkaido too had a cattle industry.

The higher priced hotel Prince was our base that night. Adjacent to the Hokkaido Country Club, should we like an expensive walk, the setting couldn’t have been better.

For so many rooms, our room looked out onto dense forest, and come winter, it could well be even magical. I tracked down a Lawson, convinced their onsite store wasn’t what I wanted, and by dark we were settling in for what became a hideously overpriced set meal. My feelings the next day remained so, as the small ‘market’ outside sold apples at $5 and rock melons for 12,000 yen. $150 NZ dollars, they surely had gold coating.

Generously we had a late check out. Knowing the onsen would surely have emptied out from the truck loads of tour groups this place had, and the unrelaxing experience of the night before, we set off to Onuma Kooen by 8.30am bus. Briefly Mt Komagatake was in view, a tuft of cloud at its summit, and intermittently we had lovely views of the mini-archipelago of islands in this vicinity. Herons, rowdy territorial crows, and one little bird hanging around it’s tree trunk hole nest made this small walk exciting.

Back in heaps of time to indulge the waters, we each had a solo onsen experience, looking out to the small lake, it’s lilies, the lush treescape, and easing some bodily aches.

Speeding back to Tokyo by shinkansen, via our now favourite stop of Shin Hakodate, and into Tokyo’s chaos, a new young University student friend was made on the train, very keen to Instagram us. Obligatory selfie later, we returned to Toyocho, our old hood, in the wet, humid summer weather than is so common. Again the opposite in many ways to Hokkaido.

Surely, we will return.

---