Written and photographed by Mary L. Peachin
Nov 1996, Vol. 1 No. 2
The message, written in Japanese on a laminated index card said, “Hi! Our names are Mary and David. We are bicycling from Hakodate to Sapporo? Will you help us? “The first time we used the card, we realized that the cards (written for us by a student at the University of Arizona) would be the sole means of communication during our self-contained bicycle tour along the coastline of the island of Hokkaido in Japan.
Following the reader’s stare of amazement, we would use sign language to indicate if we were tired and in need of a hotel, or hungry and looking for a restaurant. The hospitable Japanese people, after carefully trying to interpret the card, always honored our request.
Before leaving the United States, we went to our local bicycle shop to bone up on basic bicycle maintenance. We revisited fixing flat tires, adjusting brakes and derailleurs, and rehearsed packing the bicycles for airline cargo and re-assembling the bikes on arrival. We gathered quite an audience in the Hakodate airport as we unboxed and readied the bicycles for our tour. Asking directions to the nearest hotel, we were pointed toward the trolley. We followed the tracks to the nearest hotel.
Our bicycle tour began early the next morning. Not adjusted to local time yet, we pedaled away from our last western-style hotel at daybreak. We followed Highway 228, the route to the village of Kikonai, thinking we would have breakfast along the road.
Japanese restaurants do not serve breakfast. By mid- morning, our growling stomachs caused us to stop at a fire station. We were a real curiosity to the fireman; they were not used to seeing Americans traveling on bicycles. They offered us a tour of the station. When they showed us their lunchroom, we pulled out our laminated index card that said, “where is the nearest restaurant?” Knowing that we wouldn’t find a place serving breakfast, they opened their lockers to share their lunch with us.
Tummies filled, we hit the road again, this time stopping at a bicycle shop to adjust a brake. The mechanic was so excited to work on a Japanese bike (most are exported to America) he practically gave the bikes a complete overhaul.
We made an important discovery at a small grocery store. The owners usually live in the back of the store. If we engaged them in sign language, we were invariably invited into their home for a cup of tea or coffee.
This insight was important because most Japanese restaurants do not open until after noon. Since we were unable to read any signage, we would have to continue riding until we actually observed people eating, our way of identifying a restaurant.
Ordering a meal was the next challenge. In the countryside of Hokkaido there are no plastic samples of meals nor is there any English translation. We were served a variety of dishes whenever we ordered “ramen” ( noodle), the one word we could say in Japanese. It didn’t take us long to learn to check out what other diners were eating, walk over to their table, then point it out to the waiter.
A good example of our “hotel” message card came in Kikonai. Stopping at a car dealership, a salesperson led us slowly by car to the nearest minchiku (business hotel). We slept in futons on the floor, shared a unisex bathroom with a non-westernized toilet. We enjoyed our first introduction to the ofuro(hot bath), a daily ritual in Japan.
Our journey following the Sea of Japan began in Fukushima. The two-lane road was either flat or gently rolling with wonderful views of the ocean on one side and the occasional waterfall on the right. Every ten miles or so we would pass through a small fishing village. The countryside was litter- free, garbage left for pick-up along the side of the road was neatly packaged. Garbage trucks had loud speakers that played classical music
The absence of restaurants was due, in part, to the tradition of hotels serving both dinner and breakfast. Japanese delicacies include raw eggs, whelks (snails), cuttlefish, seaweed and other unidentified creatures of the sea. These delicacies require a cultivated taste. I managed to surreptitiously discard a number of raw eggs and shovel some of those raw delicacies under my rice. Bicycling in Japan was not going to be a gourmet journey, it would be a “rice trip.”
In the town of Matsumae we stayed at our first ryokan. The Japanese-style hotel room included two futons and a private bath. The large shared ofuro was unisex and located in the public space. Breakfast and dinner were served in our room.
Road construction was always a problem. It was impossible for us to understand the posted signs. We didn’t know if the road was impassable or the number of miles under construction. We found it a challenge to match words on our English map to the Japanese symbols for road signs, we rarely could identify a town.
When we encountered road construction, fatigue, or miserable weather conditions, we would stick out our fingers to hitch hike. We soon learned that a more successful technique was to stand by the side of the road, then cross and raise both arms to indicate to the driver to stop. Japanese drivers didn’t understand the thumbs up signal for hitch hiking. Another challenge was finding a vehicle large enough to carry both the bicycles and us.
During the trip, we found ourselves occasionally hopping a ride with delivery vehicles carrying packages, fishing nets, and sugar cane. One harrowing experience occurred when I flagged down an empty sand and gravel truck when confronted with road construction.
After stopping a double-decker truck, the driver climbed up to loaded our bicycles, as I climbed into the cab. It is a Japanese custom to remove shoes prior to entering a home. The cab was decorated with knickknacks, fringe, and fancy carpeting, it looked like the interior of a home. Pointing to my dusty shoes, the driver indicated for me to leave them on. The driver was wearing slippers, so I wanted to be respectful.
Obviously distracted, I wasn’t aware of David’s absence until the truck was driving down the road. I didn’t know our destination, was not carrying a map, and didn’t have a cent of our $500.00 cash. Our reunification was in the hands of the driver. Soon I heard giggles as the driver chatted on his CB. I realized that a second truck was following in tandem. Hopefully, David was riding in that vehicle. At a fork in the road, the truck stopped, and the two of us were happily reunited.
Between the towns of Matsumae and Kitahiyama, less than 300 miles, we would have to ride through approximately fifteen poorly lit, rutted tunnels. Prior to entering the tunnels, we affixed flashing beacons on our backs. If we could see the light at end of the tunnel, we tried to time our ride to avoid vehicles. Not only were the fumes noxious, we were concerned about our safety.
We stopped to sightsee whenever our curiosity was aroused. Along the road we toured the Seikan Tunnel Museum, the Setana Aquarium, and the Chizaki Rose garden. The garden featured a wonderful collection of bonsai trees. On one occasion we were given a tour of a “factory” harvesting cuttlefish, another one of those acquired taste delicacies.
Sometime prior to our fourth night on the road, we lost our handy Japan Airlines paperback dictionary. It included both English words and Japanese symbols. Arriving in Esahi, a relatively larger town, we spotted a sign for Japan Airlines. While it turned out to only be a billboard, our hostess for that night called an English-speaking Zen Bhuddist monk to interpret our questions.
The monk arrived at our ryokan with a Japanese map. He showed us a symbol for “spas” located along the coastline. This information would make our daily hotel queries much easier. After a city tour of Esahi, the monk took us to his monastery. He was so pleased to have American guests he asked David to speak English to a classroom of children.
During our first week of riding, we had enjoyed perfect weather and ideal riding conditions. The only downside was riding through the tunnels. As we rounded the bend into Sutsu Bay, we encountered the only rainy day of our ride. Our last night on the coastline was spent at Moiwa Hot Spring, a coastal spa. Our route then turned inland toward the city of Otaru.
Along the road there were deep ravines with gushing waterfalls. We stopped to visit an aquaculture trout farm. Once again, the pavement ended abruptly. This time there was little traffic; we were in an isolated area. Finally, after walking our bicycles several miles, we were successful in hitching a ride with some farmers. We had to remove the front wheels of our bicycles to make them fit into the small truck.
As we headed toward the city of Sapporo, there were signs of civilization. Road traffic increased and tunnels became longer. We decided that it would be safer to hitch the final twenty-five miles into the city of Sapporo. This time we stopped a driver hauling fishing nets. He dropped us at the Grand Hotel in Sapporo.
The bright neon lights of Sapporo snapped us back to reality. There was an Olympic site visit, beer gardens, and many of the interesting department stores found in Tokyo. Streets were designed either numerically or alphabetically which make excursions easy. There were cosmopolitan restaurants and western hotel beds.
We left Japan with wonderful memories of friendly, helpful, and hospitable people. We had felt safe and secure riding with cash and leaving our bicycles unlocked. Bicycling through tunnels and eating a diet of raw food grew wearisome. It was a few years before I again enjoyed eating sushi. We both agreed that it was an incredible 400-mile bicycle tour around the island of Hokkaido, an adventure of a lifetime.