I am wondering if all cyclists agree that the first hill in the morning is the hardest, but once that was over the road was flat for awhile, running along neat squares of crop land. It was a glorious sunny morning and I had quickly removed my outer layer, one of those sun protection shirts made of a thin synthetic textile, easy to pack, but remarkably warm when needed.
Riding blissfully along, I was suddenly overtaken by a kei truck, the three-cylinder four-wheel drive mini trucks used by farmers, fishers and anyone else who has to move stuff on narrow roads. The driver stopped up ahead and jumped out of the truck, waving my beloved blue shirt around. I must have forgotten to put it in my backpack and it fell off who knows where.
My gratitude was effusive, but he didn’t stick around, just drove off, looking even a little annoyed at another damned cyclist who doesn’t take care of their belongings properly.
I had noticed that, among all the cyclists on the road so far, I did seem to be the only one carrying stuff. Today was Sunday, and a stopping place for lunch was packed with riders, sightseeing buses, families and a tough looking bunch of motorcycle bikers who took over the stairs by the seawall and looked vaguely menacing. Parking is a delicate exercise of inching in with my heavy load and securing it without all the other bikes falling down like dominoes.
More bridges today, including the glorious 4 km long Kurushima Kaikyo, the last bridge on the route. There was little wind and the remainder of the ride to Imabari went by quickly.
On the road near the railway station, a blue line on the pavement continued south and was labelled as the “round Shikoku route.” Then at the hostel, a friendly young man arrived with a bike and backpack. He spoke some English and said he had just come from Matsuyama, down the coast where I’ll be going by train tomorrow. I couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to do the trip around Shikoku on that route one day.
A woman from Scotland also arrived at the hostel and she’d done the whole 70km Shimanami Kaido on a rented bike in one day! I hesitate to say she was the same age as me but pretty close. We chatted awhile over a beer about the state of the world, and the state of travel. Carole was more a hiker than a biker, and had joined her friend on the spur of the moment, travelling for a work conference in Japan. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to travel much anymore, preferring to explore the mountains of her home.
Makes sense and better for the environment and for everyone tired of visitors landing on their shores; but here I am already planning my next trip to Japan.
Sunday noon, no one
Except one old man bent over
Fixing bicycles
