The Himedomachi Cycling Club

In the equation n+1, n equals the number of bikes you currently own and +1 the number of bikes you need to buy to complete your collection. As there is no one, perfect bike, there is no endpoint in this equation, so you keep on getting new ones until you run out of money or your partner asks you to choose between her and your stupid bikes.

I’m experiencing the n+1 of preparations. For every thing I check off my list, another item takes its place. Today I thought, “Hey! Why don’t you read Lonely Planet Japan and then make a Google map of the places you want to visit?!” While in some ways this is a great idea, in other ways it contradicts my goal of attaining a kind of equilibrium between knowing enough to get from A to B without spoiling the surprise. I’m also a bit wary of my mania to anticipate everything as an imperfect antidote to my fear of not being able to cope. Surely the adventure lies in dealing with surprises and accepting hardship, overcoming the constant fear of missing out and giving up the search for optimised comfort?

I am also reminded of my experiences of getting myself into trouble in Japan – a car tyre stuck in a drain, not being able to true a bike wheel – and Japanese people seemingly materialising out of thin air to help me on my way.

I remember leaving my car windows open during a freak hailstorm and coming back to find it wrapped in tarpaulin. Or when I lost my front door key three months into a two-year stay and never bothering to get it replaced. I hope to refind my faith in the goodness of others somewhere on my journey. It lightens the soul.

I am looking forward to the normal things – ramen, hot springs, freshly made nigiri sushi, temples, speaking Japanese, I am making a real effort not to turn this into a long list of food items. And also geeky, Alan-Boothy memorial things, taking the left turn in Hiraka, visiting the Horonobe deer park, scaring myself witless on Osorezan, the ‘Fear Mountain’ in northern Aomori where even the normally stoic Booth expressed a foreboding of the brooding numinous.

Booth’s writing was so focused on the people he never really wrote about his admiration for the landscape so I am hoping to answer some questions too. Is central Honshu as steep as he made it out to be? Is Kirishima (the volcano pictured above) that beautiful when you’re riding on it? How many steps on the ascent to Dewa-san?

When he walked in the 70’s Japan’s road building was in full swing and he often ended up on tracks that lead nowhere. While I’m expecting an all-asphalt ride, Alan was able to walk through the frequent tunnels with just a flashlight and without a fear of cars, something I am sure has changed. I’ve stopped myself from dropping the little yellow Google man into the entrance of the longer tunnels. I can’t change how long and steep they are so I’ll just have to live with it and stop fretting about the unknown. Or to quote from a book one my customers has ordered and which I have shamelessly read parts of, “…just living out your life, regardless of the circumstances, is the absolute reality of your life. In living out the buddhadarma, this life-attitude is essential.” Well, quite!

What I am looking forward possibly most of all is abandoning the indoor training bike. It’s brought me to a hither-to unreached level of fitness and confidence, but wow!, it’s so boring. If I am struggling up some steep mountainside in the rain, wondering what I am doing with my life, I will just ask myself, “Would you prefer to be on the indoor bike?” to remind myself that this could be far worse.

The closer departure becomes the bigger the challenge becomes. But when you’ve stared at something long enough you just have to do it, don’t you? Clip in the right foot, clip in the left, breath in and out for five, whisper a word in Anglo-Saxon, and just do it.