The Himedomachi Cycling Club

It’s been a very crazy day so apologies in advance if this post seems hurried – it is.

I overslept my alarm in Sapporo and just stuffed my stuff into my bike bags, then I overturned my room looking for my phone. The reception desk was empty so I rang the bell like it was the first day of school, lobbed my key at the receptionist and ran to the station, jumped on the train, stashed my bike, found my seat and wiped the sweat from my face.

It takes five hours to get to Wakkanai and I spent it looking out the window. Even in the plains the houses crowd together. At Bibai what I thought was a crazy golf course was someone’s ornamental garden. After Ashigawa the landscape becomes forests and rivers. At Teshionakagawa the rusted sign directing tourists to the local onsen rocked in the wind.

We passed a deer and a fox and some ski lifts. My bike was propped up behind my seat and I could smell the oil on her chain. Half of me felt quite sober about the challenge ahead, half of me was looking forward to seeing Japan’s northernmost Mo’s Burger.

At Wakkanai I assembled my bike and pedalled to Cape Noshappu. It’s Japan’s second highest point. The Prince Harry of tourist draws. A herd of deer cropped grass beside the road. The restaurants were mainly shuttered, either temporarily or completely out of business. The one place that was open offered a set menu of whale.

My Garmin GPS device gave up the ghost almost immediately, pleading it had no maps of the area, so I kept the sea on my left and rode towards Cape Soya, Japan’s northernmost point and the starting point of my, and Alan Booth’s, journey.

The sky was overcast but the sea was making a go off it. A stretch of brushwood separated us. Just beyond Wakkanai Airport I saw something bulky and blond just beyond the surf line. It looked like a walrus lounging on the beach. I didn’t think there were walrus in the area. I looked again. This time it looked like a bear. Whatever it was it couldn’t have heard me over the wind and the traffic. I cycled harder, wishing I had a rear view mirror. At a layby a kilometre down the road I scrabbled around in my badly packed bag and pulled out a penknife I’d bought from the cancer charity Zoe4Life. I used it to hack through the safety cord of my bear spray, stuck the cannister in my top tube bag and tried to calm myself. Later that day I saw a picture of a walrus taken in the area so I’m pretty sure that is what I saw.

It’s a 35 kilometre cycle to Cape Soya with rolling hills on the right and the sea on the left. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried when I arrived at the iconic monument to Japan’s northernmost point. More than a year’s worth of planning had gone into this trip and I’d finally arrived.

Alan Booth starts his book by talking about the noodle shop loudspeakers playing the Cape Soya folk song. The shops are still there and now the music and the lyrics are etched into black stone. Pressing a button starts the music and stood there for a long minute in silent homage to the man I had crossed the world to follow.

It was four thirty and already getting dusky, so I cycled round the corner to my minshuku, the same one I believe Booth stayed in. The sign on the door said they were on holiday, the information repeated in English beside it. I rang the doorbell. The nearest accommodation was likely back in Wakkanai.

The owner came and said they were in holiday. I explained I had a reservation made by telephone a month ago. His wife arrived. We went through the bookings and my name wasn’t there. Eventually we found it, I was booked for June 8th. I said I just needed a room. I’d go supper even. I was so sorry. Such a silly mistake.

It was not a problem. The man said he’d see what he could make me while his wife conducted me on a whirlwind tour of the property. She switched on a stove, ran a deep, hot bath and an hour later I was warm, washed and wearing a yukata. She brought me one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever eaten.

So, that was a brief glimpse of my first day on the road. My route tomorrow was a hard to navigate slog through the back country. Given my Garmin situation, and the possibility of seeing another walrus, I might take a larger, more direct road. My GPS has promised to behave but I’m not sure I trust it.