Today we said goodbye to seaside landscape because the road linking Mori and Hakodate was inland. It's a strange feeling to switch from seeing the wide open ocean all the time to being surrounded by forest all the time, but we adapted well.
We made into Hakodate in the afternoon. Before checking in, we went to a few post offices to add more pictorial cancellations to my collection, and to the ferry terminal to purchase our tickets. My first impression of biking in this harbour city is quite good. I feel that its living pace is that of a moderate-sized urban centre — not too fast, not too slow, just about right. The number of people outside and the traffic too balance well: it's not too much to threaten my sanity, not too few to give me the impression of a ghost town.
The night view from Mount Hakodate ranks as one of the top 3 in Japan. However, to get to the summit we would have to take the shuttle bus, the last of which operates at 8:36 pm. Given our tiredness and the small amount of time that prevents us from enjoying (and photographing) the scenery, we decided to pass on it this time.
By 7 am we were on the road again. Today’s mission is to get as close as possible to Hakodate to check in at our hotel the next day; other than this, we do not have much plan or time constraints.
An Ukrainian flag hung out of the window of a house located on the side of the road we took this morning; it seemed to be an ordinary residence. This is the second time I saw Ukraine-related items in Japan, which is often said to be a literally ‘apolitical’ nation (in the sense that its people are generally disinterested in politics). Japan is also the nation that has the highest number of people responding to my Ukraine project. I wonder if Japanese people feel strongly about the Ukrainian crisis because of its historical conflict with Russia and the current dispute about the ownership of the 4 islands outside of Hokkaido.
This stretch of the seaside landscape consists of a rich collection of quaint cliffs and outcrops formed by submarine volcanic action 3 millions ago, which overlook Mount Komagatake (駒ケ岳) sitting at the other side of Volcanic Bay. I find that when constructing roads in hilly areas, Japanese people tend to punch a tunnel through the hill, whereas in Canada roads tend to wind around the hill. Not sure if it’s due to Canada having much more space or not or simply the geographical property of each terrain.
Once we turned onto the rural road, there were no trucks, not even so much cars, and the ride was an absolute joy. The mountains were blanketed in layers of autumn colours, and the rockfall prevention structures were surprisingly impressive. Back on the coastal highway, the traffic picked up again with a constant stream of freight trucks — but a kind stranger’s offer and words of encouragement gave us a real boost.
By the sunset we arrived in Mori, a town that is 45 km away from Hakodate. For dinner, we went to an izakaya named Yanagi (IG: @yanagiyanagi879) that offered good food and excellent service. Upon our arrival, two waiters came to receive us, two foreigners who spoke little Japanese. They made sure that we were OK with their menu not containing any image for quick understanding, listened carefully and waited for us to use Google Translate to read the menu. We got to try the grilled skewers that southern Hokkaido is known for. Each time they brought our order to the table, they would say what it was in English: chicken, pig, Bambi (yes, that Bambi!), etc. They offered us two pieces of sushi made of salmon, freshly caught today, and two heating pads to warm us up during the trip. I am not sure if it’s because we were the only foreigners and perhaps the first who came to this place on their way biking across Japan, that they should be so nice to us. Whatever the reason was, we really appreciated their offerings and good wishes.
We were also given two cans of hot coffee by a local outside of a grocery store today. Tomorrow will be an easy ride to Hakodate.
For last night’s camping location, we picked a spot in a big park where the toilets were closed, but which was within 2-minute of walk from a 24/7 convenience store. Everything sounds convenient to me. However, my friend is the type of person who needs to go to the washroom immediately after she wakes up; 2-minute of walk is like eternity for her.
For this reason she’s been moody and gloomy since this morning so I alone climbed up a steep hill to a viewpoint to see the Hakucho Bridge, the largest suspension bridge in eastern Japan. From atop the hill I could behold the entire prosperous and industrialised city of Muroran sitting on a rocky promontory, spanning over an crescent-shaped islet with mountains towering in the distance. It's too bad that the Hakucho Bridge does not allow cyclists crossing, or else we could have explored Muroran at a more leisure pace.
From Muroran we have to bike along the curve of Volcano Bay to reach Hakodate where we will take the ferry to Honshu. This long stretch of nothing in between small towns is not short of surprises: for instance, the detour we made today to see Lake Toya, a volcanic caldera lake having a recursive island in the middle, was quite nice. Moreover, the scenery of this part of Hokkaido is majestic if you stand at a higher elevation to view the shoreline.
Muroran is a harbour city, yet along the way we biked through today, we didn’t see many fishing boats; instead, there were a lot of mining-related equipments, one of which was grinding something into sand. Consequently, trucks abound in this area, and on the narrow shoulder — if there is any — a mixture of rocks and sand makes cycling unpleasant. I finally got to understand why people kept telling me to be careful while travelling by bike in this part of the country: this stretch of the road gets narrower and narrower to the point of having no shoulder at all.
We have decided to eat simple lunch on a beach, listening to the music composed by ocean waves, because I don’t want to waste the precious daylight time in sitting in a restaurant for an hour. After all, we will have as much time as we want to spend in eating fancy after the dark. To reward ourselves, at the end of the day we had dinner at a sushi restaurant where I finally saw rotating sushi in action.
I also went to a local post office to buy a set of special stamps commemorating Muroran that were only available at certain locations. The staff, despite speaking poorly English, took my request very seriously by phoning the other post office to reserve the set for me to pick up. Maybe they are pleasantly surprised that a foreigner is interested in Japanese philately.
Today we biked 108 km to Tomakomai to stay in a hotel, the longest daily distance we have travelled so far in this journey. It’s not that we want to tortue ourselves, but that there was simply nothing available in between Hidaka and Tomakomai.
Today is also the first time I saw plastic bottles containing yellow-ish liquid (guess what this is!) — which the couple we met the other day (IG: futari.aruki) who started their journey more than 200 days ago call ‘PET bottle bombs' — together with tons of other garbages scattered along this lesser taken country road. Japan gives foreigners the impression of a clean country, but in the back there are still many counter-examples.
While passing the town of Biratori, we made a pleasant discovery of a shinto shrine dedicated to Minamoto no Yoshitsune (源義経, c. 1159 — 1189), a Japanese warrior of the late Heian and early Kamakura periods who is definitely one of the most popular Japanese historical figures of all time. His life story has been transposed into the realm of literature as a tragic hero and legends have it that instead of dying, he fled to Hokkaido after his final battle. Anyhow, the shrine was quite big considering how small the town was. I even got the chance to speak to a miko (巫女) and to film her writing and stamping the goshuin for me. Every Japanese, she said, has basic training in calligraphy starting in elementary school. In her case, she became proficient in it thanks to frequent practice at work.
Todays' highlight includes an encounter with an ojisan on the side of the road, named 岸野勝男 (Katsuo Kishino). His farm raises white horses, so we have decided to call him ‘White-Hourse ojisan’. Wont to bring home travellers touring around Hokkaido, he invited us to stay at his place which was located near an onsen. Sadly we couldn't accept this offer, however tempting it sounds to us, because his house was situated in a different direction and we were eager to catch up with our schedule. Before parting, he gave us 1000 yen to buy juice. This energetic ojisan is full of enthusiasm; I like speaking to him.
We do not have much to say about Tomakomai, because we couldn't see very much after sunset. We entered its border from a newly developed industrial district. The roads were wide, the light dim, and the traffic spare. Dark silhouettes of heavy machinery and gigantic containers stood in the foreground of the pristine seaside.
My friend went to buy a new pair of eyeglasses to replace her broken one at the Tomakomai branch belonging to the same company I ordered mine in Abashiri. This time, however, the employee who received us was not all that enthusiastic about serving foreigners who spoke little Japanese, despite speaking impeccable keigo (honorific form in Japanese language). Often impatient when we were taking the time to find words using apps or gestures, she gave me the impression that she wanted to get rid of us as soon as possible. Her behaviour seemed to be saying 'Why am I the unlucky one to receive foreigners?' The Abashiri employee on the contrary, would listen carefully while keeping eye contact, making effort at rephrasing his sentences several times until we finally got what he meant. This is a perfect example of how to show disrespect while speaking politely, when keigo is reduced to mere social formula.
Tomorrow we will arrive in Muroran, another industrial city.
I woke up at dawn and was able to behold the wide expanse of Tokachi Plain from the mountainside dressed in the golden gleam of early sunrise. There was a small amount of snow left on the grass, but nothing seemed to have seriously accumulated on the surface of the mountain pass.
I noticed a fissure on our MSR Hubba Hubba tent. For the moment I used tyre patch to do a quick repair. Can anyone tell from the picture if this fissure is serious enough that we are should replace our tent?
At 7:20 am, the owner of the restaurant that was scheduled to open at 9 am already arrived, when we were packing up our stuff. Even without seeing our tent, he knew right away that we slept under the roof last night. Instead of accusing us of trespassing, he brought us some snacks and wished us safe travel. The souvenir shop owner also let us fill up our water bottles upon our request.
We need to get over the highest point of Nissho Pass at around noon, the warmest time of the day, so we started our cycling ritual early. The roadside is marked with mentions of elevation with each increase of 60-80 m. The first 6 km which took us 47 minutes to complete brought us to the lookout area my friend was thinking of staying last night. If we had insisted on coming here in our end-of-the-day condition and snowy weather, it would have taken us nearly 2 hours! Moreover, to my friend’s dismay, the toilet she longed to use was closed for the season, and there was no water supply around. Things prove my judgement right again: never miss a good opportunity because you never know if the next one is better!
From that point onward, we were surrounded by snow-covered peaks. It’s both exciting and frightening to be exposed so directly to the wildness and the sublimity of winter elements. We needed to be doubly careful because most vehicles taking this road winding around the mountain were trucks, and there were many tunnels to pass.
After passing the highest point of the Nissho Pass (1022 m), we rode quickly though downhills into the town Hidaka where a roadside station was located. We were afraid that our symptoms would worsen if we slept in the cold weather again, so we phoned as many hotels in this town as we could find, but they were either full or closed for today. This makes us wonder if it is the ordinary reality of small Japanese town, or we are simply out of luck.
It was only 2:30 pm when we stopped biking. From Google Map, there seems to be no supply or whatsoever on this mountain road until 50 km later. We judged it would be too risky to bike further. In the end, we waited till 8 pm to set up our tent at the roadside station. Hopefully the coldest night is over.
From Obihiro onward, we have two choices: (1) biking directly through the mountain ranges, Hidaka Mountains, that separate Obihiro and Chitose via Nissho Pass, the highest point of which sits at 1022 m; (2) going around the mountains via a flatter route in the south. We choose # 1, for # 2 takes considerably much more time to finish.
Despite our determination, we are not free of apprehension of the difficulty we are facing. In the midst of our nervous worries, my friend came up with an idea to avoid biking through the snow-covered mountain peaks: that is to rent a semi-truck to carry us and our bikes through this stretch of the country. The trajectory would only take a few hours instead of 2 days. However, as soon as I applauded her brilliant idea, she told me that she couldn't find her international driver's license. To receive a replacement in Japan would require one week of waiting time, so I guess we are simply destined to face this challenge.
In the morning, we headed out on the road that we were supposed to travel through yesterday. We took the main road, the landscape was typically suburban with tons of shops and restaurants along the way. Traffic was fairly heavy, so we biked on the sidewalk most of the time. The climb didn't start until we reached Shimizu, the town where we couldn't find a vacant hotel room. The last hour of today’s daylight was spent in entering Nissho Pass. As the light got dimmer and dimmer, a steadily escalating sense of foreboding was creeping over me. By the time it became completely dark, we arrived at a parking area (450 m in elevation) where a restaurant and a souvenir shop stood.
There is a large roofed area, buildings that could act as wind blockers, a vending machine that sold hot drinks — everything pointed to an excellent shelter for one cold windy night of camping. I convinced my friend to forsake her original plan of sleeping at the lookout area (590 m in elevation) that was still 6 km away, for the latter's only advantage was having a public washroom, which I didn't judge essential to our survival, and which might not even be open at this time of the season. Tired and still not fully recovered from her illness, she was disinterested in arguing and simply trusted me, who was the more experienced of the two of us in wild camping.
As soon as we stopped, fine snowflakes began to fall. The snow didn't accumulate on the ground, the temperature of which was still above zero, but this was certainly one of the toughest nights we had so far, and the one farthest from all resources.
Today we met two nice individuals who came to encourage us. The first was a man who brought his folding bike on this business trip. Having studied in Taiwan allowed him to speak a bit of Mandarin, so we were able to have a long conversation with him. The second was a lady outside of a post office. She gave us some snacks to share between us.
Travelling slowly by bike is all about making compromises and being open to all sorts of unexpected things. There are places where we simply cannot go and there are things that happen without us wanting them.
We have to give up our plan of visiting Naitai Highland Farm, Japan's largest public ranch located in a remote place (about 50 km to the north of the city of Obihiro) to where no shuttle bus operate, because with all our gears, it's well nigh unpractible for us to climb up to 740 m (elevation) on a steep hill. We also have to give up visiting the renown Japanese architect Tadao Ando's 'Chapel on the Water', located within the boundary of Risonare Tomamu (a skiing resort west of Obihiro owned by Hoshiro Resort), because of its proximity to the express highway that is quite inaccessible to cyclists.
Nevertheless, as a huge fan of Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Silver Spoon, there is no excuse for me to miss the 'Silver Spoon 10th Anniversary Exhibition' currently held in Obihiro where the story is set. This fiction relates the coming-of-age of a highschool boy who, without farming background, is enrolled in a farming school to learn how to raise livestock and grow vegetables. As a semi-vegetarian at home, I find that this work has a rather sympathetic approach when dealing with economical animals.
The exhibition showcases about 200 pieces of Hiromu Arakawa’s original drawings (原画), including manuscripts and promotional illustrations, that can be photographed, together with some supporting materials used at the series' pre-production stage that cannot be photographed. The drawings showcased are the originals, not reproductions, therefore contain visible stroke works and correction marks that I particularly like to observe.
We also visited the Obihiro shrine that appears briefly in the series as the shrine that offers horse-shaped ema, and the Obihiro Racecourse dedicated to a form of Japanese horse racing called 'Ban'ei' where we learned a great deal about horses. On my own, I also biked to see the farming school and university that serve as the prototypes of the teaching institutions in the manga. Of course, a Butadon is a must-eat for every (non-vegetarian) fan of Silver Spoon.
Pleasant things aside, today we were unfortunately hit by a major blow: both of us got sick with symptoms of common cold (coughing, sniffing, weariness but no fever). Maybe because the temperature at night dropped to sub-zero when we were sleeping in our tent, maybe because of other factors. We couldn't find any rapid test kits in local drug stores, so there is no way of knowing whether we got COVID-19 or not. At the end of the day, we got so drowsy that it appeared increasingly unfeasible for us to bike to our next destination. When we were looking for hotel to stay, to our surprise, none of the 7 hotels in Shimizu and Memuro — both situated outside of Obihiro — we called had a vacant room, so we were doomed to spend the night in Obihiro.
We went to bed as soon as we got into the smallest hotel room we have ever seen. I only remembered to feed myself when I woke up at 10:30 pm. Walking around Obihiro’s famous Kitanoyatai (北の屋台), some sort of night market with food stands that can accommodate only a small amount of clients, I found half of the food stands was closed, while another half was filled with people drinking, eating, chatting loudly. This contrast makes some part of Obihiro ‘a city that never sleeps’, and some other part nest of early birds.
The full take — 131 more photographs from this day
We woke up at 2 am to a pool of water around our tent. It rained heavily and we happened to have picked a hollow part of the ground in a park to pitch our tent (to our defence, it’s hard to see the hollowness unless it’s covered by water — which is too late). In the morning when the sun rose, we had to spend extra time in drying our tent before resuming biking.
We took Roads 38 and 1038 along the shore, riding through a landscape composed of mountain on our right side, and the ocean on our left side. The beauty of the scenery really made me marvel at Mother Nature’s ingenuity. Signs of human civilisation are spare along this stretch of the road, except a couple of dairy farms sitting on the top of a hill.
Once the road in the direction of Obihiro deviated away from the seashore, we immediately felt the imposing presence of passing trucks. This area seemed to be still under development, along the way we saw a lot of ads about construction companies on the one side, and farming communities on the other side. There was virtually no rest stop. At one point we were so badly in need of a washroom that we knocked at the police station’s door to ask for help. We ended up being politely directed to komin-kaikan (公民会館), some sort of community centre in a town. My Taiwanese friend was surprised that Japanese police station cannot lend out their washroom, because it’s the opposite in Taiwan. Moreover, camping next to the police station is common in Taiwan, and at night the policemen would even bring hot soupe to travellers — hence Taiwan’s policemen are given the nickname of ‘people’s nannies’.
By the time the sun set, we entered Tokachigawa area that is known for onsen (and milk production) and arrived at the roadside station that offers spa and onsen. Originally interested in trying out their service, we became right way discouraged at learning that both their spa and onsen are of the mixed style. (According to someone who commented on my friend’s post, he only encountered men in the mixed bathroom; no woman was ever presented.) However, this roadside station is also the first place that still offers at this time of the season foot onsen which we have enjoyed.
Tomorrow, we will enter Obihiro — a must-visit for all Silver Spoon fans!
At blue hour, I set out for a photo shoot at Kushiro’s iconic bridge, where the Four Seasons Ladies sculptures stood gracefully along the railings. With the soft light of dawn reflecting off the river and a faint sea mist rising, the bronze figures seemed to glow.
Later, after soaking in the quiet beauty alone, with my friend we made our way uphill to Kushiro Shrine. Nestled in the forest and wrapped in morning stillness, the shrine offered a peaceful contrast to the bustling waterfront — a serene spot to pause, reflect, and start the day with intention.
Today, I feel like Super Mario who can break all obstacles after eating a super mushroom. This Super mode was attained thanks to two encounters with good people in and near Kushiro.
The first happened when we stopped by a convenience store in the city, a retired man initiated a conversation with us. In his youth, he had studied in the UK for 4 years, hence in his old age he could still speak a bit of English. During these years aboard he used to hitchhike throughout Europe and was so profoundly touched by people’s hospitality that once back to Japan, he tried to pass down the same gesture by hosting exchange students and inviting us to have a lunch with him and his wife.
Kushiro’s population has shrunk to half in the past 50 years due to job shortage. Their children too are among the expats working in Tokyo who will probably never return to Hokkaido (in the couple’s own words). They speak less and less to each other in this increasingly lonely retired life. They said our appearance made them genki (元氣, in good spirit) again.
When being on the receiving end, I have always assumed I am the one who benefits; this let me feel beholden to people. I never thought I could be on the giving end too. I think I have come to understand a bit better what someone I met in 2009 while biking across Canada explained to me: that everyone in every encounter is a giver and a taker at the same time; it’s futile to demarcate the two.
The second encounter happened when we resumed our biking ritual toward the next town Shiranuka. An old lady pulled out her car on the side of the country road to offer us home-grown grappes and snacks. She seemed to be immensely sorry that her vehicle was too small to give us a ride. Upon learning that we usually sleep outdoor in a tent, she put a scarf on my friend’s neck and said: ‘Take this.’ We had limited conversation due to language barrier, but her good heart really warmed us up.
I have been telling my friend how ‘unfriendly’ (of shy in their own word) Japanese people are, compared with my fellow Canadians. Every time something happens, I would tell her in such a situation, how Canadians would behave. For instance, when I get visibly lost, Canadians would come to offer help without my asking, but Japanese people just pass me by. When I have difficulty in handling my heavy bike, Canadians would lend me a hand but Japanese just watch me struggling. And the instances abound. My friend used to say that Japan is a different nation with different mindset embedded in its culture, comparing the two groups of people using the same standard is unfair. Now that she has experienced the same level of hospitality I am accustomed to, she has no word to describe her feelings. It can be addictive, I told her.
At the end of the day, we arrived in Shiranuka. After a simple dinner in a local restaurant, a couple who had been to Taiwan came to encourage us. When we went for a bath at a community centre, in the dressing room two ladies also initiated a conversation with us and showed great interest in our endeavour. I don’t know if there is any cultural difference between the northern and the southern parts of Hokkaido, but it seems that we had more chance to speak with Japanese people in the south …
