A Good Walk

A couple of weekends ago I went for a walk to take me from the ancient resort highlands area of Nikko around Lake Chuzenji to Oze, a wetlands area popular with the gray set with its easily accessible meadow views and wide expanses of spring and summer flowers.

I've been to Nikko several times; this was my third time camping there. I usually ride my bike up the steep switchbacks of Iroha hill to get from Nikko city, home of the World Heritage Site Toshogu mausoleum, to Lake Chuzenji and Oku (or "far") Nikko. This time I was planning to hike out of Nikko and would not be returning, so I left the bike at home and took a bus from the Nikko city train station. I had to work that morning and had gotten a late start, so I just took the bus to the Shobugahama lakeside campsite and set up.

I've camped at Shobugahama several times, and it is a great place--you can camp right next to the water. The other times I've been there were weekdays and so it was less crowded, but this was a Friday night and I hadn't realized what I was getting into. The Japanese campsites I have been to are not the secluded affairs I am used to, offering clearly defined, individual campsites separated by shrubs or trees, but free-for-alls where you can plop down your tent inches away from neighbors. More often than not I have been there at off-peak times and was able to set up well away from any other campers, but this night was different. I wandered through a dense tent city for about 15 minutes before accepting that I would be right next to a family shooting off fireworks well into the night; and I was already tired. But there was a good side to this--I might have been out of luck without a reservation at an American campsite, but here, uncomfortable as it might have been, at least I was able to find somewhere to spend the night (and in the end it wasn't all that bad).

The next day I woke up at 5 am to eat and get packed up before taking another bus, this time from the side of Lake Chuzenji deeper into Oku Nikko. I had hiked up toward Mt. Shirane, the largest in the area, before, though I couldn't see much of it at the time because of buffeting winds and heavy rain and fog. This day it was clear as could be and I planned to only spend 5 hours hiking to reach my destination for the day, so I might have tried Shirane in the sunlight, but I was really tired from a wakeful night before I came and my night in the campsite with my ear near to neighbors chatting into the night. I thought I'd take it easy.

I took the more northern of the two trails leading from Yumoto (a destination in itself) toward Mt. Goshiki. Last time I returned from Shirane taking this same path down, and when it wasn't flowing with a small stream from the rain that "made interesting" the last 4-5 hours of that trip, it was muddy and treacherous. I must have fallen ten times. This time the worst precipitation was early morning dew on the grasses (bamboo?) hanging over the path. It was steep and the path was a bit hard to follow at times, but I made it. I decided to skip Mt. Goshiki with its view of Mt. Shirane and the many colored lakes at its foot (goshiki, by the way, means "five colors," for the five tiny lakes of varying colors in a valley below), I went north to Mt. Konze, leaving the familiar behind.

Mt. Konze seems to be popular and I ran into several hikers, especially on the far side. There is a fair view near (at?) the peak, but I didn't stay long; I thought the peak was higher up and kept going! But soon the trail headed down again, and I guessed at the reason for Konze's popularity after taking a look at my map: there is a pass where you can park your car and hike up to the peak in about an hour and a half. If I were to do such a thing, though, I would take the slightly longer trail to the next mountain I climbed: Yusengatake. The view from Yusengatake was much more enjoyable, I thought, and it was something like 270 degrees compared to Konze's 180.

When I was heading for Yusengatake I heard a loud yell. I couldn't make out the words, though it sounded like it ended with "...ma". I found out the next day it was likely he had been yelling about bears or "kuma": apparently a bear was spotted with her cubs in the area. The voice didn't really appear frightened at the time, and I had no idea where it was coming from, so I waited, then moved on and hoped for the best.

I ended the day early in a fantastic "emergency hut" in between Yusengatake and Nenakusayama. As I said, I was exhausted, so even though it was only 12:30 I decided to call it a day.

I should explain here what an emergency hut is. Camping in the mountains is usually discouraged in Japan, so most hikers stay in 小屋, "koya" or mountain huts when they take longer treks. There are mountain huts on ranges all over Japan, many of them staffed and some offering fairly ritzy accommodations (for the mountains). I'd much rather camp, but the next best option is the 避難小屋, the emergency hut, unserviced but providing lodging in case of inclement weather or other emergencies. Often they are nothing more than a shed and really deserve the name hut: the hut I found in the Yatsugatake range years ago, for example, had nearly fallen down, and it was impossible to get inside (luckily there was space to pitch a tent nearby and I hadn't planned to stay in the hut anyway).

The map promised camping space at the hut near Yusengatake as well, but as soon as I saw the hut itself I had a feeling I'd be staying inside. This hut was like a lodge meant for wealthy skiers, minus the fireplace: it was newly built and the pleasant scent of pine flooded the inside, where there were two levels of wood flooring sturdily constructed. And besides, the land apparently meant to be used for camping was covered with pine saplings; obviously not much used.


The only thing this wonderful hut was missing was a toilet. But it had a couple of shovels, and so I hoped I wasn't taking too much of a leap using them for... my convenience. I wandered off the trail into the forest a bit, suddenly noticing how pampered we hikers are by the fruit of the labors of trailblazers: I looked around me and thought it wouldn't take much to get lost, even so close to the hut and trail. In any case, my body urged me to take care of things, and so I dug a hole, filled it, then covered it up again. I returned to the hut feeling lighter after my first experience doing what a bear does in the woods.

After that I took a nap, then woke and fought flies while I made dinner. Instead of buying dehydrated, processed meals with barely any nutrition, I've been carrying bags with the ingredients for favorite dishes and making meals from scratch in the woods. I bring ramen, too, just in case I'm too tired to bother, but I've done fairly well making mabodofu with freeze-dried tofu and mushrooms with quinoa (which cooks faster than rice). This time, though, I managed to knock the mushrooms and ginger I cut onto the ground at my feet, and so ended up missing out on a few of the finer touches. I stole some ginger from the next day's meal, so I was only missing mushrooms, and so was able to make something presentable. I went to sleep early, hoping I would have enough energy for what the next day, which looked to be a thirteen hour day.

I think I'll pause here...

Oku Nikko Loop

It's now the tail-end of fall, and I had hoped that this year I might do something special for the season of the changing leaves. I've been to Nikko before, but never during that period; from what I'd seen in pictures it seemed quite spectacular there.

I'd been to Nikko a couple of times, as I've written elsewhere. I spent a lot of time hiking there, but this time I wanted to bike around to get a better view of the whole area. I was able to find a great route on a mapping site, and set out.


I managed to get a great deal of sleep the night before--often, because of the early hour I need to rise in order to have time to do everything I want to do, I only get a few hours sleep. This time I was well rested, and it showed--when I got to the top of irohazaka, a daunting hill of switchbacks, I thought "that's it? It used to be a lot harder!" It was a great feeling, and I laughed and sang through a tunnel to Lake Chuzenji.

When I reached the little town that lines the northern edge of the lake, I overheard a woman say "looks like the changing of the leaves is over." Indeed, Mt. Nantai was bare. I was a little disappointed, but I had expected this, and was really more interested in the ride around the park.


I continued riding on to Senjogahara, a meadowland I mentioned in my previous post on Nikko. All that was to be seen this time were the beautiful white birches and, of course, the sense of wide open space not easily found in Tokyo. I ate lunch--a Koyadofu mabodofu, great with rice for bike trips.


Next, I headed to realms new to me: to that point I'd stuck near Chuzenji, but the path I'd found led off the beaten track into the mountains north of Mt. Nantai.


This new track, though, led to a series of switchbacks nearly as steep as irohazaka. I went up as fast as I could, though I was beginning to tire, but they were soon over. My effort was worth it: I found some really fantastic areas that I hope to explore further on foot some other time. There was a tiny valley that, from my vantage point up above, looked like a place made by magic (I didn't take a picture because I didn't want to ruin my memory of it), and a group of mountains still boasting a few trees with colored leaves, one of the mountains touched by an early-winter's frost (I did take a picture of this one). It was one of those places that but for the freezing weather you might want to stay forever, just taking it in.


I rode from there down into the valley around a lake called Lake Kawamata. This was less impressive, and the road seemed to go on forever--even looking back I cannot understand why it took so long to go around the lake. Next I met my third irohazaka-level series of switchbacks, and by this time I was ready to call it quits. It was getting dark and it was near or below freezing; my legs were out of the juice that had powered them on the way up the real irohazaka. But I made it to the top, or what I thought was the top; after that, it hit a ranch area that I thought would be flat before a descent into Nikko city, but in fact it steadily rose, at steep grades nearly as difficult as any of the other hills on the trip, and longer. Frozen and discouraged, I went up these hills at 9 kilometers an hour, not a whole lot faster than walking, telling myself how happy I would be, and proud of myself, once I got home. And then I looked up and realized that in compensation for my hard work, I had a good view of the stars, which I hadn't seen since since my trip to Nagano last year.

I finally made it to the top and began a chilly and surprisingly long descent to Nikko city. I made it just in time for the train home.

I want to do this ride again as it gets colder, watching the snow creep down the sides of the mountains. It is much clearer in colder weather, and I may even camp later in the year so that I can see the sunrise over white-clad mountains.

Update: Second Jobs Can Be Hazardous to Your Health!

I just a got a second job last week. Out of the blue, I found a job asking for proofreading/checking help, so I responded, and that day I was called in for an interview. It was at a legal office ten minutes from my current work, 6-8 hours a week, so I thought, what the heck. The interview went very well, and they seemed to be impressed by my Japanese. More than that, I felt a certain amount of trust from them, for no reason I can explain.

There was one dark cloud, though. I mentioned, for some reason, that I rode my bicycle to work at the other job, and we talked about that for a bit. But at the end of the interview, the main lawyer asked me "If we ask you to do so, will you not ride your bike when you come to this office?" At that moment I regretted telling them so blithely about my bicycle riding. I hesitated, but said I wouldn't ride to work.

At first, I was a bit down because I thought maybe that would make me a less viable candidate. But when I got home, I found an email from them offering me the job. So now I'm making enough money to live on, though I'll probably find some other work to help me save money or "enjoy the finer things".

And it's a great job. It pays even better than the other job, and experience in legal work will definitely lead to things in the future. Plus, I like the guys. But the requirement that I not ride my bike to work really chafes. After a month of riding 30 km, four days a week, it's something I've grown used to. I feel freer, I get to watch life as I pass by, and, best of all, I am getting some exercise. I've lost a few pounds and my legs are really getting muscular. And I'm just getting started.

I usually take off one day a week, though, to let my body recover, and so I've been on the train a few times. I used to enjoy the train, just from some weird fixation on the things. But I feel so drained after a train ride, where I usually feel calm and relaxed after a bike ride.

But I understand his position: apparently, companies can be held liable for their employees' accidents. So it's a difficult situation for both of us.

That's one reason for the (unwarranted) alarming title. Another reason is that there are some lawyers who smoke in the office. Bleah. But it's only for three hours, a couple of times a week.

A New Job; or Golden Week Sucks

I started a new job today at a (very) large soy sauce interest. I'm working as a proofreader/researcher (thus, my official title is perhaps proofreaderslashresearcher) a few hours on weekdays. It's really an exciting opportunity, and I finally feel, in a little way, that I'm doing what I want to be doing. It's a Japanese company and all of my coworkers are Japanese speakers, so it should be a good chance to get some practice with the language, as well as hone my abilities as an editor. Even better, the company makes an effort to be environmentally and health conscious, and they have an organic version of their sauce in addition to a line of vitamin supplements.

It was a bit of a long process getting to this point, and a couple of times, through miscommunication with the Japanese-speaking staff at the recruiting company--as a well as a personal tendency to expect the worst--I thought I had been shot down. But, in fact, I got the job: they must have been impressed by my interest in cooking, or maybe I was the only person actually willing to work for three hours in the middle of the day.

Because that really presents a problem. It's difficult enough to get a job here, and good part-time jobs are rarer still; it will be hard to find something that fits around a 2-5 schedule. The only thing I've come up with so far is teaching English, and while a job as a kid's teacher would get me doing something active and away from the computer a few hours a day, I just ran screaming from that party, didn't I? But I rationalize taking this job thinking this is a good opportunity to break into proofreading/editing/translating (sorry for all the strokes today), and even more than that it is an interesting subject. There are two things that I am especially interested in these days: bicycling and cooking. To have one of those subjects be a part of my job is nothing less than fantastic. I've had many jobs, but while the job may have been interesting, I'm not sure a single one of them was focused on a subject I was interested in. The hourly wage is good, so even at the few hours I'm working, I'm making a fair amount, but I will have to get another job soon. In the mean time I'll just have to cut down on the prime rib lunches I've grown accustomed to. Seriously, though, I plan on saving money on train fare by riding my bike to work everyday, which will be a great excuse to get in shape.

Today started with a meeting with the recruiters who set this up, an English woman and a Japanese man, who have helped me through the process for the past month or so. They went over some administrative stuff, and I learned an unfortunate fact that further strains my budget, but shouldn't have been a surprise: as an hourly worker, I am only paid for days I work, so I will not get paid through the rest of Golden Week. Golden Week is a collection of holidays at the end of April that are often used along with personal holidays to take off a whole week, and it seems like the whole country travels during this time. I used to get paid for this time off at my old job, but I will not this month, so not only can I not travel because there are just too many other people traveling, but also I won't get paid for the time off (I'd rather work at the moment). One less stay at the Tokyo Prince hotel, shucks.

After the meeting, they took me over to the company's office. I noticed a sign that said Fridays are "casual days", and despite the fact that the three young women at the reception desk wore their usual uniforms as they bowed in unison to us, my boss certainly was in a casual outfit when he arrived to take me to our office. It was a welcome change to see him in a fairly relaxed shirt and light-colored pants. I am not against wearing ties and suits, but I prefer casual wear myself, mainly because I hate dealing with dry-clean only clothes.

We took our leave of the recruiters, then headed upstairs, where he showed me to my locker, then proceeded to introduce me to the international department. The office is set up in a "traditional" Japanese style, meaning there are no cubicles or walls (except of course the walls between us and the outside), and everyone works in the same room. During the course of introductions, the department manager called everyone's attention to me, introduced me, and asked me to say a few words. I unexpectedly had 50 or more pairs of eyes on me, so I made it short and in English; now I wonder if I should have said a bit more. But it was all very cordial, and I think perhaps it was better to leave it at that than to grasp for words. After that I was shown around to some of the other important people, then led back to my desk.

My boss then explained some of the tasks I would be doing. He handed me some brochures to look over. One of these I was to check for any awkward expressions, and that is what I spent most of the next two hours doing. It was enjoyable work, and I feel pretty confident about my decisions, but I know I am no expert in editing. But I was able to score a point when I just happened to check (more out of personal interest than for business purposes) the name of a Dutch city; they had misspelled it twice in the brochure. When I saw that I felt like a kid that had been given some candy: it was so clearly wrong to someone who knows such things, but would be passed over by someone who didn't know anything about the Netherlands or hadn't taken the time to look it up.

I finished the brochure, then went through my changes with the supervisor, then prepared to go. I felt a little awkward on the way out, as I know it is normal for Japanese office workers to leave only after their boss has left, and they will often be working late into the night. I was leaving at five, almost on the dot. I wasn't sure of the etiquette, so I just slunk out after saying goodbye to the boss.

Now, after a month-long weekend and one day of work, I have another four-day weekend ahead of me! Not such a bad thing, just wish I was getting paid for it like I used to!

The Seasons; or Farewell Eikaiwa

It's cherry blossom season again in Japan, perhaps the most celebrated season of the year. In the US, of course, everyone loves the beginning of warmer days and it's easy to list songs that talk about love blooming with the first flowers, but I remember such sentimental thoughts being in the background of life; here it is very much in the forefront.

The pink and white blossoms are a signal for more than spring in the natural world; they also mark the beginning of stages in Japanese life. The school year ends in March and begins again in April, so very soon new elementary school students will shoulder their huge book bags and leave their moms for their first day of school, while new junior high school students will shed their cute sixth grade personae and begin being too cool for school and too tired for anything else. The same process happens with new high school students, and the old high school students begin their wild years at university. And new graduates begin their new jobs, while their seniors are transferred to other departments or cities.


The easiest way to tell the season here in the city is to look at the subway advertisements--about a week before the equinox this year, ads were changed literally overnight as they are every three months or so. The ads focus on a few major features of each season, and are usually color-coded. In winter it is hot springs and white; spring is cherry blossoms and pink; summer, if I remember correctly, is hiking in the mountains and green; and fall is the changing leaves, of course red. The seasonal changes are most appropriate for companies offering products that are dependent on natural variations, such as the travel industry, swimming pools, organic grocery stores, and so on, but everyone, from car makers to cell phone makers to English schools, takes part in the advertising trends.

Spring, as I said, is perhaps the most important. Children go to school, people start new jobs, and people move. It is an exciting time, and it is a stressful time. It is the end of the fiscal year for many Japanese companies, and workers often do even longer hours than usual. Unfortunately, it is also a time for desperation: suicides, especially the spectacular train suicides that shut down entire train lines, seem to increase during this time.

Life in Japan is generally stressful and especially so here in the capitol. The antidote, in every season but especially in spring, is alcohol. Cherry-blossom viewing, called hanami, is a ritualization of the consumption of alcohol. A junior member of a company sets out early, claims a spot under the best cherry tree he can find, then is later joined by his coworkers.

They gather and drink, and eat, and drink, proverbially ignoring the gently falling petals in favor of the food and alcohol. It continues until every face is pink as the cherry blossoms, and you can usually find mobs of salarymen vomiting or sleeping outside of train stations. Instead of pictures of vomiting salarymen, though, I'll give you more of Ueno park in nearly full bloom and the sea of humanity that flows beneath them.



With the coming of the new school year came the end of my stint as an instructor: in order to try to get on with my life, I decided not to renew my contract at the English conversation school (abbreviated in Japanese as eikaiwa). It's hard to believe it's been almost two years; on the one hand it has seemed a limbo or purgatory that dragged on forever, and yet, looking back, it doesn't seem like such a long time. I have no regrets about leaving: being a basically asocial person, leading six or seven conversations a day took its toll; two years of practice did very little to alleviate the tight ball in my stomach I carried with me every day to work. But I met some really great people, teachers, native staff, and students, and though it's hard to say I wouldn't rather have gotten a more suitable job from the outset, I have learned a lot from the experience.

One big surprise is that I actually like children. I was absolutely terrified of the prospect of teaching children when I first came here, but in the end it was the children's classes I enjoyed most. I found that I could handle it and, in fact, I enjoyed getting crazy with them once in a while. I even sang songs, and I enjoyed it, sometimes more than they did! You never know...

But now I'm hoping to move on to the next stage, where I use Japanese and, hopefully, my English writing skills. I've never been known for my conversation skills, but I might be able to do something with writing, and I'm looking forward to putting that to the test. And Japanese, ah, to use Japanese! Living in Japan and not speaking Japanese brings to mind the lines from the Coleridge's Rime: Water, water, everywhere/ nor any drop to drink. Recently I've been going to interviews conducted entirely in Japanese, and I feel that after two years of swimming in the salty ocean I've found a well of fresh water.

Postscript: My mom and I went for a nice trip to Hakone and Kyoto earlier this year. My mom's enjoyment of Japan reinforced my own feelings about the country, and it was a spectacular trip for us both. I'm going to let my mom tell the story, so please take a look at her blog.

"Thanksgiving"

What is it about cold weather? For some reason my pleasure in life rises the lower the temperature. There's something about knowing the outside world is near freezing while you are inside next to the heater or with legs under your kotatsu (as mine are now). When I'm outside, I'm happy for the brisk air, but also I'm looking forward to getting home and having some hot soup and getting under the kotatsu.

Along with a general enjoyment of the winter months, I am excited about the opportunities cold weather provides for cooking: I like new things, and the tubers and squashes available now are fun to play around with. And mushrooms! Japan is the place to be for mushrooms. Frying and long stews are more acceptable during cold weather, too, when heat from your cooking food heats the house as well as the nimono (vegetables stewed until the stock is gone, sealing in the flavor) on the stove. This combination, as well as a decline in the interest in being outside that moves me in the summer months, makes winter months a great time to stay inside and cook.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the US, and today is Thanksgiving to Workers day (in other words, Labor Day) in Japan. I didn't have yesterday off, so I'm doing my Thanksgiving meal today. My plan is to really do it up, making vegan lentil loaf (like meatloaf), maybe some gravy, and the big finale, kabocha (Japanese pumpkin) pie. Unfortunately I didn't plan well enough to have folks to share it with this year, maybe next year; I'll just have leftovers for a while. In any case, I'll post my recipes and results at my food site, Tokyo Organic.

Nagano, Final Chapter

Two months later, I'm finally going to finish up.

Really, the best part of the trip began after my last entry ended: when I went back to the campsite I first saw after climbing to Kiri ga mine, I found a welcoming, party-like atmosphere. The main area of the extensive campgrounds was a large, communal space common in Japan: instead of being separate spaces surrounded by brush or trees, there is a large, open area where anyone can plop down a tent. You could, conceivably, be next door neighbors with another camper, and while the idea was repulsive when I first passed the grounds, this time around it didn't seem as terrible an idea. Children were running around, families were cooking lunch together, and though it wouldn't appeal to outdoorsmen or -women wanting to rough it, it was pleasant enough. Not to say I was ready for planting my tent next to a family with several crazy kids eager to say "Haroo" again and again to the scruffy-looking gaijin, and I was luckily able to secure a site a bit separated from the main fairgrounds. But I eagerly accepted when a Japanese man with good English pronunciation invited me over for some beers, food and conversation with his Japanese friends. If the trip taught me anything, it is that I really am a social person, hindered by anxiety around others and a consequent crankiness, but a social person nonetheless.

I took an inordinate amount of pleasure in having water to wash my clothes and myself a bit. I borrowed a hammer from my new friend next door and solidly pitched my tent. With my garish bicycling clothes hanging from lines attached to the trees next to my tent site I felt like I had a semblance of home. Taking the borrowed hammer back, I headed over to join my new friend's party.

He had introduced himself as Hide; I found out later this was for Masahide, and the difference caused a bit of confusion. For continuity's sake I'll call him Masahide (that's mahsahheeday, for those keeping score). He and his friends had assembled from all over the country to enjoy their summer vacation in the cool Kiri ga mine highlands. Masahide himself was from the Nihonbashi district of Tokyo, which meant he was an "old-school" Tokyo resident; now, though, he lived in Matsumoto, in the foothills of the Japanese Alps. He is, actually, the sort of rugged mountaineering type that would normally steer clear of a place like Kiri ga mine: he told me stories of camping in Kamikochi in the middle of winter and climbing the "alternate" paths near where I stayed the first few nights in Yatsugatake, places where you have to have mountaineering equipment. He had considerable experience, and I gleaned a little of this knowledge in Kiri ga mine and, later, when I stayed with him and his family in Matsumoto.

Masahide and his friends had a comfortable setup composed almost entirely of Mont Bell (a Japanese camping equipment company) products: Masahide had once worked for Mont Bell and apparently had a great deal of faith in them. We sat under a green tarp while they cooked up rice, tempura, and curry. We ate and drank well into the rest of that afternoon, and the fare was quite a bit better than the rice gruel and packs of tough freeze-dried rice I had been eating.

On one of my many trips to the bathroom, I ran into a group of campers who had set up near the bathroom due to lack of other options. One, I could see in the failed light, was not Japanese, but he spoke a strange language to the other campers, all apparently Japanese. I thought perhaps they were speaking Brazilian Portuguese: there are many Brazilians in Japan. Warmed up after a few Japanese beers, I felt brave enough to attempt speaking to them: he was in fact an English speaker (from Australia?), and I found out later he was speaking Mandarin Chinese. Have to work on my differentiation of languages. I invited them up to take a look at my friend's telescope, and though they never came, it did begin another friendship.

The telescope was a humongous and expensive monster that one of Masahide's friends had brought for friends' enjoyment during the Pleiades meteor shower. Of course telescope is fairly useless during a meteor shower, but it was an excuse for him to get his friends to look at the sky. The barrel of the scope was precisely controlled by a motor. He started to show off various planetary bodies and clouds once it had gotten dark. However, the images were black and white and absolutely miniscule, and I found it difficult to expand them in my imagination to stars and planets. My first sight of Jupiter through a telescope was interesting, but views of other, unknown galaxies often felt like I was looking at a stereogram: my focus constantly shifted and yet I couldn't see the magical image that I knew must be hidden in the picture. In fact, at one point I did find the magical image, some body I can't remember. It was not so much that the image was so fantastic, more my mind finally recognizing that what I was looking at was incomprehensibly, sickeningly far away. The bit of awe passed quickly. More fantastic were a few surprisingly large meteorites I happened to catch with my naked eye; we spent much of the early night searching the skies until one person said "There's one!". Everyone would look where the speaker was looking, but of course the meteorite had disappeared by then. Then the famous fog of Kiri ga mine ("Kiri" means fog) settled in, and we were unable to see what was supposed to be the peak of the meteor showers. I went to sleep soon after, exhausted by days of strenuous travel followed by rich food and beer. My friends left early the next morning, though I had gotten Masahide's information before I went to sleep.

The next day I traveled to a nearby wetland meadow. Unfortunately, as usual I was unable to catch the beauty of the landscape: I've become quite incompetent with photography. Use your imagination! It was a pleasantly relaxed hike with few fellow hikers, over in a couple of hours. I was quite happy with returning early for a bowl of ramen, maybe an early night.

When I returned, though, the group that was near the bathroom had moved into my friends' old spot, and they, too, invited me over for food and beers. Couldn't they leave a poor traveler alone? I planned to leave the next morning, and wanted an early start. But of course I was curious about them and wanted more conversation.

Matthew (called by his friends "Ma-Shu" or something along those lines) had met the other campers in China, where they all lived for several years in a tiny town. They all seemed to speak fluent Mandarin, and since neither Matthew's English nor the Japaneses' English was as fluent, they often switched. Luckily I speak both Japanese and English, so I was able to catch most of the conversation not in Chinese. It was an interesting mix of culture. And their stories about China were fascinating (though at this late date I can't remember much of them!).

Matthew and his girlfriend live in Shizuoka, where Matthew works for a... competitor. He seems to be pretty well set up there, and they seem quite happy. He occasionally makes it up to Tokyo; hopefully they'll get in touch next time.

After a few too many happoshu's (a concoction that somehow cuts out the carbohydrates of a beer without completely destroying the flavor; I think they must use arsenic or something--kidding of course) I went to sleep, still naively hoping to get an early start the next day. I did actually get up early, but this was not a good thing: sleepy and hung over, I was cranky, and, in the end, the lack of sleep really ruined the rest of my trip. I had a terrible time packing my bag and getting it on the bike. After a few shouts and pleading I finally got the bag back on and headed off around 10 am (I had gotten up around 7) I said goodbye to Ma-Shu and his friends, and then moved on to try my luck again. I was headed for Utsukushigahara, another highland area with a promising name (Utsukushii means beautiful). It felt fantastic to be back on my bike after a couple days' rest, and the first part of the trip was very pleasant. I worked myself hard getting up a few hills, then it was all downhill for perhaps twenty kilometers. It felt great. I noticed several bicyclists coming my way, and soon found out that they were part of a "Tour de Shinshu", a tour of the Nagano area I was riding through. It made me feel proud to be riding up and down hills that were being used to test these athletes' endurance. I was obviously quite out of shape in comparison, but I was pushing myself.

Too hard. When I was hanging out with Ma-shu, I mentioned that I had ridden up the hill from Suwa, and one of his friends said "That's why he has such fat legs"--meaning it as a compliment. I said I was just fat, and we laughed, but I noticed my lower calves were quite a bit larger than I remembered. I knew there was no way I had built up muscle that quickly; I felt them, and they felt hard. It worried me, but I let it go.

But on those hills to Utsukushigahara, my energy soon flagged, and it was clear something was wrong. I could hardly keep my eyes open, and it began to take every ounce of my energy just to keep the pedals moving, even on flat ground. I found a wonderful camp ground--free and with camp sites separated from each other on terraces on a hill and ventured off to find a place to eat, hoping a good meal would cure me of this strange illness. I felt a tiny bit better after eating, but on the way back, a hilly climb that I mostly took on foot, I once again flagged, and I went to bed as quickly as I could.

Then the strangest thing happened: what sounded like electronic notes, perhaps from some trance album, burst through the air. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. The sounds were mostly regular, constantly changing pitch but at a regular beat. Occasionally, though, they would stop. Anyone who has experienced such an almost regular beat while they are trying to sleep knows it is a fairly extreme sort of torture: just when you are about to fall asleep to the regular sound, the regularity disappears and wakes you up again. It went on literally for hours, and I really thought I was going to go crazy. But it finally stopped, or I fell asleep. I still have no idea what caused the noises.

Looking back now, I'm having trouble discovering what order I did what. In any case, I spent two nights in the campsite described above, beneath Utsukushigahara. During that time, I hiked up to Utsukushigahara--a large pasture area used for cows and thus extremely interesting to city-dwelling Japanese and dull to a boy from Kansas--then went to Matsumoto and back--a grueling but necessary ride to get sunscreen, as my arm was bleeding from exposure to sunlight. Though it was cool in the highlands, Matsumoto was near its peak temperature for the year, and I went through two bottles of water on my way back. When I finally reached my campsite again, I had to beg for water from fellow campers (they were extremely nice to me, giving me more than I should have taken) because there was no clean water available in the highlands. It really makes sense in hindsight that I felt so terrible at this point.

And I did feel terrible. In fact, I think that the "fat" legs Ma-Shu's friend noticed in Kiri-ga-mine had more to do with dehydration and sunburns than my musculature. I gave up. It had been a week in what I had planned would be a two week trip, but it was over. I went back to Matsumoto, entertaining the idea that I might search for a campsite a bit north and perhaps slowly head toward Hakuba, a mountain area about a day's ride north that Masahide had recommended. But I couldn't push myself up hills anymore, and even though it was only about ten kilometers to the campsite after I reached Matsumoto, I decided that if I couldn't get a hold of Masahide that day, I'd head back to Tokyo that afternoon.


While I waited for an answering email from Masahide, I rode around Matsumoto and took a look at Matsumoto castle. It is a starkly military castle without any of the refined beauty of other castles: white walls with large, simple ceiling beams. The only part that showed any sign of artistic sensibility more common in the peaceful days of the Tokugawa period is the moon viewing room, open on all sides for enjoyment of the moon. Its starkness, though, is part of its appeal. Still, its focus is on the muskets and rifles used at the castle, and though they did have a unique style, I just am not very interested in guns.

I knew Masahide would just be returning from visiting relatives for the Obon season, but I also was cranky from so many days of being dehydrated and pushing myself too hard, and I felt like I couldn't stand anymore difficulties finding campsites. He did get back to me, and thankfully I was able to stay with him and his family that night. I felt I would be an imposition, but he and his family showed no signs of the weariness I would expect from several days with the relatives, and they really treated me well. We talked into the night about hiking, English, and our responsibility to our (or his) children's generation.


The next day he and his family took me to Kamikochi, where I had planned to cycle. It was so effortless in a car, but I would have turned back if I had been on a bike. The only way I know of leads through narrow tunnels that just are not safe for bikers. There must be another way, but it would surely have taken several more days. We spent a couple of hours, first eating soba noodles and then lying and relaxing under the sun. He rushed me back to the train station just in time to meet the Tokyo-bound express.

I was the happiest I've been in a while to be home. I took real pleasure in Nishi arai and the area that I haven't since the very earliest days that I lived here. I enjoyed the trip, and I don't think it was a real unhappiness about the trip that caused me to be so pleased to be home; I guess I kind of missed the place and felt a bit as if I'd returned home.

The trip was an education. Certainly I won't attempt such a tour again until I'm in better shape, though I think I could manage a trip that included a few less hills.

Pythagoras's Switch

I sometimes wonder why I'm here in Japan. I love it here, there's a great deal to say for the country, but my original purpose, learning more about the language and culture, seems to have fallen by the wayside. But then I see things like this and I realize there is a good reason I am here.

I remember seeing this video at a DVD store, and once I started watching I had a very difficult time looking away. I've always loved Rube Goldberg's old cartoons, and I find these creations absolutely fascinating. Language note--at the end of every setup, they say "Pytagora Suichi," or Pythagoras's Switch, I guess referring to the ancient mathematician. The little sign that always ends the routines has that written in Japanese.

More information is here.

Nagano, Part III

[Started August 12]

It's been a rough couple of days. Honestly, if I'd gotten more sleep or given myself a day to rest, I might have taken things a bit more lightly, but as things were, I think I'm not much cut out for this sort of travel.

The climb to the top of Kiri ga Mine [the hill I mentioned climbing in my last article about Nagano] was grueling, and I cried a bit when I finally reached the top. Dehydrated and exhausted, I never wanted to see another slope, but since it was fairly early and I'd only gone about 20 km horizontally, I passed the first campsite and went on to look for a more primitive site about 5 km on.

This meant climbing more hills. Normally they wouldn't be that bad, but I was utterly worn out. I stopped at the tourist-trap shopping mall and got water and tea, then kept going. I walked up the hills, then rode down, then walked up. I missed the turn the first time, then realized I wasn't to turn off the highway, but needed to actually go under the highway to meet up with a hiking route marked on my map. I jumped off the road and waded through shoulder-high grasses for a while until they cleared and opened up to reveal a visitor center. I filled my water bottle then moved on. The campsite was at the end of a long, very long gravel path. There were three buildings behind a wire fence, and I saw no one. Fearing the worst and yet still hoping, I searched for any sign of a caretaker; finally I saw a sign reading, in Japanese, "This campsite is closed at this time. Please use another campsite."

I broke down here, just completely overwhelmed by what happened that day. It really wasn't far to the previous campsite, maybe another 30 minutes or so. But I couldn't stand it anymore. I considered staying in the large, open field across from the three buildings that had obviously been used for camping before, but I'm a bit timid to do something like that without provocation. So, uncertain what to do and not really interested in doing anything, I sat there, trying to look pleasant when hikers coming from a nearby meadow path passed by.

Then a savior of sorts came along on his 250cc Yamaha Virago. Actually, "catalyst" is a better word, I guess. He didn't register me at first, but when he got off his bike and looked at the sign on the entrance to the open-field campsite and said "What, it looks like it's closed," I thought he was talking to me. In fact, though, he was talking to himself.

I talk to myself, but I'm usually fairly discreet about it and never knowingly do it in front of other people. I'm not of the "first sign of madness" mindset, as I've done it for 32 even years and have yet to go (completely) insane. It seems a bit more socially acceptable here than in the US, and I have several Japanese co-workers who talk to themselves publicly, especially when busy (which is nearly all the time). I recently read somewhere (I'm afraid my source is somewhere in the ether) that people who talk to themselves are more likely to be able to think through things more thoroughly (I'll let the alliteration stand), though again I am proof against that. In any case, I think it is more a sign of loneliness, or aloneness, than of madness.

Still, it is a bit unsettling to see, I know, and my biker friend was having a much more involved conversation than I am accustomed to, and at a louder than conversational volume. Finally he noticed me, and we complained to each other about the closing of the site. He said he'd been there many times, and that he really liked the place. Then, after a bit of public consultation with himself, he decided to stay anyway.

He was obviously a drinker, with rotting teeth that came to points and a generally dirty appearance (though of course I wasn't exactly spotless after three days without a shower), but he was also obviously a kind and friendly person who had a bit of trouble relating to "normal" people. Very often the two go together.

As I said, he was a catalyst, and I decided, after some quiet and private thought, to follow him. We agreed that threatening clouds encircling the heads of Yatsugatake were a good excuse in case police came out. We avoided much conversation as we pitched tents and prepared our separate dinners. When dinner was ready, though, he invited me over for conversation and some extra food--he guessed rightly that I wasn't able to carry much of a variety of foods on my bike. I declined until he offered some cooked ham--protein sounded pretty good at that point, and it was something I had very little of.

Our conversation was almost entirely in Japanese--occasionally he groped for an English word to explain a Japanese word I didn't understand. Because of this I'm not completely sure of the accuracy of my interpretation. But we talked a bit about camping and the growing number of roads in Nagano after the Olympics, and how difficult it is to get away from city lights in Japan. Even where we were, 1400 meters about sea level, away from even the small population of visitors to the mountains, mostly concentrated in a small area, even there the lights of Suwa city below lit up the western horizon. It was difficult to see the Milky Way, such a brilliant feature on dark nights on Mt. Shasta or in the boonies in Kansas.

We talked about languages, then his hobby, listening to shortwave radio for broadcasts from North Korea by any Japanese abductees. As I said, sometimes I didn't fully understand the conversation, and here is where it became most difficult to follow. From what I understood, abductees have made shortwave logs of their daily lives, and there are volunteers who listen at certain times of the day for these logs and register the results to some website.

He later brought out his liquor, saying one of the reasons he came to the camp was to drink. Can't say that I blame him, but alcohol is terrible for any physical activity and I haven't been much interested in it since the beginning of my trip. I tried a shot, though, and it was good--it had a spicy flavor, as if made from jalapenos, a new flavor in liquor for me.

Suddenly a deer barked nearby, and my companion told me deer had increased in the area. He said he'd been there in fall when the bucks' antlers begin to itch, and at one point had been woken up by the startling sound of antlers being scratched against a fence near his head. He then started talking about an insect, or animal--what it was I didn't understand at first. But as he continued, talking about deer's hooves and eggs dropped on the ground, I figured out he was talking about ticks and Lyme disease. He suggested that it might have been fear of Lyme disease that had closed the campgrounds. I had first seen a tick earlier in Yatsugatake, then another in this field as I was putting my bike away. Sitting in my shorts and flip-flops, I suddenly became very nervous and checked everywhere for the stupid things. I didn't find any, but the thought disturbed me until I left the next day.

I slept poorly. I blame the liquor, though I didn't drink much. I set up for breakfast. Hikers passed by, and I noticed one in particular who seemed to be well equipped, a veteran hiker. He sat on a rock nearby but behind me, and I forgot about him: I had more important matters to consider. My camp espresso machine, exactly like one I used on my trip from California to Kansas a couple of years ago, had broken, and after the frustrating day before I had a short fuse and threw a fit as well as the espresso maker. I'm sure I looked like a buffoon to the park ranger, the man who was sitting on the rock behind me. He came over after I'd settled down to trying to light my stove. He asked a few questions, was fairly friendly, but I sensed he was holding something back. He asked me a couple of times how long I planned to be in the area, then we sat in silence for a while. He wished me luck and walked off. Just before I left, my friend from the night before woke up and poked his head out to say goodbye.

I was uneasy about the whole deal, ticks, and trespassing, and all, but when I came by around noon a couple of days later, there was a camper who had actually taken down the fence and parked their car in the camp site, and they seemed to have had no problems.

[End of my short journal]

That was longer than I expected, so I'm afraid there will be a part four. The next one will have pictures!

An Organic Interlude

I will post my final article about my Nagano trip soon, but life has intervened a bit and I haven't yet sat down and put it all down (or up).

But I want to write a little about my new hobby--cooking, in particular cooking organic, almost Macrobiotic foods.

Because of my dad's influence, I grew up eating Macrobiotic food, though only occasionally and not with much zeal. However, I learned a lot from the experience, and now, as an adult with high blood pressure and more mature taste buds, eating a stricter diet appeals much more to me. I generally try to eat organic foods, more for philosophical reasons than concerns about pesticides, though I do find organic foods taste better than conventional (sometimes much better, for example peaches and tomatoes). I always buy shade grown, fairly traded, organic coffee also for philosophical reasons, but more than anything because it just tastes better. But I've spent the last year eating primarily processed foods from the local supermarket, mainly because of laziness, I suppose. Once in a while I'd stop in at a ramen shop or Matsuya (Japanese-style fast food, with pork over rice), or even a curry tonkatsu, or fried pork cutlet. No wonder my blood pressure has risen.

Because of concerns about my health, because of some odd stuff that happened at the end of my biking trip, because of concern about the environment (livestock contributes more to global warming than automobiles), I decided last week to cut back on the processed food and try my hand at cooking some real food from scratch.

Before I continue, I should note that I am using the word "Macrobiotic" in a very loose way here--Macrobiotics is not just about being vegan or cutting sugar and salt, it is a whole way of life that I do not participate in. I actually know very little of the philosophy underlying Macrobiotics. I use the term basically because the cookbook I am using is called "Macrobiotic Start Book," and I want a better word than "vegan" to describe what I am doing.

In any case, using the book I just mentioned, I have made almost every meal from scratch, entirely with organic foods. I'm not going to claim any miracles have happened--if my blood pressure has gone down, I haven't measured it; I haven't lost any weight; I still need more sleep than I would like. What I'm interested in is the taste--four or five out of the five or six meals I've cooked so far have been really, really good, much better than I have eaten before. They were filling, more filling than most foods I eat. And I feel better about what I am eating--I know where every ingredient came from and how much I put in. So I also know I am eating a much wider variety of foods--until last week I probably ate a main dish consisting of salty sauce, some kind of meat, and perhaps one vegetable. I did often eat salads, but at best that was lettuce, avocado, tomato, onion, natto, and mushrooms, and recently I had settled on lettuce, natto, and onions most of the time.

Here's what I've eaten this week:
lettuce
tomato
onion
garlic
carrots
daikon (Japanese radish)
mushrooms (maitake and shiitake)
burdock root
kuzu (arrowroot)
sesame seeds
green onions and their cousins, nira and naganegi
pickled plums
lotus root
Japanese pumpkin (kabocha)
ginger
red pepper
Japanese seaweed (nori, wakame, and, in stock for soup, kombu)
Japanese cucumbers (kyuri)
Japanese eggplant (nasu)

Most of these are included in every meal (I mean dinner). I haven't included the wide variety of nuts, the tofu, or brown rice.

And I'll tell you what. It's good. It really tastes good. The best miso soup I've ever eaten came from my kitchen, and not because I made it. It just was made with high quality ingredients in the right proportion. I just ate an excellent curry, and perhaps my favorite dish so far was the first one, mabodofu, a spicy Chinese dish of tofu often made with pork. It was fantastic. It really pleased me that I had made it, but more than that I was happy to be eating something that tasted so good!

Honestly, an important part of the change was shifting from eating processed foods to cooking from scratch--using quality ingredients improves the flavor a hundred-fold, I'm sure. But the simplicity of vegan ingredients makes it enjoyable as well--when it tastes good. If it doesn't taste good, I won't bother eating it. I've had a couple of flops so far, but the rich flavor of the other foods have made up for those bad meals. And it would be pretty difficult to go back to processed foods, though I haven't sworn off them completely yet.

One final note--one big reason I've started this whole business was to reduce the amount of packaging I throw away because of processed foods. I haven't kept a tally so far, but I imagine the difference is pretty pronounced. But my biggest problems is drinks--I drink a lot of water and juice every day, and plastic bottles add up extremely quickly, and though I can recycle the things, plastic recycling isn't the most pleasant process from what I hear. I filter my water and try to bring a bottle with me wherever I go, but juices are a much bigger problem. At some point I'll probably start making my own fruit juices, but for now I'm very happy with my latest concoction: Tangy Ginger Water(TM). I cut up some ginger, throw it in a teapot and boil it, then add apple vinegar and honey. I let it cool to room temperature, then throw it in the fridge. It really tastes great, and would be ridiculously cheap if it weren't for the honey (it tastes good without it, but I prefer a bit of sweetness in my drinks), as it is mainly water. I just wanted a little bit of a healthier drink, and it turned out pretty well.

Nagano, Part II

[Written Aug. 11]


An adventurous couple of days. The day after the last entry, I went for a hike. I was hoping to climb Akadake, the highest of the peaks in the range of Yatsugatake, but time quickly became a factor. I started a bit late, tired after a strenuous day, and soon got lost. I assumed a sign reading "hiking course" in Japanese meant that was the way to go, but after about twenty minutes of descent--into what looked a lot to me like trespassing on the villas I'd seen the day before--instead of the ascent I expected, I decided I was off. I hiked back up and took a fork the other way. Not five steps on, but still difficult to see from where I'd taken the wrong road, was a sign showing the direction I wanted to go. I laughed.

The first part of the route was rather long and strenuous. I thought at first I was just out of shape or maybe tired, but on the return trip I realized it really was a fair hike. Still out of shape, though.

After finishing the first part, I began to give up on climbing Akadake. That first path, with the little side trip, had taken two hours, at that rate I would have to spend a couple of hours on my way back in the dark, something I've learned to dislike doing. But I kept up hope until I saw Amidadake, an intervening mountain almost as tall as Akadake (Amidadake is named after Amida, the Buddha presiding over the Pure Land who allows entrance to anyone who speaks his name enough times). If I could climb that, I would be quite satisfied: it looked impossible. But I did make it and I am satisfied: the view from the top was fantastic. Rather better than from the top of Akadake as I could see Akadake itself as well as Tengudake with its dual crown, the other, lesser peaks of Yatsugatake, and ol' Fuji-san himself, so incredibly imposing from any viewpoint. Here there were the thin, horizontal clouds covering Fuji in strips that I recognized from woodblock prints of two centuries ago. My camera doesn't do it justice, but...




Yesterday was a wash, and yet in the end I guess I'm glad it worked out as it did. When I began riding, a noise that had begun a couple of weeks before began to really sound like trouble. I decided to continue to ignore it, but I couldn't ignore the fact that one of the brake pads I had installed the day before the trip was digging into the front tire. In trying to fix that, I tore the cable connecting my wired computer to its speed and cadence meters, effectively turning it into a watch (it shows the time when not connected to the meters). I knew I should have gotten another wireless computer given the practical realities of a folding bike, but I didn't like the other options. Oh, well. I somehow remained remarkably calm about the computer, most of my angst focussed on the brake pads and the slowly growing creak coming from the front of the bike.

Finally, after about a half an hour of fiddling, I got the brakes in line and headed out, but the noise wouldn't go away, and it began to feel like real trouble. I thought it was the stem (the vertical part that holds the handlebars) complaining about the extra weight from a bag I had installed--in fact it was a set of ball bearings in the front hub. I didn't learn this until later, though--all I knew was that the hub was shimmying up and down and that I had to get it replaced or my ride was over. Instead of heading for my next destination, Utsukushigahara (say that ten times fast) meadowlands, I went for a city called Chino, a city in the valley.

I was angry and a bit worried, and really had no idea where to begin to look for a bike repairman. Tokyo has one on every corner, but they are usually only equipped for shopping bikes. Chino didn't seem to have any--I searched for an hour or so before I decided to try my Japanese on a stranger. I asked a gas station attendant where one was. "500 meters that way," he said without pointing. I went in the direction he was facing, but found nothing. I sailed past him, going the other way, to ask the next person. I went to a convenience store to get some food and ask for help there. This saved the day--I had passed the perfect shop just seconds before.

I was heartened to see Dahon folding bikes there, as this meant they would very likely have parts available to solve my problem. I was correct that a normal shop would be no help: I found out later that Dahon front forks are narrower than regular ones. Whether this means non-Dahon or non-folding, I don't know, but I was lucky in any case.

But before we started talking about hubs, he showed me the problem--my front bearings had been turned into powder. I don't know why it happened, and so, of course, am worried it will happen again, but in any case it would require either a couple of days or a quick fix replacement of the front hub with a non-quick-release one. I opted for the latter, of course. The owner put all of his other work aside and quickly replaced it for me, charging me only for parts.


The shop owner's name is Iida, and he was extremely helpful and an interesting man. He had travelled the Tokaido road (a historical road that connects Tokyo and Kyoto) from his home to Tokyo by bike just this May, watching for the markers spaced 4 km apart along the way; he had been in a downhill mountain biking race just the month before; he was in his sixties. I hope to be as healthy as him at that age.

After he painstakingly fixed the front wheel and reset the brakes, front and back, then aired the tires to 70 psi, as they should be (they were at 30!), we chatted a bit, and he offered me some tomatoes and cucumbers from his organic garden. I had only had freeze-dried meals for two days, so fresh fruit and vegetable tasted fantastic. He told me that, though it was officially forbidden, I could stay in the park lining the Suwa Lake just a bit north. I hoped it wouldn't come to that, as I wanted to get to a campsite on my original path before the end of the day, but I filed the information away as a last resort.

I tried my best to get to the campsite--for two hours I struggled uphill, sometimes walking, sometimes riding (my homemade chainwheel change, reinforced to avoid my Nikko troubles, has definitely come in handy, but on some of the steeper hills I get winded walking). When I met up with a road taking a more scenic route I had skipped on the way up, I decided to give up and take that road back down. I'd check out the park there; then, if I couldn't find a good place to camp there, I'd head down to the lake and look for a site to sleep. It had a great slide, one of the longest I've seen


In fact there were some nice spots at the park, but I felt uncomfortable at this point, and ended up riding down to the city of Suwa. It just happened there was a fireworks display that night [in fact the display was one of many that week, in preparation for a huge display later in the month], and I was treated to a Taiko drums session just before that. After, I headed to the far side of the lake to find a spot, ate a convenience store meal, spread out a sleeping bag, hoped the somewhat ominous clouds to the south would dissipate, and fell asleep after a couple of hours listening to the cars whizzing by about 20 meters away.


Despite all that, I feel pretty well rested--today I hope to attack that hill again, then make it a bit farther to a place I might have made it yesterday had luck been a little kinder.

Nagano, day one

This is the first entry from my trip to Nagano, from August 8.

Today worked out very well. I took a route I hadn't planned on, it ended up far better than I imagined. I'm writing now from a site adjoining a yama goya or "mountain hut", though "hut" is inappropriate for some of the elaborate halls that line the tops of mountains in Japan. A stream is rushing by very near the site, and I have a perfect rock to sit on where I can write and watch the flow.


A 6:30 train meant an early start--for two days in a row I've woken up at 5:30. I'd packed the night before, and most things were ready. Unfortunately I didn't manage to get anyone to take care of two new plants I'd bought just a week before--we'll see if I come back to brown stalks [the plants were fine, and one was even unfolding a new branch when I got back]. I strapped a weatherproof bag packed with my tent, clothes, and dry camp food onto the rear rack, clipped in my front bag, climbed into a larger than expected backpack, and headed out at 6:20.

Yes, 6:20. It takes me about 7-8 minutes to bike to the station, but 2-3 minutes to package my bike (trains require that bikes be covered to avoid damage to the car or oil smudges on fellow passengers). So I missed the train--though my phone said it was exactly 6:30, there was no evidence of the train when I passed the ticket gates. Indeed, the train must have left seconds earlier.

Tired and easily irritated, I cursed my luck (not too loudly, there were plenty of passengers waiting for other trains who might hear me) and went to the platform. I had one unplayed card--I'd have preferred to take the private train I'd just missed all the way to where I could transfer to the train headed to my destination, but I also had the option of transferring a couple of times on the JR lines to go to the other side of town and catch the same train there. I had rejected this option because it would be early rush hour and I doubted I could get on the Yamanote (pronounced yama no te), a line that encircles Tokyo and has a daily ridership in its one route almost as large as the entire New York Subway system. Three large bags, one filled with a 12 kg bike, surely wouldn't fit?

To my surprise, both the Joban, a commuter train that drops truckloads of folks from Northern Chiba on Tokyo every morning, and the Yamanote had quite a bit of free space. Once in Shinjuku, I jumped on the Azusa rapid for Kobuchizawa, and I was off! I wasn't able to get a seat, but my bike makes a fair chair when folded. I was exhausted but couldn't sleep; still, the two and a half hours were over quickly.


I soon set out, but immediately found a problem: I am horribly out of shape. The slopes around here aren't quite as bad as on the way to Lake Chuzenji, but I was quickly winded and had to walk. I blamed lack of sleep, and that certainly must have played a part (as did the extra 40-50 lbs in baggage), but honestly, I am just not that fit at the moment.

I pushed on after walking the bike for a while, until I hit a turnoff for Kannon Daira. The name interested me (some may know the Chinese name of Kannon, Kuan Yin, better), so I stopped to check my map to see if I should push on or go up that way. I soon discovered that the plans I'd made just didn't make sense--I'm not sure why, but I had focused on the east side of Yatsugatake, never considering the west side. But since the other places on my itinerary were on the west side, I would need to go in an unnecessary loop up north and back west, since there are only hiking passes in the main part of the mountain chain. I didn't like this when I was planning, and I even considered carrying my bike up the mountain if that were possible. It somehow never occurred to me to just take the western road when it forked north of Kobuchizawa.

I quickly changed plans and headed back down the slope (a pleasant change after an hour of climbing hills!). When I turned the correct way, the whole feeling of the day changed. I had been thinking it would take 2-3 days of riding (especially at the pace I was going) to clear Yatsugatake and headed on to the Japanese Alps, and a stop for a day's hike added another day and a half. That burden lifted, I was now looking at maybe 3 days to clear the mountains, including hike! Of course, riding through Yatsugatake for two extra days wouldn't be such an awful thing, but I just didn't like it. The change improved my mood a hundred-fold.

Also, the steady upward slope of the eastern path was replaced by a far more enjoyable up and down. I was able to pedal with all my might, knowing I would soon get a rest on the downhill. And I made time. Even more, there were a good cluster of camp sites and mountain huts in this direction, so there was a good chance I'd find something quickly and for not much money. This was perhaps my greatest concern, and here it was resolved in a flash.

I decided to push my luck a bit--I headed for the mountain I'm currently staying in. The cluster of huts I saw were managed and had amenities like a hotel and cost similarly. There are campsites attached to the huts usually, and this is what I planned to head for; I noticed, though, an unmanaged hut (offering no amenities and thus free!) deep in the mountains. I thought I could make it in a couple of hours, and if my luck didn't hold out and the hut was occupied or otherwise unusable, I could still make it to the other huts before dark.


The road here was magnificent. After I passed (walking my bike up the steep hill) several rented villas, the houses turned into trees, and I could hear a river rolling by below. I was able to see the peaks of Yatsugatake through tree cover, and the view excited me all the more.


Along the way was a mizuba, a place certified to have clean water and good for filling up water bottles before a big hike. This is a great feature of Japanese mountain trails, though there were many times I really could have used more water!


Finally I reached the hut. The hut itself was a mess, and I don't think anyone has been inside for a long time. There is a tarp down the hill a bit where someone has chopped new wood to make a fire (and obviously failed)--I put my tent up there. Now off to an early bedtime!

Nikko, part two

Okay, now I attempt to catch up with things that have happened the past month. I've just come back from a trip through Nagano, where I biked and camped for a week. It was quite an experience, and I have pictures and entries to put up here; however, that will have to wait. First, Nikko!

This was written mostly in the middle of July.

I returned to Nikko two days ago [July 16th]. I had been planning to come, somehow buying a new gear-ring for my bike to make climbing the hills a bit easier, but the time came closer and I had no free time to stop by a bike shop. But then nature intervened.

While having an after-class drink with students on Saturday, I received a call from Headquarters--the strong typhoon that had torn through Okinawa and southern Japan was threatening enough to call school the next day. For the first time in my life I had a typhoon day.

And I needed it. Besides the gear, I planned to get camp food, some better cycling clothes, as well as look at some other upgrades for the bike in the near future. But more than anything I needed that new gear-ring.

As it so often does in this city, it took all day to find the item I was looking for--you can find anything in Tokyo, but you need time to find it. I also bought a rear light and a rack for the bike, as well as bike shorts (I wear shorts over them!) and some great separable pants.

I ran into some problems with the chain ring that I'll explain later, but I it turned out to be a workable but flawed solution. I'll just say for now that I put the bolts on loose, never a good idea on something traveling at high speeds for any length of time.

Anyway, armed with my extra day, I was ready on Monday to head for my second trip to Nikko. I loaded up my new rear rack with a sleeping bag, then threw tent, water, food, cooking set, clothes, and other odds and ends in my back pack. It was a heavy setup for just a few days, the clothes being far heavier than I anticipated, but I managed the whole trip, even a particularly strenuous situation I'll explain later.


Pretty pleased with my preparations, but very tired, having only gotten about 4 hours sleep, I set out the next morning for Nishi Arai station. Once again I took a rapid train to Nikko. I decided to get off early--I wanted to get a camping lantern and decided to stop off in a town called Imaichi to look around for a sports equipment store. I didn't have any luck and decided to just continue to use the bike light I used a year ago in Okutama. I've used the same batteries as the ones I feared would run out on Mt. Mitake for a year and a half and they still haven't given out.


So I set out from Imaichi when it started to rain. Rain was a frequent, if not completely overbearing, companion. This time, as others, the rain was only enough to cool me a bit and didn't do much to my new pants or rain jacket.

I soon discovered a serious problem--one that might have ended the trip right there. It was the first of a triad of losses: I had lost two bolts from the chain ring I had replaced for the trip up the mountain even before I began my ascent. Under tension, the bolts had unscrewed and I was close to cracking the ring itself. One more lost bolt and I would have been in trouble--there are five bolts on your average chain ring, and though with three left I can make a triangle that will keep a tenuous hold on the crank, two wouldn't provide enough support.

There was no way I was going to stop, though, so I made my triangle shape and hoped for the best. Occasionally I checked the bolts and tightened them, and using this technique I almost made it to the campsite before it broke down again.

In the meanwhile, I worked my way up the iroha hill I explained in a previous article. It was true the smaller chain ring made things a bit easier though this time I was carrying a much heavier load. I didn't need to stop as much and the climb went much quicker. As I was struggling my way up, I was shocked to see first one, then another, runner puffing his way up the hill. It is something like 600 meters vertical distance over 6 kilometers, which is a fair slope. These guys were taking it at a good speed and passed me during one of my many stops. They reached the top well before me, and were on their way back down well before I got there. Quite impressive.


The camp site was indeed quite empty, and I selected a spot far back from the front gate, about 10 feet from Lake Chuzenji. I put up my tent, then headed for the town to pick up dinner if I could. I was happy to find a small grocery store just about to close. The owners were friendly, and I visited a couple of more times during my stay there. After a fifteen minute ride back to the camp and a meal, I was off to bed.

The next day I headed for a place I had marked for a climb--the main purpose being to hike to a camp site further into the park, in Okunikko. On the way, I passed through a meadow, Senjogahara, which reminded me a bit of Yosemite, and took a few photos. Though it can't really beat Yellowstone or the Grand Tetons, it was nonetheless pleasant.

I started my hike just north, past Yunotaki, a waterfall being enjoyed by a number of elementary school students.


Across a bridge there is a nice, easy hike around a lake, and then on into a ski area. This begins the approach to Mt. Shirane. Not a particularly beautiful view, and the ski lift mars the mountain meadow. After passing the ski slope, the trail becomes noticeable steeper, until you are crawling hand and foot up the side of the mountain. This was not what I had planned for the day, and though I felt somewhat defeated, I turned back and returned the way I'd came.

I'm not much of a mountain climber, and it is really the mountain plateaus that I enjoy. I was led back to the Senjogahara meadow, where I found there was a path leading through thick meadow growth, and felt as if something had been throwing obstacles in my way to show me this place, where I really wanted to go anyway.




I lost the cheap map I'd brought with me, it somehow falling out of my jacket pocket on the way back to the camp, marking the second of the trio of lost things from the trip. My final day I decided to go for a short hike in the southern part of Chuzenji, and here I lost the last of the triad.

First, though, some explanation. I invented a new form of extreme sport, or stupid sport, or whatever, about half way into the day. I hoped to climb a hill on the hike, then ride my bike down a mountain road at the top of the hill. As you might guess, this requires carrying the bike up to the top. Being somewhat naive and masochistic, that is what I tried to do. I'd hoped the slope would be short and manageable, but I was quite wrong. It took a ridiculous amount of time to climb the hill, and there were many places where it was a bit dangerous to be lugging a 12 kilogram bicycle. I finally ended up giving up on the mountain road, and took another path down and headed back to Nikko city and home.

Along the way I lost my bike computer. I searched for perhaps thirty minutes for the stupid thing, but never did find it--I imagine it is still lying just out of view under the dense growth.


I enjoyed the trip, especially the second day. The meadows of Nikko are magnificent, and I hope to do quite a bit more hiking and biking there.

An Aside

I know I'm supposed to be providing pictures of my second trip to Nikko, but it's taking longer than expected and I want to talk about my day today. Since I'm leaving on my next trip, into the Japanese Alps, next week, it is unlikely the Nikko trip will posted soon...

Today was a pretty good day, as far as workdays go. I was assigned a sub shift, a sort of waiting shift where if something bad happens I'm ready to go replace a teacher or something. Very often nothing happens, and we are left with nothing to do for an entire shift. So most of the day I was able to plan my lesson for tomorrow, study maps for my trip, and watch the other teacher at the school teach kids. Only at the end did I take over for the regular teacher who was also there, so he could have some time off as well.

The real pleasure of the day was seeing one of my kids from last school year. Though she was somewhat of a trouble maker, she was that way because she is different, smarter than most kids her age (she's now six years old). So I had sort of mixed feelings when I taught her--she would cause trouble in class, but I could tell she was going to grow up to be quite an individual, and those kids are my favorites.

It was a real surprise to see how much she had grown and changed in just a few months. She was much taller, and she had become much more obedient in class (I hate the word obedient, but I can't think of a better one at the moment--I guess I mean more studious and less disruptive).

She was a bit shy at first, but she quickly let down her guard and was asking me questions (in Japanese) and laughing. I watched her class, and she would often turn to look at me and smile a big gap-toothed grin (there are windows looking in to the kid's rooms, a feature which absolutely horrified me at first but which really is good for the mothers and fathers, and the occasional teacher with free time). A couple of times she caused trouble in the class, then immediately looked my way, as if to show she hadn't been completely tamed. When she left, she waved, walking backwards toward the elevator, seemingly reluctant to go.

This is the real joy of being a teacher--the respect and love of your students. I complain a lot about my work, and to be honest the joys are outnumbered by the trials, but just barely. The kids can certainly be painful at times, but I have yet to meet a kid who really was trouble, who was unlikeable and who I just couldn't teach (I'm lucky). And then, rarely, I have these brief moments of recognition when I get, for example, to see the growth of a student I taught before and to understand that I have had some effect on her life (though I'm afraid her English isn't a whole lot better than when I taught her!). Unfortunately, I probably won't get a chance to see her again, but I wish her well. I felt from the first few days I taught her that she will have a hard life because she is different, but I hope I am wrong. I hope she remains different and yet is still able to make her way in the world.