Cycling in Japan

For cyclists who are used to touring the traditional way (that is, by map), Japan could be a very frustrating place. There are so many roads that many don't appear on maps; roads without car traffic tend to disappear entirely. And these, of course, are the most enjoyable to travel.

The best approach is to use a map to locate some flat spots, such as river valleys, where there seems to be an unlimited number of roads and lanes, all bereft of a cyclist's No. 1 foe: large trucks. Even the occasional car plunks along at a nonthreatening 30 to 40 mph. A cyclist can get a good workout by heading into the mountains, but there are fewer roads, which means an endless procession of the enemy whistling past your ear as you climb a pass.

Once you've located a flat spot, see if there is a train line that traverses it. Very often there is. Buy a ticket on a local train. Japan Railway offers a chiisaina tabi (small trip) ticket for 2,400 yen ($20), which is valid on weekends and holidays and allows unlimited travel within a specified area. From the train, you can plot your course, making notes of stations you have been through and roads that are appealing. You can even take your bike along at no extra charge if you put it in a carry bag. Keep in mind, though, that even on Saturdays and Sundays the train lines that serve some urban areas live up to their reputations and the biggest obstacle of the day might be getting on the train at all. The best bet is either the first or last car, where there might be space for a bike against a bulkhead.

The cycling season varies between the coasts. On the Pacific coast, late fall through early summer is best, about October through May. The winters are dry, the temperature brisk, with highs in the 40s or 50s. The Sea of Japan coast, facing Siberia, is pelted with snow during this time, but is pleasant in the summer months, when the rainy season makes the Pacific coast sticky and soggy. On either coast, you won't have to cycle far — only a few miles — before coming to a country ramen shop or convenience store, making it unnecessary to take along food.

My decision to cycle in Japan began soon after my arrival more than 10 years ago. I was riding in a train in Akita prefecture, on my way to teach an English conversation class in Noshiro, a small town on the coast of the Sea of Japan. It was late in the afternoon, past four, and the car was packed full of uniformed high school girls jabbering away. Like so many foreigners who are new to the country, a sense of paranoia swept over me, because I assumed that the occasional giggle and shriek of laughter was at my expense.

I looked out the window and saw a bucolic countryside where a narrow lane meandered between stands of pines, verdant rice paddies and dark ponds filled with lily pads. Now and then the lane swept past a weather-beaten torii at the entrance to a Shinto Shrine. This was the idealized Japan that I had imagined before arriving at Narita Airport and being overwhelmed by Tokyo's mishmash of neon, concrete, and glass. As the high school girls chatted away, I saw myself cycling along that lane, and soon the paranoia that had settled down around my shoulders was lifted. A few weeks later, I bought a road bike and was doing just that, stopping where I pleased — a temple, a country store — and the cacophony of high school girls had become a memory.

Since then, in logging some 1,250 miles each year, I have learned that a solitary figure on a bicycle can break down the defenses of many Japanese. At a country temple, I met a young Buddhist priest who had lived in Los Angeles, where he taught Buddhism and moonlighted as a jazz trumpeter. Several families have invited me into their homes to share watermelon on a hot summer day. Outside one store, where I was drinking a tea and resting, a man, mistakenly thinking that I was touring the country, tried to give me 1,000 yen toward my effort.

We then talked about the invasion of America's black bass, which have decimated the stocks of native fish, into Japan's rivers and ponds. Unlike many sports fisherman, who can be seen on any weekend casting plastic worms at the foreigners, he shook his head in resignation, knowing that they were here to stay.

— James Roth (j dot roth dot mail at gmail dot com)