I have decided to pack my bags and move to Tokyo this spring. There will be more work and more opportunities there, and it is a better place to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. There will be one well-trodden road back to Kochi if I choose to take it again, and surely many more will open up before me if I spend a year or two in the biggest city on the planet.
Thus, my objectives for the rest of the winter are to clean up my ideas and projects and set some clear goals that hopefully last through the craziness of the honeymoon period; and, more importantly, to enjoy Kochi to the best of my ability while I still receive mail there…here…one of the two.
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I have run out of new highway to explore within a 25-mile radius of Kochi City, so the destinations on my list all involve staying the night and putting in serious hours in the saddle. First up on my list was iconic Route 439, which slices right through the middle of Shikoku Island on the Kochi side of the Shikoku Mountain Range.
Going west from Kochi City, the highway winds its way up the backside of Mount Irazu, on the opposite side of the source of the Shimanto River, which is billed as one of the last all-natural rivers in Japan. It snakes through elevated valleys and all the way down to Nakamura City where it meets the Shimanto River again at its entry into the Pacific Ocean.
If I started from Kochi City early enough, I could make it all the way down to Nakamura City, stay at a cheap inn on the coast, and explore other roads in Western Kochi on the next day as I made my way back to the city. My planned route for Day One totaled 125 miles and would have taken 5 hours even by car as the map had it, but I was ready to see just how deep the mountains, forests, and river valleys get in this place.
These trips always sound like such a great idea when they pop into my mind, and I conveniently forget what a pain in the neck - and back, and rear end, and feet - it is to ride that long with a backpack on, not to mention the aggravating dichotomy of my front being blasted with cold wind and my back getting hot and sopping wet with sweat from the pack. It’s a good thing that slips my mind; otherwise I’d never even suit up and clip in.
The first hurdle was Mount Irazu and the tunnel through it measuring in at 2500 feet above sea level. Buckets of snow had been dumped on Western Kochi in the week prior to my trip, but I thought I’d be fine because it had been sunny and 65 in the city for a few days following the storm. I was wrong, but the snow was cleared to the side of the road and it was a safe, dry ride up to the pass, so I took pictures and laughed at the novelty of biking “through” heavy snow.
Then I went through the tunnel, which, by the way, is way darker than it looks. On the other side, I screeched to a halt and gawked at the sight before me - there were but a few patches of gray asphalt poking through the steep decline in front of me.
The smart thing to do would have been to turn around and go home. I had a dry road behind me and there is certainly no shame in stopping in the name of safety. Common sense doesn’t apply to Super Mac in the heat of the moment, though, and I tried to navigate the slippery slope and got about 20 feet before I lost control and ended up under the bike.
Oh, the feeling of slipping on that ice! The utter lack of control and feeling of helplessness was absolutely horrible! Easily ten times worse than my accident last July that shelved me and the bike for a month! I wasn’t going but two or three miles an hour with my hands clamped down on the brakes, but the situation became a nightmare in a matter of microseconds.
And it was all too easy to imagine whipping around a blind corner, hitting a patch of ice and going flying. It was the friction of the road that burned me in July and kept me awake at night, and the lack of friction in January that spooked me like few other things I’ve experienced.
I got off the bike, slipped on my clip covers so that I could walk (in theory), and determined to walk down the mountain until I got to road that I could ride on safely. I could hardly handle walking on the ice and slipped and fell on my bum countless times over the next hour. All told, I duck-walked about two miles before feeling safe enough to jump back on the bike. In that time, I passed a handful of shuttered or abandoned homesteads and did not see a single living soul.

This icy road is much steeper and scarier than it looks. I became more familiar with it quite soon after trying to ride on it.
From that point on, every shadow, every bend and every bridge threw my body and mind into fits of fear. Would there be ice? Would there be snow? Would there be people around to help me if there was ice and snow? I could not open up and pedal hard until I reached the coast just minutes before sunset; that slow fall had ruined my concentration and my day.
Now, the evergreens were beautiful and the air was crisp, clear, and refreshing, but the isolation was austere and the frigid wind threatening. I was far behind schedule and would have to consider altering course and maybe even abandoning it all and taking the quickest route home. Seven or eight hours on a bicycle is tough enough without having to fight the winter elements, and I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to dodge them when I planned this trip.
I did eventually change the route and cut out the last mountain on the way to Nakamura City for fear of running into more ice on the dark side. I asked some folks in one of the townships and saved a little time with a shortcut, and eventually got to my destination as the sun was disappearing behind Cape Ashizuri, the southernmost extreme of Shikoku Island.What awaited me at the roadside inn was a gigantic dinner, a newly redone bathing room with a jacuzzi, and a comfy room with tatami mats whose fragrance sent me back to hot, humid Japanese summers. I showered, ate, collapsed into a heap of futon mattresses and blankets, and did not move from that spot until the sun came up the next morning.
The trip back was certainly easier in the technical sense because it was sunny, it was shorter, and I stayed along the coast, so there was no threat of snow or ice. My left knee was definitely letting me know that I’d put in a century the day before and that it didn’t really feel like traveling the 90 or so miles back home. That’s bound to happen on these trips, and the pain didn’t seem linked to how hard I pedaled, so I chalked it up to harmless complaining and ignored it.
I passed many inspiring scenes and viewed the Pacific from the tops of cliffs that characterize the west side of Kochi. This, I thought, I will definitely miss in the concrete jungle of Tokyo.
I checked out Okitsu Beach, which is a tiny town located on a peninsula that sticks out into the Pacific in front of a long ridge of mountains that cut the town off from the rest of the world. There is only one road into town, and the pass over the ridge is about 8 miles off the beaten path and well over 1,000 feet tall. It would be a long U-turn, but I’d heard it was worth a gander and opportunities to go there would not come by again soon.

Okitsu Beach resembled the rest of the cliff scenes I see so often, so nothing really floored me about the place, but it struck me as a microcosm of Kochi, set off from the outside world by seemingly unconquerable mountains, turning its back on the country that claims it in name and taxes only, and gazing off into the ocean, happily existing in that space and providing for its few fortunate residents. Why am I leaving, again?
I took many breaks on the remainder of the long return to Kochi City. I was definitely tired of cycling, and my senses were becoming duller with each passing minute. Even Awa Coastline seemed muted that day.
I definitely enjoy looking at my stats after getting home, and my two favorites are Total Distance and Max Speed. If I can rack up the kilometers and hit those magical MPHs that make me scream with delight, then I am happy. But there is definitely a line between “just right” and “too much,” and I crossed it with abandon on this last trip. I put 323 kilometers (201 miles) on the board over the two days.
You’d think I was done for awhile after that, but I jumped back on over the weekend and rode 65 miles with the bike club, ignoring the barking knee with every pump of the pedals. All told, I rode 350 miles in five installments over eight days.
Walking was not fun the next day, a Monday, and even riding around the city to run errands was extremely painful. Range of motion and strength were OK, so I was sure it was just pain, but it became harder and harder to ignore. On Tuesday, I sucked it up and visited a sports doctor in town.
He X-rayed my knees and told me that I cycle too much. Rather, that I need to do other things to develop the rest of my muscles. My cycling muscles are so developed that they are pulling my kneecaps out of place.
This was difficult news to hear. I love cycling so, and while I don’t need to overdo it like I did last month, I do want to be able to ride somewhere distant and spend the night. It looks like I will have to be smarter about long trips, and maybe take a train or a bus to a remote starting point. That should be fine, as there are only three or four ways in and out of the city that I end up tiring of the more I take them.
However, I wonder about my body. Obviously, I haven’t been using it correctly, and I’m going to need to make some major changes going forth. If I can’t just go sweat it out on the bike over and over, I’m going to need to find other ways to move around or start eating less.
It’s taken a long time for the pain to go away, and I wonder if this is the beginning of the end - is this where I start to lose the elasticity, the ability to wait a day or two and bounce back?
I’ve always had a lot of energy and use it like I can’t take it with me - is this where it starts to jeopardize my physical health? Do I actually have to start paying attention to the pain and budgeting my physical activity?
Living life afraid of patches of ice on the road ahead is not fun, but it’s stupid to ignore the risk and plow on destroying things that are important. I learned that with my arm and throwing a baseball, and I hope that I have the strength to be smart about my legs and cycling.






















