At the end of our first day of cycling in Hokkaido (and Japan), one of the two tools we’re using for measuring distance and planning routes said we’d climbed a total of 1,440 metres. We were pretty pleased with that, even though it was lots of small climbs over a distance of 42 km. We were on the road at last!
To ease ourselves into cycle-touring mode, we roughly mapped a circuit that took us along some stunning Hokkaido coastlines on the Shakotan Peninsula from Otaru to Iwanai. Then we would turn inland and head over the Niseko hills, along the shore of Lake Shikotsu and into Eniwa, south of Sapporo. We modelled our route on that described in Hokkaido Wilds, an excellent website for planning cycling and other outdoor activities in this part of the world.
The first 5 or 6 days of a tour are usually tough, even if we’re cycling fit (which we weren’t when we set off). We have to get our cycling legs in sync with day after day of riding with a load. And we have to work our way into the mental space of treating with equanimity every little ache, error and unwelcome surprise — think campsite destination closed, dead-end roads being incorrectly mapped as leading somewhere, difficult weather — even when tired and grimy. Especially when tired and grimy.
We planned to spend our first night at the campsite outside Furubira. Arriving hot and grimy with sunscreen, road grit and sweat, we were on a first-day high. Even so, our hearts sank when we realised it was abandoned. We recovered as we noticed flat land to camp on, great views over the coast, and a trickle of stream flowing through a culvert that meant we could collect water to bathe.
We headed off the next day in drizzle. At about morning tea time — excellent timing! — we stumbled on a farm cafe that sold us very acceptable coffee, homemade biscuits and farm produce. The rest of the day was on quiet roads; even highway 229 had little traffic when we rejoined it. We didn’t have a view of the coastline because the drizzle had morphed into fog. The sign for an onsen appeared a few kilometres before our night’s camping spot, and we stopped to bask in the various pools. At the campsite, provided free by the municipality, a warning had been posted to alert campers that a “bear-like individual” (according to Google Translate) had visited on July 9. Hokkaido’s forests are home to a subspecies (Ursus arctos lasiotus) of Eurasian brown bear. I’m happy to see one — from a distance.
We woke to drizzle, high humidity and low visibility. By mid-morning, the weather had cleared and we were able to feast our eyes on the dramatic coastline and blue vistas. It was a kind of frequent glimpsing of the scenery, really, as we rode through 15 tunnels this day. The day was suddenly very hot and glary, with the humidity at about 90%.
Mid-afternoon, we arrived at Sakuzaki and our campsite, provided free by national parks. A sign at the entrance warned us to “beware haunting” (Google Translate again). It was a lovely campsite, shaded and on soft grass next to a pretty, tree-covered stream, but once we had the tent up we collapsed in the shade, overcome by sunstroke.
Heeding the bear warnings, we stored our food and a few kitchen utensils in a light backpack on a shelf above the camp sinks, 1.5 metres off the ground.
But at 2.30 in the morning, we had our own haunting. The forest noises stilled. There was a clank, slightly muffled, like the sound of a stainless-steel insulated mug being stored inside a backpack hitting the concrete of the camp sink as a bear makes off with all your food. Nearly all. I suddenly remembered the uneaten chocolate.
“Dave,” I whispered. “Where are the chocolates?”
“In the tent,” he whispered back.
“I think we should throw the box away from the tent.”
“Okay, but that bear’s not getting our chocolate.”
We scoffed the remaining chocolates and hurled the box through the vestibule flap.
“I don’t think 1.5 metres is a challenge for a brown bear of Hokkaido,” I said.
“No,” said Dave. “But we’ve still got the seaweed tea. That’s in the tent, too.”
The next day, with no food and still suffering the effects of the previous day’s sunstroke, we headed off slowly for Iwanai, where we had booked into a guesthouse to have a day out of the sun.
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