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The plan: Take a look at a map, talk to our Japanese cook about the route and get cracking.
Starting in Wajima, I would take the Suzuki, ride down the Noto peninsula, up the coast and then turn into the mountains. Ride across the Japan Alps, down the other side and into the Tokyo metropolitan sprawl to Johnson AB. Besides all the fun of doing that, at the end of the trip was Bonnie, the love of my life.
In the late afternoon, with a full tank of gas, I left Wajima and headed down the Noto. It was easy, familiar going at first. I had ridden this area before and made good progress but soon twilight was upon me. My decision was to ride overnight because the traffic would be less and I would be able to go faster.
I went past Nanao, a larger city for the Noto and picked up the coastal highway heading towards Toyama. Along with the wider highway, I realized I was now in new territory. Completely dark now, I forged up the highway. Patting myself on the back on the decision to ride at night, I was making good time. Through sleeping villages, I seldom saw much more than the soft glow of lights though drawn curtains, normal people going about normal life. This was farm country, vast areas of rice paddies, greenhouses, immense vegetable gardens, all slid past as my headlight lit up the gently winding road.
Ahead, flashing police lights caused me to slow down. I admit it, I was speeding and there was no reason to add a ticket to the ride. Around the corner, I saw the police car. The cop was leaning against the front of his car, between the headlights, which shown out on to a rice paddy. Sitting in the middle of the paddy was a car, a nice car as I recall. On top of the car was a man in a suit, a casualty of a late-night drinking bout with his buddies. I stopped for a second, realized there was nothing I could do and rode on.Another hour or so of easy riding left me feeling confident. Seeing the sign for Nagano at Itogawa, I turned from the coastal highway into the mountains. Nagano would be the site of the 1998 Winter Olympics, and almost immediately the mountains started to show themselves. Japan is not a large country, somewhat smaller than Montana or California. The Japan Alps run down the middle of Honshu Island. Not the highest peaks, Fujiyama holds that title at 12,000+, Ontakeyama in Nagano Prefecture rises over 10,000 feet. I climbed and climbed. Up a hill, down a short ways, then up a steeper hill, ever upward. The bike performed flawlessly.
My headlight lit dense forests and the occasional village. It had clouded over about the time I turned into the mountains and a light rain started. Up and up I climbed, Nagano sits at 2,500ft, and the distance from the coast is only 60 miles or so. The rain increased with altitude and soon was coming down pretty hard. Passing through a village, I relented and pulled under an overhang in front of a small shop. Borderline annoyed, I sat on the bike as the rain poured down. I was hoping I hadn’t awakened the shopkeeper, most people who ran stores in villages like this lived behind the store. The rain poured in torrents from the roof of the shelter.
I sensed movement under the overhang and realized I wasn’t alone. A small streak of lightning lit up the area and I saw him, another motorcyclist stranded by the storm. And he wasn’t twenty feet away! I stood up, stretched, and ventured a “Komban wa” (Good evening). He looked at me, gave a slight bow, replied with a “Komban wa”. Feeling brave, I continued with “Warui otenki desu nee!” (bad weather isn’t it!). A small smile and a reply “Hai, ame ga takusan”. (Yes, a lot of rain) Sensing that I was from out of town, he asked in English, “Where are you going?” “Tokyo” I replied.
As it turned out, he was a schoolteacher who had grown up in Nagano Prefecture and was teaching at a middle school in the Tokyo area. He had been called home, as I recall, for a family emergency. We continued our chat in broken English and broken Japanese as the rain gradually slowed, then stopped. It was time to go, my hand went out and he shook it, then we both bowed and left – he going the way I had just come and I on to Tokyo.
The rain spit a few more times as the sky lightened in front of me. I felt chilly as I raced along the deserted highway. Wet from the rain, the mountain coolness was unfamiliar as Japan in June/July can be quite steamy. Soon the sun made good on the “Land of the Rising Sun”.
Along with the sun came traffic.
Hordes of cars filled the winding road. One minute an empty highway, the next a parking lot. A lot of people had started the weekend early, it was Friday, and they were headed to the mountains. Fortunately, the traffic was on the right side of the road, coming from Tokyo. Only the occasional truck was on the left side (Japan drives British style). I passed trucks, saw an accident on the other side, in general made goodtime in spite of the holiday makers.
The going was easier as I made my way through the foothills and onto the Kanto plain. The road was multilane, easier to make good time in the heavier traffic, now direct into Tokyo. I joined a group of motorcyclists, safety in numbers, and learned some tricks on driving a bike in heavy Japanese traffic.
I was getting tired, it had been a long trip so far. At one point, I nodded off, if that seems possible. Awaking with a start, I swerved to avoid a large truck. Good sense, never in large supply in this brain, urged me to pull off and rest a bit. I pulled into a large truck stop, sprawled on a grassy patch and went immediately to sleep. After a few minutes of a power nap, I pulled myself onto the bike and was off.
The rest of the trip to Johnson FHA (Inariyamakoen on the Seibu line from Ikebukuro) was long and tiring.
As I got to Johnson, I spent a while searching for Peg and Dale Dickey’s house. They were teachers that worked with Bonnie. My bike had a civilian plate (a long story), was not registered on the base so I wouldn’t be able to drive onto the base. Arrangements had been made to leave the bike at Peg and Dale’s off base house and they would take me to Bonnie’s.
Soon I was there, with Bonnie, having blood drawn, a bit of breakfast and several hours of sleep. Shortly thereafter, I kissed my love goodbye, climbed on the bike, rode back to Wajima.
I don’t remember a thing about the return trip.