日本夏2025年

日本夏2025年 - Day 12

June 8, 2025

Yokohama (Aomori) to Hakodate - 86 Km

Start 5:23 AM

Finish 3:43 PM

Total Duration 10:20

Moving Time 4:30

Stopped Time 5:50

Ascent 588 m

Descent 606 m

Tour Total 1,296 Km

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/293177682

Last night I slept surprisingly well tucked before the monument behind Yokohamahachiman Shrine. I’d forgotten my earplugs, so when the birds began their riotous chatter early this morning, I had no choice but to rise with them. It was easily the earliest start of the tour so far. As I broke camp, a small swarm of relentless mosquitoes kept me company. No one saw me slip quietly from the shrine grounds.

The air was crisp at 16°C, and the road was hushed beneath soft morning light. I wore my gilet and rolled out onto the nearly empty highway. Sparse traffic meant I could again admire the roadside flowers—bursts of color meticulously planted in front of people’s homes. Their beauty stopped me in my tracks more than once.

At a Lawson's, I grabbed a Craft Boss latte and a melon-pan bread with salty butter. In the bathroom, I noticed the toilet paper folded into a perfect triangle—like in a hotel, a quiet gesture of care.

Traffic thickened gradually. Along the highway, I kept spotting strands of old three-quarter inch videotape strewn across the pavement, like ghostly ribbons from another era. I passed the remains of a kitten, a badger, and a crow—sombre reminders of how unforgiving these roads can be.

As I entered Mutsu (population 53,804), I rode by the tastefully painted incinerator. I stuck to the sidewalks when I could to dodge the uptick in cars. Curiously, roadside phone booths still stood here and there, anachronistic but not yet obsolete.

The road forked—left to the Mutsu Bay coast and Ushinokubi Cape. I followed National Route 167, which cuts across the Shimokita Peninsula and loops up the Pacific coast toward Ōma. Large mountains to the west came to view.

In recent days, I’ve noticed an abundance of fuzzy caterpillars inching their way across the highway. It’s a wonder any of them survive.

Rolling through Matsu, the videotape still appeared intermittently. I passed a heavily loaded Asian cyclist on tour, no helmet, likely headed the same way. I zipped past, figuring we might connect later on the ferry. Not long after, a small white car passed uncomfortably close—my heart jumped.

At the crest of a climb, I passed a lone water tower, then a whimsical panda-shaped bus shelter. Now on the peninsula’s eastern edge, the sea came into view—this time on my right. Heading out from Aomori, it had been on my left. The road was lined with cherry trees. This place must be breathtaking in April.

I encountered a Japanese cyclist riding in the opposite direction. He was from Ōma and heading to Mutsu. We exchanged a few words—he estimated I had about two more hours of riding ahead.

In the next town, I spotted an inviting onsen and a seafood restaurant but didn’t stop—I was racing a clock. The ferry to Hokkaido was scheduled for 1 PM, and I wanted to ensure I got a ticket.

Small coastal villages appeared one after another, each guarded by towering seawalls. Out at sea, dozens of fishermen bobbed in tiny boats. Floats and ropes were heaped beside the road like nests of sea serpents.

I arrived in Ōma (population 4,868) at 9:15 AM. The wind had picked up and the cold bit through my gloves. At the ferry wharf, I found a Surly Straggler parked out front, fully loaded. Its rider, from Niigata, was touring the entire country and documenting the journey on YouTube: @yaseinoryu.

Tickets wouldn't go on sale until noon, so I ventured into town. First stop: the monument marking the northernmost point of Honshu. From there, I found a small restaurant serving tuna sashimi bowls. I removed my sandals at the entrance and squeezed awkwardly into a raised tatami dining area. The owner later straightened my sandals—an understated gesture of hospitality.

The sashimi was extraordinary. Silken, rich, impossibly fresh—nothing like the fish back in New York. I lingered over each bite, soaking in the moment.

When boarding began, motorcycles went first, followed by bicycles, then cars. The ferry ride across the Tsugaru Strait lasted 90 minutes and cost ¥3,820 (about $26). Onboard, there were large carpeted lounges where passengers could relax barefoot, shoes neatly stored outside. It was a quiet crossing, the hum of the ship steady beneath us.

I had booked a hotel in Hakodate—a chance to reset: laundry, a hot shower, charging devices. The city felt different from the rest of Japan— more Western. Riding through the Moto Machi warehouse district, I passed European-style buildings, old churches, and watched streetcars glide along wide avenues.

For dinner, I stopped at Lucky Pierrot. I’d noticed its kitschy, over-the-top facade on the way in. Inside, Christmas music played on a loop amid surreal holiday decor. The cheeseburger, oddly enough, was delicious.

Later, I dropped by White Seed Brewery for a Crossroads Hazy IPA from Hop Kotan Brewing, a Hokkaido favorite.

I had heard the Hakodate Ropeway was a must. It was a clear night—perfect for a view. I believe I could just make out Honshu across the water. The lines weren’t too bad, and the summit view was spectacular.

I ended the evening at Ozigi Brewing, where I sampled several IPAs and nibbled on finger food. It had been a long, full day—the kind that hums with movement and memory.