日本夏2025年

June 13, 2025

日本夏2025年 - Day 13

June 9, 2025

Hakodate to Otobe - 109 Km

Start 9:01 AM

Finish 5:53 PM

Total Duration 8:52

Moving Time 5:41

Stopped Time 3:11

Ascent 501 m

Descent 483 m

Tour Total 1,405 Km

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/293633441

I slept well in Room 912 at Hotel Enoe in Hakodate. I woke early and couldn’t fall back asleep. After posting to social media, I shaved and packed up. The hotel razor drew blood, as usual—those cheap Japanese razors always seem to get me.

Still, it felt great to pull on a fresh cycling kit. All my devices were fully charged, and I was ready to roll.

In the elevator, I remembered that I needed to do a bit of bike maintenance before departing. My bike was parked in the garage area.

First on the list was topping off the tire pressure. When I set up in Tokyo, I’d had a problem with the rear valve stem—and it resurfaced this morning. More air leaked out than went in. I didn’t have a valve tool with me, so I used the pliers on my Leatherman and cracked the stem. Plan B: swap out the tube.

But then I realized I had packed the wrong size tubes. Classic. My hands were black from wrestling the tire off.

Luckily, Hakodate is a decent-sized city. I’d need to find a bike shop.

I lubed the chain and used my hand pump to partially reinflate the rear tire. The first shop I tried was a chaotic, family-run operation, and the owner told me they were closed. Strike one.

Then I rode to Speed, a modern shop that wouldn’t open until 10 a.m. I passed time at Mister Donut with an iced coffee and two rich chocolate donuts. Not a bad delay.

At Speed, I picked up a new valve stem, a proper removal tool, and two tubes of the correct size. I left behind my 29" tubes—I didn’t want to carry them. The shop clerk was friendly and looked over my route, warning me about long stretches with no services.

I passed Goryokaku Garden, a star-shaped former fort surrounded by a moat, and by 10:50 I was rolling out of town.

The ride began on a four-lane arterial road through Hakodate’s sprawl. I stopped at MOS Burger for a double cheeseburger and Coke, then applied a generous layer of sunscreen before setting off again. It was cool, bright, and sunny—perfect weather. I wore just my short-sleeve jersey and usual kit.

Beyond the sprawl, the scenery shifted to an industrial zone, dominated by a massive cement plant. Huge cargo ships dotted the harbor—a sharp contrast to the quiet villages I’d passed on Honshu. I was riding National Route 228, which also doubles as bicycle route 9.

The Taiheiyo Cement factory was enormous. A sprawling conveyor system extended out to a long pier where ships were waiting to be loaded. The scale of the operation was awe-inspiring.

Eventually, the highway narrowed to two lanes and began to feel more rural. It hugged the coast tightly, with steep hills rising inland.

Looking back across the harbor, I had a spectacular view of Hakodate and the ropeway hill I’d visited the night before. Offshore, mountain silhouettes hovered in the haze. I wasn’t sure whether they belonged to Hokkaido or Honshu.

I crossed a river mouth and a wide valley that stretched inland. A concrete bridge carrying the expressway loomed in the distance.

Though slightly hazy, visibility over the water was good. I could pick out details from Honshu, including the Hakkōda mountains I’d climbed a few nights ago. Closer in, snow-dusted peaks loomed on the Hokkaido side.

This tour started in Tokyo, in the Kanto region. Then I rode through Tōhoku, and now here I was—Hokkaido, the final region of this trip.

Hokkaido has a distinct feel. There are a ton of motorcyclists—many had shared the ferry with me. It's clearly a popular motorbike destination, maybe Japan’s version of the American West: more open, freer, more remote. Fluorescent yellow road flags are everywhere.

By 12:30, traffic had lightened. Both my GPS units were acting up. The Wahoo kept telling me I was off route, and Ride with GPS on my phone kept crashing. Fortunately, navigation was straightforward—just follow the coast to Kikonai.

A second-day cyclist passed me going the opposite direction.

From Kikonai (population 4,448), the road veered inland. I passed large Holstein dairy farms and rice paddies. I was now on Route 5 heading toward Kaminokuni. The bike shop clerk had warned me: no services for the next 30 km.

Soon, I hit the first tunnel—Shinyoshibori Tunnel, 1,506 meters long. The air inside was cool, and since I was climbing, it felt just right. I don’t love long tunnels, but traffic was light and the lighting was excellent. It seemed brand new.

Above the road were suspended arrows on poles—likely winter navigation aids. Hokkaido gets intense snowfall. I saw roadside measuring sticks that stood nearly 12 feet tall.

Tunnel number two—the 500-meter Kirara Tunnel—was more of a challenge. I hadn’t mounted my headlight, and lighting inside was spotty. Some sections were pitch dark. I trusted the road surface and kept going.

Approaching the coast again, I was hit with a stiff headwind. On a distant hill, a wind farm churned with the prevailing breeze.

In town, I stopped at めんぞう上ノ for a hot, nourishing bowl of ramen. Afterward, I encountered my first Japanese traffic circle—traffic here moves clockwise.

Soon I was back along the Sea of Japan, the ocean stretching out to my left. In the far distance, a towering mountain range came into view.

I rode past long stretches of beach, then came the tetrapods—mile after mile of concrete wave breakers lining the coast.

As I pulled into Esashi (population 7,276), I spotted a three-masted schooner in the harbor. Curiosity led me to the Kaiyo Maru Memorial Museum, where I took a quick look around.

By then the sun was beginning to set. I’d ridden 100 km and began looking for a place to camp. I grabbed provisions at Lawson’s and initially planned to reach Cape Tateno, but a tunnel closure on Highway 229 changed my plan. I found a quiet spot nearby.

Now I’m sitting on a seawall outside the closed Toriyama Tunnel, watching the sun dip below the horizon. A golden light paints the sky, and a three-quarter moon is rising over the hills. My hands are still a little greasy, but I’m warm, fed, and content.