日本夏2025年 - Day 18 • Sapporo to Furano
June 16, 2025
Sapporo to Furano - 151 Km
Start 9:21 AM
Finish 7:59 PM
Total Duration 10:38
Moving Time 7:58
Stopped Time 2:39
Ascent 1,413 m
Descent 1,256 m
Tour Total 2,018 Km
Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/296654124
I slept well in Room 703 of the Koko Hotel in Sapporo. I was clean-shaven, freshly showered, my kit was washed, and all my devices were fully charged—a satisfying reset. I packed up and retrieved my bike from the nearby bicycle parking lot for a modest ¥300 fee.
Heading west through the city, I crossed the Toyohira River and was soon guided onto a well-maintained cycling road shared with pedestrians and other cyclists. I passed a preschool where a group of young children, under the watchful eye of their teachers, were outside making mud pies and digging tunnels in the dirt. I loved that this kind of unstructured, tactile play was part of their early education.
The cycling path was excellent—18 kilometers of smooth riding, much of it winding through forest. At one point, I realized I was near Es Con Field, where I’d watched a baseball game the day before. Earth-moving equipment was working alongside the train tracks—I suspect they’re building a new station near the stadium. Yesterday I had to take a bus there from a nearby station.
Eventually, the route led me off the bike path and into the urban sprawl of Kitahiroshima. I stopped at a 7-Eleven for a Craft Boss latte, a red bean paste muffin, and a sugar-coated donut. To my surprise, they wouldn’t take my empty bottle or wrappers—something new and mildly frustrating.
I continued on, now following the Wattsu River—a canal, really. The sky was overcast and the air cool. I was only wearing a shirt, which wasn’t quite enough. On my right, the flat landscape opened into wheat fields. Ahead, the hazy silhouette of mountains teased the terrain to come.
After crossing the Chitose River, I began following the Kyuyubari River, another canal. National Route 234 was two lanes of fast-moving traffic, and overgrown roadside bushes frequently whipped at my face or grabbed at my handlebars. I dodged drain grates while trying to listen to a Japanese lesson—a bit much, all at once.
Sparse GPS plot points made navigation guesswork. I passed large, ventilated barns housing cattle and spotted a sign for a coal mining museum. At Koseiji Temple, I paused to take in the quiet grounds. The plain stretched on, dotted with rice paddies and fields of onions, corn, and greens.
As I approached the hills, the mountains sharpened into view. It was 1 PM, and I started worrying about food options with a climb ahead.
I began ascending into forested hills and crossed a vast bridge spanning a deep valley. The climb was hot and humid. At the 422-meter Yubari Tunnel, I was relieved to find a sidewalk. The tunnel was clammy and wet, and the cold air was a stark contrast to the muggy climb.
Exiting the tunnel, I turned right toward Shimizusawa. The road followed the Shihorokabetsu River, past homes, businesses, and the ever-present fluorescent yellow Hokkaido safety flags. Route 8 soon led me to the Sungreen Sports Village—multi-floor housing, a stadium, and sports fields, all empty and quiet.
Now on National Route 452, I followed the Yubari River upstream. Melons were for sale everywhere. I stopped at a Seicomart for peach juice and two onigiri. I passed through another empty town, sharing the road with logging trucks.
Then came the 2,300-meter Shuparo Tunnel—a straight shot where I could see the light at the far end even from the start. Inside it was cold and wet, and a pack of motorcycles roared past. Emerging from the tunnel, I was greeted by the minty-green waters of Shuparo Lake, with jagged mountains rising behind it.
Skirting the lake, I continued upstream along the Yubari River. Fishermen stood silently by the banks. I realized I had no cell service and no idea where my next meal or bed would be. I pressed on, climbing to an unnamed tunnel and descending into Mikasa City limits.
Then I spotted a fox sleeping in the road. I got close enough for a photo and warned him, half-jokingly, that he’d better move before he got run over. I was now descending along the small Ikushunbetsu River. It was 4 PM and I’d already ridden 100 km—still far from any services. My plan was to reach Furano, though it looked like rain was coming.
The landscape shifted to logging sites and the green expanse of Lake Katsurazawa. A series of tall bridges carried me over its branches, and then another climb began. I passed through the 375-meter Katsurazawa Tunnel, which had a sidewalk, then turned right onto Route 452 toward Ashibetsu. It was 4:21 PM, and Furano was still 42 km away.
Another climb began. Sightseeing buses passed me on their way down. At the top, I crossed through the 450-meter Miyoshi Tunnel, then the Kimun Tunnel, descending into a valley of planted fields with no houses—just tree-covered hills and mountains. And then, another climb.
I passed Sandantaki Park and a beautiful waterfall along the Ashibetsu River. At 5:40 PM I turned onto National Route 135—Furano still 23 km away. A deer dashed up a roadside embankment as I began the next ascent.
I passed a snow gate, a sign I was gaining elevation. At the top of the first rise, I entered the 411-meter Ootaki Tunnel and continued climbing. The Sakipenpetsu River ran to my left, and I watched two bushy-tailed deer dart into the forest.
At the summit, I reached the 2,700-meter Tomiashi Tunnel. It was eerie and intimidating. Afterward, a long descent. I passed another snow gate and a small collection of buildings, greenhouses, lumber stacks, and open fields.
At a final T, I turned right toward Furano—and suddenly had Internet again. Ski slopes dotted the hillsides. I searched for food and found Country Kitchen Kazamidori. It had an old bus parked out front and a charming food truck vibe. I met two Australians cycling and golfing around Hokkaido. Dinner was fantastic: hamburger steak with potatoes, corn, broccoli, squash, salad, and a cold Asahi. Three Japanese girls in the back of the bus were cracking jokes—I understood enough to be entertained.
It had started to rain, and I needed a place to stay. I found Hostel Tomar nearby at a good rate. When I arrived, a street carnival was happening out front. The hostel, like so much in Japan, was spotless and thoughtfully designed. I showered, charged my devices, and began editing this report.
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