日本夏2025年

日本夏2025年 - Day 9

June 5, 2025

Hanamachi to - Sakuramatsu Park (Appikogen, Iwate) - 115 Km

Start 7:28 AM

Finish 6:59 PM

Total Duration 11:28

Moving Time 7:39

Stopped Time 3:50

Ascent 1,156 m

Descent 840 m

Tour Total 954 Km

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/291927622

I slept well in Kuzumarukawa Kasen Park, despite a nearby cuckoo clock chiming loudly enough to wake the dead. Thankfully, I had earplugs. By 4:30 AM, sunlight began filtering into my tent, and I tried to use my sleeping bag like a blanket, pulling it over my face to block the early light. By 7:00, the tent had become an oven, and it was time to get moving. A few others in the area had started to stir. I watched two schoolboys walk past on their morning commute.

After packing up, I pedaled back to the four-lane highway and stopped at a Lawson’s. Breakfast was a Craft Boss latte and a chocolate croissant that tasted like someone had stuffed old chocolate into stale bread. I cleaned up in the bathroom, then sat at a table and listened to conversations at the counter, soaking in the atmosphere.

This area is a busy corridor wedged between mountain ranges—crisscrossed by highways, freeways, and local roads. I appreciated how the route tried to zigzag me through rice paddies on quieter lanes, even if it sometimes got things wrong.

Eventually, I found myself on National Route 285, a two-lane highway with a narrow shoulder and lots of fast-moving traffic. A strong wind blew from the west, but since I was heading mostly north, it worked in my favor. Along the way, I noticed these curious metal structures folded beside the road—barriers, perhaps, between the highway and the rice paddies. Today they were folded up, but yesterday I saw some extended. I'm still not sure what their purpose is.

The scenery continues to impress. I've passed so many beautiful flowers—both cultivated and wild. This morning, a new kind caught my eye: delicate blue blooms the color of robin’s eggs. I also spotted the second telephone booth of the trip. (If you're under 30, you may need to Google that.)

Another highway brought the distinct smell of livestock. Soon I saw the source—animals crammed inside a barn. Unlike the U.S., where I’d see endless fields of corn and cattle, here it’s rice, rice, and more rice. In some fields, the rice looked ready for harvest. At one point, the route led me down a gravel path beside the freeway and past an area where new rice paddies were being excavated—a fascinating sight.

Ahead, Mount Iwate came into view. The 6,686-foot stratovolcano has a graceful, parabolic shape, though its summit was lost in clouds. The route skirted the city of Morioka (population: 283,981), but curiosity pulled me into town. I crossed the freeway on a pedestrian bridge with gentle bike ramps, and later, an even more elaborate overpass—the enclosed, elevator-equipped Senboku Bridge.

I made my way to the ruins of Morioka Castle at Koshi-guruwa. The massive stone ramparts are now a public park. At the top, where the castle once stood, was a large empty pedestal—apparently the base for a former equestrian statue, though there was no English explanation.

Next, I visited Hoonji Temple, where I chatted with a gardener. Unlike the lacquered temples in Nikko, this one had bare wooden beams. Inside, I admired a dramatic dragon painting on the ceiling and rows of golden Buddhas.

On my way out of town, I passed through University Park and stopped at the Fox Baden Spa Dome. A bath, shave, and delicious lunch revived me. On the dining room TV, the New York Mets were beating the Los Angeles Dodgers 3–0.

Back on the route, I began looping around Mt. Iwate, heading north before curving west through orchards filled with peach and apple trees. Many of the apples were wrapped in paper—a sign of careful cultivation.

This section of the route includes the most climbing: more than 4,000 meters over the next 200 kilometers. I was on a narrow, quiet local road lined with trees and fields. The skies were mostly cloudy.

As I prepared to make a left turn, a trucker pulled over and waved me down. He dashed across the road and handed me a can of Georgia black coffee. It was a touching gesture—my first Japanese trail angel.

Not long after, the route led me straight into a dead end in an onion field. I’ve been following GPS tracks from the Length of Japan Cycling Route website, but bike touring infrastructure here is still developing. The route was created before COVID and hasn’t been updated since. There's no real-time info and I’m winging it.

Back on the highway, I was overtaken by a Japanese army vehicle and two tank-like machines. I stopped at a roadside station and bought what I thought was machi ice cream. It turned out to be spinach-flavored—and surprisingly delicious.

Climbing resumed on small rural roads. I passed a poultry plant that reeked, and once again, the route sent me down nonexistent roads. I had to backtrack and reroute. A light mist hung in the air. By 3:30 PM, I’d returned to the official path.

I entered a ski resort town and figured this was the last place to fuel up before the big climb. At Kitchen Cafe Kappa, I enjoyed a fantastic, well-priced meal. I showed the staff my route and asked about the road ahead. They told me it was closed. How lucky I asked. I entered Kazuno into Apple Maps and backtracked much of the climb I had just done. It was cold, especially on the descents, but the restaurant staff assured me tomorrow would be warmer.

As I descended, I noticed cows had been let into the fields—none were there earlier. This was the first cattle I’d seen on this trip. I was now on National Route 282, heading toward APPI Heights, a swanky resort area with modern sculptures dotting the landscape.

I stopped at another Lawson’s for supplies but still hadn’t settled on where I’d sleep. As I coasted downhill into the next village, I searched for parks and shrines. Sakuramatsu Park turned out to be both. A massive Torii gate marked the entrance. It was getting dark, and I took a gamble. A large groundhog darted across the road as I turned in.

The park was open 24 hours, and I had it to myself. The parking lot and buildings were empty. I walked my bike past stone lanterns and shrine gates and set up camp near one of the structures. Nestled in a narrow, forested valley with no internet service, I listened to the rushing stream as I edited this report. Beneath the tree canopy, darkness fell fast. A half moon rose overhead.