Shikoku is Japan’s smallest major island. It’s home to a 1,200 km coastal pilgrimage route but I want elevation and decide to cross it right up the middle. Inspired by Andrew Skurka, I’m hoping to create a sort of Shikoku High Route. Unfortunately, despite being warmer than Hokkaido, Shikoku also has “winter” and many of the roads I hope to take are closed. Instead, I’ll spend five days traversing north along river valleys and ridges.

Uwajima To A Park Under A Bridge

69.1 mi, 7,884 ft

I camp on a hill looking west over Uwajima. I wake up at 5:30, condensation dripping off my tent onto the down sleeping bag I bought off Craigslist in Tokyo. Staying dry will be a constant battle on this trip.

I follow a river out of the city to my first convenience store stop of the day. I didn’t know this before visiting Japan but their convenience stores are amazing. They have very edible prepared food and really good diner coffee. Apparently many Japanese salarymen don’t even cook at home anymore, they just eat from convenience stores. Another thing these guys no longer do at home is browse softcore porn magazines — watch out for that aisle.

I buy a coffee and sit outside, wasting time on my phone when something odd happens. A construction worker walks over to me and hands me what looks like a hotdog. Before I can compute what’s happened he’s in his truck and driving away. This will happen three more times on the trip. Some of my friends think it’s because I haven’t shaved in several months and look like a homeless bike person. I prefer to think Japanese people are just kind to travelers. We’re probably both right.

I eat the hotdog thing (weird) and start along a road that quickly narrows to one lane. The snow’s melting off the ground and forming a dense mist. I go hours without seeing a car.

About 40 miles in I start climbing and keep climbing, for 18 miles. Near the top I get a lesson in bike pushing, inching my way along several hundred meters of black ice. Once on the ridgeline, I follow it into a tiny town with a general store (closed) and public bathroom (open) where I stop to wring the cold sweat from my shirt and hat and gloves and arm warmers and jacket and socks.

Back on the bike I get ready to descend from the ridge, shifting onto the big ring. Then, trying to shift across the cassette, I hear the distinct sound of plastic cracking. A piece inside my right shifter has snapped. I pull over, laughing. The exact reason I shouldn’t have used STI shifters on this trip has come to pass. They’re full of tiny, proprietary parts. Good luck fixing one on the road.

Thankfully, the rear derailleur’s still holding tension so, even though I’m stuck with one gear, I can pick it. I pull the cable through the derailleur until the chain is in the middle of the cassette. Looks like I’m finishing the trip on a two speed.

I find a small park along a river to set up camp just before dark, hoping my stuff will be kind of dry in the morning.

A Park Under A Bridge To Ochi

43.2 mi, 3,563 ft

Nothing is dry. Some things are frozen. The sky is clearing and it looks like today might be sunny. I take longer than usual to pack up, making coffee and trying to shake the moisture off the tent. I climb out of the valley through an evergreen forest. A few miles up the climb there’s a “road closed” sign, which I casually pass. Unfortunately there’s a work crew ahead. One of the guys informs me that the road isn’t pretend closed and that the snow on it is above my head. I don’t completely believe him but take the message.

I drop back into the valley and follow another route north. Passing a lake, I cut up a ridge on a deserted road covered in loose pine needles and rockslide debris. After topping out I enter another river valley before reaching Ochi in the early afternoon. It’s been an easy day but the daylight hours are short and honestly, I’m totally content to just hang out on this trip.