I Tried Cycling the Length of Japan: 3,000km and 27 Days on the Road | Long Way North

Japan isn’t known for cycling, but it should be. Between the end-of-day hot springs, incredible food, beautiful mountain roads and stunning scenery, it has everything you’d ever want.

In May 2024, I set out to cycle the length of Japan, from the southern shore of Kyushu to the northern most point of Hokkaido. Accompanied by my friend Tom, we cycled almost 3,000km over 27 days, across all four of Japan’s main islands — Kyushu, Shikoku, Honshu and Hokkaido — and through some of the most remote and beautiful parts of the country. Join us on a journey as we explore the best food, views, roads, hot springs and forgotten roads that this beautiful country has to offer.

Lots of people have asked about our route, and other questions about planning, so I’ve put together a mini-FAQ here: https://oscarboyd.substack.com/p/how-to-cycle-the-length-of-japan.

For more photos and words from the trip, check out https://oscarboyd.substack.com or follow me on instagram: https://www.instagram.com/oscar.boyd/

Many thanks to everyone who helped make this trip and film possible, and especially to Tom Blaksley, Kaz Firpo and Trent Kusters for riding with me.

Music is by my sister, @AliceBoydMusic. Her new album comes out at the end of November 2024. Additional music from the Cezame Music Agency and Epidemic Sounds.

Maps and graphics designed by Tom Kilburn. Check out his work: https://tgk.co

Chapters:
00:00 – Intro
01:17 – Kyushu
05:09 – Kumamoto
08:12 – Shikoku
13:36 – Honshu
15:18 – Koyasan
19:15 – The Alps
21:48 – Tohoku
25:12 – Japan’s Best Road
27:52 – Bear Country
31:04 – Hokkaido
36:54 – The Tunnels
41:53 – The Final Day

Japan is known for many good things: 
bullet trains, sushi, Mount Fuji. But cycling is not one of them.
It should be. Ever since I moved to Japan in 2016, I had this 
itch to try and cycle the length of the country, from the humid jungles of the south, 
to the mountains of the frozen north. “Come to Japan in May,” they said. 
“The weather will be nice” they said. To meet new friends and old, on the hunt 
for the best food Japan has to offer. They said, “Be careful on the roads, a 
man got eaten four days ago by a bear.” And discover the kind of remote, unvisited 
places that few people get the chance to see. It is so, unbelievably 
beautiful on this coastal road. So in May of 2024, I set out to cycle the length 
of Japan. From the southern shore of Kyushu, to the northernmost point of Hokkaido. 3,000 km 
and one month of cycling across one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Our journey begins not on a bike, but an 
old single-carriage train, on an overgrown railway following the coast south to Mount Kaimon, 
a dormant volcano at the southern tip of Japan. It is a windy old day in Japan and we are here   down on the southern coast of 
Kyushu in Kagoshima Prefecture. We have just climbed the 924m Mount Kaimon 
and now that our legs are warmed up, we have just one mission and that mission is 
to cycle to the very northern tip of Japan, 3000 km away. We have one month to do 
it, 100km a day. Let’s see how it goes. For the next four weeks, we’d be following a route 
that I’d sketched out while living in Tokyo as a journalist for The Japan Times. In theory the plan 
was simple: ride 3,000 kilometres across all four of Japan’s main islands to the top of Hokkaido, 
revisiting some of my favourite places in Japan, and many remote, rural areas that 
I’d never had the chance to visit. But I’d never attempted a cycle anywhere near 
this ambitious before. 100 kms a day, everyday for a month in a country that is 75% mountains. 
So I’d enlisted the help of my friend Tom, one of the most capable travel companions I know, 
and someone whose love of a good adventure is only eclipsed by his appreciation of Japanese snacks.
Tom, we’re about to leave, how are you feeling? Very content and optimistic. 
Also these are delicious. With Tom happy and our final prep 
complete, it was time to be off. So we set our compasses due north, and 
started out through the freshly planted rice paddies and humid jungle of southern Kagoshima 
Prefecture. The whole of Japan lay before us, our adventure ahead unknown.
With the wind at our backs, it was a breezy first day. Off in the distance, 
we could see Sakurajima — Japan’s most active volcano — gently erupting in Kagoshima Bay.
But the good weather would not last. As we tucked into the first huge bowl 
of ramen of the trip, a storm was brewing. I think we’re good. Showtime?
Showtime. I think this is the wettest I’ve ever 
been on a bike. It is damp beyond belief. We woke up on our second morning to 
flood alerts and warnings of landslides in the mountains. Huge raindrops fell from 
seemingly innocuous clouds, soaking us through. May is supposed to be the sunniest month 
in Japan, but as we dragged ourselves over the mountains north of Kagoshima, everything was  
water. It was the first big test for our legs, our morale, and the waterproofing of 
our saddlebags. At least there were some creatures that seemed to be enjoying the rain.
We’re standing next to a rice paddy, and the whole thing is alive with the sound of toads. The toads were clearly 
croaking for better weather,   and it was working: as we crossed into Kumamoto Prefecture the promised sunshine arrived. 
Above us, the bullet train roared through the valley, ferrying passengers effortlessly 
across the country. We took off after it in chase, but could never quite catch up. Still, 
we were handsomely rewarded for trying. Lovely little treat at the side of the 
road. A very full tree of ripe oranges. Absolutely delicious. Just had a couple, 
like a little halftime tea in a rugby game. From Yuzu to Buntan, there are 100 
varieties of citrus fruits that grow on the sunny slopes of southern Japan. For 
us, the oranges were like rocket fuel, and we were well on our way to Kumamoto, 
a city that’s best known for its castle, which was lovingly rebuilt stone by 
stone after a huge earthquake in 2016 reduced its walls to rubble. Kyushu is famous for its hot springs, and 
at the very centre of the island is Mount Aso, a supervolcano that blew its top off 100,000 years 
ago and continues to provide hot water to the bathhouses across the island.   Where the mighty mountain once 
stood is now the Aso Caldera, a fertile crater that is home to 
20,000 people. who live and work in the shadow of Japan’s largest active volcano. 
So we have been cycling through the Aso Caldera, one of the biggest volcano craters in 
the world, for the last hour or so,   climbing gently upwards. And to get out of the crater now, we have to 
climb the giant wall of mountains up ahead. So climb the giant wall of mountains we did, 
following the beautifully surfaced road to the top of the mountain pass. Japan is a nation 
of great mountains and great road builders, and the two often go hand in hand.
Wooooo. Oh, what a climb. What a climb!
Out of the caldera and over the pass, we descended to a sleepy mountain village called Taketa. 
There we made new friends in the bathhouse and filled our stomachs with hot pot, now almost 400 
kilometres since we first left the southern shore. It’s day 4, no it’s day 5 of the journey. 
Wow, time is flying. And I’m walking down a very pretty little high street in a town called 
Taketa in Oita Prefecture. My face is starting to shrivel up like a dried plum. Anyway this is 
our last day on Kyushu, which is kind of hard to believe that our first island is almost done.
After four days of climbing, we were now on the downward slope. We were bound for Usuki, 
a harbour town on the east side of Kyushu, where we’d board a ferry to Shikoku.
Lovely, lovely day. About 110km in total today. And it’s a beaut so far.
Kyushu had been the perfect playground for us to acclimatise to the long days in 
the saddle. And with five days behind us, I was starting to believe that we could make it 
to Hokkaido. But this was just the beginning of our adventure. Across the sea lay Shikoku, and 
2,500km of cycling to reach the top of Japan We’ve made it to Shikoku, the smallest of Japan’s 
main four islands. Population: about 3 million. We’re going about 70km now to Matsuyama, which 
is the biggest city on Shikoku. Should get there hopefully by around 6 or 7pm tonight.
Shikoku is best known as the home of the 88 temple pilgrimage, and its hidden valleys 
were once a favourite place for samurai in exile to escape from their enemies. 
Even with 21st-century infrastructure much of Shikoku feels wild and remote.
Our route to Matsuyama took us along the northwest coast of the island, tracing the cliffs 
between the fishing villages of the Inland Sea. There was hardly a breath of wind to speak of 
and the water was like glass, totally serene. Genuinely, this might be one of the 
nicest bits of cycling I’ve ever done. It is so unbelievably beautiful on 
this coastal road. I couldn’t be happier. As golden hour turned to dusk, and then into 
evening proper, we rolled into Matsuyama and the welcoming arms of jazz-promoter and 
chef-extraordinaire Hisa, at his hotel, Dougoya. Just a few kilometres in, I was 
already enamoured with Shikoku. Dougoya used to be the storehouse for Dogo 
Onsen, one of the oldest hot springs in Japan and the inspiration for the bathhouse in 
the Studio Ghibli film Spirited Away. Hisa has transformed the storehouse into a beautiful hotel, 
complete with a mural of the Seven Lucky Gods, and pictures of his seven favourite reggae musicians.
And then there was breakfast: local vegetables, rice and eggs all hand-prepared by 
Hisa. We couldn’t ask for better. This is kale and komatsuna 
leaf with small fried sardines It was a good morning, so good in 
fact that we didn’t leave Matsuyama until 3pm. We spent the day making 
friends with Kenji the bike mechanic, who fixed our bikes and gave us recommendations 
for all the best restaurants en route that day. And then we visited Matsuyama castle, 
built in the 1600s and perched high on a hill in the middle of the city.
The temptation to stay in Matsuyama another night was strong but we had a schedule to 
keep, and the open road of Shikoku was calling. We’ve made it to Kenji’s recommended 
okonomiyaki restaurant, and it’s delicious.” AHHHHHH
What’s the craic? Long scary looking tunnel. But you know what tunnel means?
Tunnel snacks? I was going to say top of the hill, the crest 
of the hill. So on the other side of that death pit is a nice freewheel down to the sea.
Apart from the scary tunnels and occasionally murderous trucks, Shikoku was mostly quiet 
farmland and citrus groves. It felt like we were only scratching the surface, and 
in the mountains to our south lay wilder parts that we were sad not to be able to 
explore. Our route followed the valley, crossing back and forth over the Yoshino River, 
underneath a big open sky and the blazing sun. Halfway through a very hot day 
seven. Sun is out in full force, really cooking us today. Done about 60k 
so far. 50k to the port. Just had a nice lunch at 7-11. Delicious. Definitely got the 
athletes premium, everything tastes great. We were fast approaching Tokushima, and 
the ferry that would take us across Honshu, the largest of Japan’s four main islands.
Two and a half days wasn’t nearly enough to explore Shikoku properly, and we left 
wanting more. But Honshu was waiting, and the only way forward was North.
You want to see some smut? Yeah.
You ready for this adult-rated content? Woahhhh Good morning from Day 8 of the cycle ride. We are 
cycling to Koyasan. And Koyasan is the big temple complex in the middle of Wakayama Prefecture. 
Started off with one temple founded by the monk Kukai in 819, so 1,200 years ago. And it’s 
now turned into a centre of Shingon Buddhism. The only problem with getting to said 
centre of buddhism is that it sits atop a mountain — 1,000 metres of climbing 
to get to the temples of Koya san. However, before we could even consider the climb, 
we met a lovely family, Keita, Junko and their three children, who own a restaurant called 
Sakana Store in the small village of Katsuragi. It was a Sunday, and the restaurant was closed, 
but they opened it up for us and fed us a lunch of wild deer sausages and home grown salad.
Once we were done playing with Transformers and eating our lunch, it was time to climb, and Tom, 
with a newly acquired frying pan in his saddlebag, quickly began to unravel. Yeah I win.
What are you cuckooing at? I’ve lost my mind.
Our minds might have been going. But with seven days of riding under our legs, 
we blitzed through the rest of the climb up to Koyasan, and made it to Ryusenin, the temple 
we were staying at, just in time for curfew. Pretty cool.
For dinner, we were served shojin ryori, Buddhist vegetarian food eaten by 
monks and guests of the temple. Throughout the temples are austere and tranquil. And to the 
sound of gentle rain, we were asleep by 9pm. We start day 9 of the cycle ride in a 
very wet and very grey Koyasan. We’re currently in the graveyard which is dedicated 
to Kukai, the monk who founded Koyasan back in the 800s. And it said he is still in eternal 
meditation in the sanctuary in the middle of the forest. I don’t want to complain too 
much, but it would be to get some sun. Unfortunately, sun was in short supply at Koyasan, 
and it was a long and cold descent in the rain, along narrow forest roads slippery with moss. 
But the monks at the temple had promised us better weather in the afternoon, and by the 
time we made it down to the valley floor, their forecasting skills were proved right.
The good weather was set to last into the next few days. Fed by the rain, the landscape had 
taken on a brilliant green, an antidote to the saddle sores that were now developing on our bums.
And as we worked our way through the tea fields of southern Honshu, there was barely 
a car on the road. It felt like we had the world to ourselves, as we got closer 
and closer to the Grand Shrines of Ise. It is seven in the morning, on the start of day 
11 of the cycle ride, and we’re beginning here at Ise Jingu, probably the most holy shinto shrine 
in Japan. Home to the Emperor’s sacred mirror, and supposedly here since about the 3rd century.”
The Grand Shrines of Ise is dedicated to Amaterasu, the Japanese Sun goddess, and 
it is one of the best kept places on earth. Every surface is meticulously cleaned and 
raked, and the main shrine is rebuilt every 20 years to stop decay. In the grounds 
there is a revered hush, and as we walked, the sound of gagaku – imperial court 
music – drifted through the forest. After leaving the shrine and a quick ferry across 
Ise Bay, our immediate priority was to find lunch. And at the ferry port we found a string of 
restaurants serving the catch of the day, elegantly arranged fish over rice, and the 
biggest oysters either of us had ever seen. What?
It tastes like an oyster. It’s delicious It was lucky we found this restaurant, because we 
were now turning inland, and beginning almost a week of climbing across the Japanese Alps. 
Good seafood would have to wait until we made it to the otherside of the mountains 
and down to the northwest coast of Honshu. It is day 12 of the cycle ride and our destination 
today is Nakatsugawa. We are cycling about 99km and it’s a very hilly route. We 
are today starting to get into the foothills of the southern Japanese Alps.
Even as its countryside depopulates, Japan loves to build new roads and new tunnels that make 
old roads and old tunnels obsolete. Entering these old tunnels is like going through the wardrobe to 
Narnia, taking you into a fantastical world that is only accessible for a brief period of time. 
Sometimes you luck out with an unused road that is still clear of debris, other times you end up in 
the construction site for a new megadam, or find a road washed away by a landslide. Nature will 
eventually reclaim these old roads, and they will be lost to history, but for us each one was a new 
side quest as we worked our way across the Alps. Eventually we joined up with the Nakasendo, 
an old walking road used in the 17th and 18th centuries by Japan’s ruling class to 
travel inland between Tokyo and Kyoto. Villages known as post towns popped up along the 
road to service the travellers, some of which, like Magome, are still well-preserved today.
Today is the big stage, the Queen stage. We are cycling 117 km, 2,100 metres up, through 
one of my favourite valleys in Japan, the Kiso valley. We’re heading up to the postown 
villages of Magome and Tsumago, which are old beautifully preserved mountain villages. Lots of 
big climbs today, but it’s a beautiful day for it. As we continued north, the mountains around us 
rose to over 3,000 metres, and for the first time we could see snow up on the high peaks.
After a long day of climbing, and with the sun beginning to set, we made it at last to 
Matsumoto, the largest city in the Alps. And the end of our second week of cycling.
Nice one for the rest day. We’ve made it to the Sanbondaki waterfall near Mount 
Norikura. Beautiful. One of many, running down from the snowpack above.
I can’t quite believe it, we’ve been cycling for two weeks now. Yesterday we had a 
lovely rest day. Now we are back on the road, getting some kilometres under our legs. And we are 
cycling today to the ski town of Nozawa Onsen. I think my saddle sores have improved slightly with 
the rest day. My legs are certainly feeling good for it, but we’ll see how long that continues.”
My saddle sores might have improved but after two weeks of riding we were both pretty low 
on energy, and the good feeling in my legs lasted for all of five minutes. Our rest day in 
Matsumoto marked the halfway point of the trip, but two long days of climbing still separated 
us from the coastal flats of northwest Honshu. As we climbed, the architecture of houses 
began to change, adopting steeper roofs to fend off the winter snow and long chimneys 
for their log burners. It all felt a very long way from the humid slopes of Mount Kaimon, 
where we started our ride two weeks before. With burning legs we made it to Nozawa Onsen, a 
ski resort that is famous for its thirteen free bath houses. The water here is scorching and 
usually the domain of leathery octogenarians with decades of practice. But we’d arrived 
in the off season, the town was deserted, and we had the bathhouses to ourselves.
We were coming up to the end of our time in the Alps and fast approaching the flatlands of 
Niigata Prefecture, a long-slog of a ride through the rural-industrial fringe of the country.
After five big days climbing through the Alps we were exhausted, a feeling not helped by 
the pervasive grey of the Niigata countryside. It sucks. The whole thing sucks. We haven’t seen 
any of it but I can tell it sucks. And we’re going now. And I don’t know why we’re filming, 
because we should be cycling away from Sanjo. Even stumbling across a make-your-own rice cracker 
factory failed to raise the mood much. If there was a low point of the trip, this was it.
We’ve stopped for a snack. A lovely little onigiri rice ball. Feeling pretty damn tired 
today. ANd I feel like the weather reflects the mood. It’s just grey, grey, grey. Northern 
Niigata Prefecture now. And I really don’t know much about this area. And I can kinda see why 
noone really comes here that much. It is flat, it is grey. There’s really not much going on.
But Northern Niigata wouldn’t let me wallow in my despair for long. And just a hundred 
kilometres around the proverbial corner, we reached a dilapidated and depopulating 
hot spring town called Senami Onsen. And the beginning of one of the greatest 
stretches of road in the whole of Japan. Good morning from the start of day 17 
of the cycle ride. It’s a glorious day. We’d discovered Route 7, which runs the 
length of the west coast of northern Honshu, and the weather gods smiled down on us. Even 
Tom falling off his bike and getting a puncture couldn’t dent the mood, as we pushed 
north towards the port city of Sakata. We are entering the city of Sakata, 
still an absolutely gorgeous day, and the gift that keeps on 
giving, up ahead of us now is Mount Chokai. It’s absolutely stunning.
Here he comes. Here he comes, the short shorts getting even shorter.
Inch by inch, day by day. How’s the wounds?
This one’s ok. This guy, I can’t really get to it. But that one hurts
The north of Honshu is home to some pretty remarkable, and some would say cultish, religious 
practices. In Aomori Prefecture there is the unofficial burial site of Jesus Christ. And in 
the mountains around Sakata are the sokushinbutsu, Buddhist priests who self-mummified 
themselves to achieve enlightenment. Few people visit this part of Japan, and 
it’s not hard to see why, it’s remote, sparsely populated and not well 
connected to Tokyo, but on a good day, you start to see why so many people tried to find 
enlightenment here: It’s absolutely beautiful. We are just leaving a little mountain village 
called Kazuno. Had an excellent, an excellent, a truly excellent night at a small guest 
house called Yazuka. Completely vegan. Amazing husband-wife hotelier team. put together 
such a good meal for us. And sent us on our way to Aomori just now, with warnings of bears in the 
mountains. They said, “Be careful on the roads, a man got eaten four days ago, by a bear.”
It was our last day on Honshu and we were racing to get to Aomori, where we’d 
catch one last ferry across to Hokkaido. But before we could get there, it was back 
into the mountains, and into bear country. As Japan’s countryside depopulates, there 
are more and more encounters with wildlife, as the border between the human and natural worlds 
becomes hazy. Boars are a nuisance for farmers, but bears can be dangerous, especially to 
people who go out foraging in the woods for bamboo. Luckily for us, none appeared, and 
we had the mountain roads all to ourselves. The forest is so lush all around. Beautiful shades 
of green. A real pleasure to climb through. This cycle ride was such a good idea. Even when you’re 
going uphill on tired legs. Japan is such a lovely place to cycle. Such, such a good place to cycle.
Things only got better from there. Over the crest of the hill, we could see Aomori 500 metres 
below us. And the road to get there… well. But even as Honshu gave with one hand, it 
took with another, and it seemed almost determined to keep us from leaving.
We’ve descended from the mountains, onto the plains of northern Aomori Prefecture. 
Savage headwind. It’s really sapping the strength. We’re technically going downhill, 
but it feels like we’re going up. Still, race on to get this ferry. Two hours till it 
departs, we’re currently two hours and 10 minutes away by bike. We’ve got to push on through.
With hardly a second to spare we made it to the ferry at Aomori Port, the gateway to Hokkaido, 
and the final week of our adventure. We’d cycled over 2,000 kilometres now, but had some of 
the toughest riding ahead of us, on Japan’s wildest and most remote island: Hokkaido.
How’re you doing? How’re you feeling? I’m feeling really good. I just had one of the 
most blessed sauna experiences of my life. That sauna was over engineered for this hotel, 
that’s for sure. There’s a sauna enthusiast on the board of this hotel, that’s for sure.
The Google Maps says that we’re riding for 8 hours today. 120km, but I don’t think 
it’ll be that bad, we’re gonna fly. I’m only worried about being sore in strange places.
It’s time to introduce a couple of new characters to the trip. We’d made it to the city of Hakodate, 
at the southern tip of Hokkaido, and there we joined with my friends Trent and Kaz, who I’d 
met climbing Mont Blanc in 2019. Both of them were first-time cycle tourers who’d rented e-Bikes 
in Sapporo and hauled them onto the south-bound train to come and meet us. Our team of two, was 
now a gang of four all headed north together. For almost half the year, Hokkaido is buried 
deep in snow, and the roads are impassable by bike. Sensibly, we’d arrived at the turn of the 
season. It was almost June and spring was in the air. It was the perfect first morning for Kaz and 
Trent to get acquainted with their new e-bikes. As we cycled around the forested slopes of 
Mount Komagatake and down to Uchiura Bay, the air was thick with the smell of manure. 
Hokkaido supplies a quarter of Japan’s food, and all around us farmers were busily 
planting their fields to make the most of the narrow summer growing season.
As our first day cycling as a group of four drew to a close, Tom and I were 
feeling good, used to life in the saddle. Kaz and Trent were dealing with their first 
day like champions, their ebikes helping them over the long kilometres. Or so I thought.
There’s a waffle sized part of my behind, my gluteus maximus which is completely numb. So 
numb that at one point when I got off my bike I had to ask myself whether I was urinating. 
Turns out I wasn’t, but I had no idea.” It was time to get Trent and Kaz into a nice 
hot bath. We were only 120 kms through Hokkaido, and there was much, much more to come.
Good morning. We start day 22, in the rain, at the Purika Ski Resort. And today our 
destination is Rusutsu, another ski town at the base of Mt Yotei. 101 km to go, as Tom is 
pointing out ahead. 101 rainy, rainy kilometres.” Hokkaido is known around the world for the 
quantity and quality of its snow. Niseko is the island’s most famous ski resort, and in a good 
year, it’ll get 15 metres of snowfall, fueled by the westerly winds that bring wet air off the Sea 
of Japan and dump it over Hokkaido’s mountains. We had arrived just a few weeks outside of ski 
season and with temperatures hovering around 10°C, all that wet air meant a lot of rain, 
and we were at the centre of the storm “Come to Japan in May,” they said. “The weather 
will be nice,” they said. It’s anything but today. Windy. Rainy. Cold. Hokkaido is kicking my arse.”
All day the grey clouds rolled in, bringing heavier and heavier rain with them. On days 
like this, the weeks on the bike suddenly seem to compound, and my legs felt empty. Even 
Trent’s big old smile and the views of Lake Toya weren’t doing much to lift my mood. Two days 
in and Hokkaido was pushing us to our limits. It is day 23 of the cycle ride and today, 
a lovely short day, basically a half day. We are going 67km from Rusutsu to Sapporo. 
The rain and the wind that was beating us up so badly yesterday has disappeared. Still 
grey, cloudy, but we do have a little bit of sun coming through. Looking forward to exploring 
Sapporo. I haven’t been there for a while. Might try and hit up some jazz bars tonight, or small 
music venues or something like that. Just to do something a little bit different from the day 
to day riding, and actually see some culture. After 10 days of cycling through some of the 
most remote parts of Japan, it was nice to be back in a major metropolis. The city of Sapporo, 
home to two million people, and endless corridors overflowing with good restaurants, bars and music.
Top of the list was breakfast the next morning, at the Sapporo Crab Market.
Nice! You ready for some crab?
Have you guys eaten? No, just about to sit down.
Epic, how is it? It’s dope.
The crab market is most famous for serving snow crab, caught off the coast of 
Hokkaido, as well as all kinds of other seafood, including Tom’s favourite, oysters.
I don’t know what time it is but this is what we’re having for breakfast. 
Giant king-crab legs, on a bed of crab. It was a breakfast of champions and with 
full bellies we pedalled off from the market, and joined the northwest coast of Hokkaido. This 
was the start of what my map said would be a long, and beautiful stretch of coastal road, but I’d 
just been told I’d made a catastrophic mistake. I met with a friend in Sapporo yesterday. And 
I told her the route, and she said “Oh wow, that route has a lot of tunnels.” And I 
thought she was being overly cautious, but I did a second scan on the route, and 
of the next 120 km, about 30-40 km of it is all in tunnels. So, let’s hope it’s 
quiet, let’s hope there’s not many lorries, because otherwise it’s going to be quite an 
uncomfortable journey for the next few hours. The road ahead of us had me seriously worried. 
Back in Shikoku, kilometre long tunnels had nearly been the death of us. We now had 40 km of 
tunnelled roads ahead, with no way to avoid them. But I needn’t have been so concerned. The road was 
pretty much deserted, trucks and cars preferring the peaceful inland route to the stormy coast 
of western Hokkaido. Occasionally the engine of a car would break the silence, roaring 
through the echoey tunnels behind us. But mostly they were eerily quiet, boring deep 
into the cliffs of Hokkaido’s western shore. It’s gone 7pm, and still out on the road, 
trying to get to our accommodation in Mashike. Big late day. Feels very remote. 
Barley any houses, barely any buildings. It’s just us, the cliffs, the sea and the road. 
I’d love to know what this is like in winter, when you have snow all around, and big storms 
crashing the waves into the edge of the road. Eventually, after what seemed like days 
in the tunnels we made it to Mashike, a frontier town that did not reveal itself to us 
until the next morning, another cold and gloomy one in northern Hokkaido.
Oh yeah, it’s wet. This part of Hokkaido feels more like the 
cold shores of Scotland than anything else we’ve cycled in Japan. We’re really pushing far 
north now, and the northerly latitude shows.” We were entering Japan’s windy alley: a long, 
empty stretch of open land in the country’s far north. that is being turned into one large 
onshore wind farm. Unfortunately for us, that wind was pointed square in our faces, 
a 30 km per hour headwind that seemed determined to stop us from finishing.
Super windy last section to get to the top of Japan. Tough on the legs. Great for 
renewables. These wind turbines are spinning. Looking out west, we could now see the snow 
capped-summit of Rishiri, an island just 20km off Wakkanai, Japan’s northernmost city. We were 
in the final stretch. We’d made it to day 26, our penultimate day on the bike. All day Rishiri kept us company, guiding 
us ever closer to the finish line. Arriving at Wakkanai marked the end of our 
last full day of cycling, Cape Soya, the finish line, was just 30 km away. It 
was our last night all together as a team before we returned home And time for 
one last celebratory dinner of sea urchin and scallops at the best izakaya in town.
It’s the start of Day 27 and for the last time on this trip, we are up and on the road. Headed 
now for Cape Soya, Soya Misaki. It’s calm, the wind has dropped, we;ve got a completely blue day 
above us. It should be 30 easy kilometres to get to Cape Soya, our little victory lap. And I’m so 
excited, so happy to have made it. What a glorious feeling, such an amazing trip through Japan.
After almost a month in the saddle, I couldn’t quite believe we’d made it to 
the finish. We were exhausted but elated, and as we rounded the northern coast of 
Hokkaido, I thought about all that we’d achieved: Over the past 27 days we’d cycled nearly 3,000 
kilometres from the southern coast of Japan to its very northern tip. We’d eaten enough good 
food for several lifetimes and found ourselves in parts unknown and unloved. Through it all we’d 
felt the generosity and hospitality of everyone we’d met – some of the most kind and gracious 
people who’d helped us out when we were down. We’d been blessed by the monks at Koyasan, gotten 
lost through the forgotten tunnels of the Japanese Alps, and discovered Tohoku’s other coastline. 
It had been a grand, grand adventure, and we’d been shown a side of Japan that few people ever 
get the chance to see. But it was finally time to finish. it was all down to this last stretch 
of road, the final few kilometres to Cape Soya. We’ve made it. Cape Soya. The 
northernmost point in Japan. Unbelievable.
YEAHHHHHHHH We’re done. We’ve made it. It’s been the ride 
of a lifetime. And if someone asked me would you do it all over again tomorrow. The answer: an 
emphatic, emphatic yes. I’ve enjoyed this trip so, so much. And thank you to everyone 
who made it happen. It’s been so, so special. Thank you so much. And from the 
northernmost point of Japan, I bid you goodbye.