Alright alright, here we go! We’re in the home stretch now! About one or two more, and I’m back in the USA. I don’t know if I’m ready to go back…well, at least once I get past these next couple of chapters…

Chapter 12:  Shit Hits the Fan (For Real)

The ride to Mt. Daimonji was a strong indicator of what would soon follow. Kyoto was very hilly – and the last place you’d want to ride a bicycle. We biked down startlingly narrow sidewalks; roads were more car-centric and less welcoming to pedestrians and cyclists; lots of uphill biking wore me out (but not Frank, who is the pinnacle of physical fitness). Oh, why didn’t we cave and grab those bus passes?

Just a random photo of Kyoto. Like I said in the previous entry, we scarcely took photos until we reached Mt. Daimonji

The fiasco that occurred earlier in the day set us back quite a bit, and thus we arrived in a charming little village area before the mighty Mt. Daimonji around 5-6 PM. When we made it to bike parking, the attendant was turning everyone away. They were closing up.

Nuts.

All that for nothing? No way!

While Frank was ready to throw in the towel, I suggested we explore a bit more. We rode around until we found a little side area with bikes resting against a chain-link fence.

And of course, what did these two chucklefucks who had their bikes confiscated earlier in the day decide to do? Leave their bikes in a sketchy area where parking may or may not have been permitted. Why not?

We embarked on our hike. To my surprise, Frank had not done much hiking before. I was also surprised at how eager he was to turn back. It was mostly due to his concern for riding back to the hostel in the dark, which was reasonable enough. But the promise of such an amazing sight ahead kept me going.

We first hit an area that looked as if it was a dead end. But a little creative climbing and navigation brought us to a trail. And from there, we were off.

It was an amazing hike with beautiful sights. We encountered a small Shinto shrine along the way – likely dedicated to a local deity, according to Frank. And even though I slipped and fell on my ass (landing only an inch away from a sawed-off metal pipe), I enjoyed every second of the journey. It’s true I just barely avoided becoming a human popsicle, but I was more concerned about the Super Famicom games in my bag, which hit the ground after I fell. Fortunately, they all work.

At multiple intervals, Frank wanted to return to our bikes, though I urged him to keep on keeping on. We crossed paths with folks on their way back who informed us how near we were to the top, encouraging us that it was worth it. So we kept going.

And going…

And going…

Until…

We reached the top. And boy, was it worth it.

Watching the radiant sun sink gracefully into the horizon’s edge, it cast a beautiful orange glow across the vast ocean of trees and natural growth. It was a sight to behold.

We stood upon the mountain’s top soaking in the view, appreciating our surroundings and the soothing breeze. Through all the trials and tribulations we experienced, it had been more than worth it for that glorious moment. We even crossed paths with another traveler, with whom we got to share the experience and exchange personal histories. But as great as all that was, we were on the cusp of disaster.

The sunlight gradually diminished – our cue to leave. I asked Frank to snap a few photos before we left, and he reluctantly obliged. Reluctant because his phone’s battery was down to 15%.

“I’m…

…Full!”

We began our descent. It was a fairly straightforward trek. But when we arrived at the bottom, we were shocked to find…

…our bikes were still there.

Phew! Thank god!

I was not looking forward to the ride back. There was a lot of uphill biking, and our hike only made my poor legs weaker. But because there seemed to be more inclines than declines on the way to the mountain, the bright side was that in theory, the ride back would be easier.

In theory.

We were delighted when the GPS estimated our trip back to be a mere 30 minutes by foot; on our cycles, we’d be home even sooner. But alas, something was wrong.

As we biked through those unforgiving Kyoto streets and sidewalks, I noticed a lot of uphill pedaling and some strange, unfamiliar paths through tight neighborhoods. And after checking his phone periodically, Frank was also perplexed to see the travel time, according to his GPS, was not changing as it should.

It was a rough ride! Lots of even dicier streets and settings than what we encountered on the way there. We biked some roads that were scary and unwelcoming to cyclists. I was growing terrified for my life! Not to mention frustrated at how different and challenging this route seemed to be. There were several points where I lost Frank, who outperformed me by a mile. Much of the way I had to hop off and walk my bike uphill, as my legs simply didn’t have any power left. He’d be nowhere in sight, and here I was – nighttime, alone in a foreign country, lost, uncertain whether I’d see Frank ahead. Sure enough, I eventually rejoined him those few times I lost him. Yet he continued to ride ahead while I was struggling. What a dick!

Anyway…

Thirty minutes had passed, yet his phone still said we were 20 minutes away. It was then Frank realized he had accidentally selected driving directions instead of walking directions, which explained the noticeably different route we took.

Needless to say, I was pissed. And worried.

Frank was also quite concerned. But more so about getting lost than getting hit by a car, as was my fear.

We kept pedaling with no end in sight. I was filled with terror, reluctant to continue, but we had no choice. A taxi was too expensive, and we’d have no way of transporting our bikes.

Finally, we hit a dead-end; the sidewalk ended on a highway. There was no way we could continue on that path.

Frank’s greatest fear came true. It was dark and his battery was down to 7%. And after looking up walking directions, he and I discovered we were somehow an hour away from our hostel. The two of us were screwed.

Tensions were high. We were both very upset. But one of us had to figure something out.

We had to find a place to charge his phone (mine did not have a GPS, by the way, in case you were wondering). I suggested he look up a Starbucks, so he did and found one 30 minutes away. There was no time to waste bickering or worrying. I proposed we set course for the Starbucks and pray that we find a place to charge his phone on the way. Not long after we began, such a place presented itself. It was a restaurant called “Friendly’s” (not to be mistaken with the U.S. chain, at least I don’t think). Turned out it wasn’t all that friendly, as the manager would not allow us to charge Frank’s phone, even after we offered to buy food there. With the host acting as something of a translator on behalf of the asshat manager, we learned that there was a Family Mart with a cafe not far from there. Frank looked it up on his phone and saw it was a 6-minute walk. So we hopped back on our bikes and hoped to god he was right. Because if it was a regular Family Mart, there would be no outlets.

Turned out he was right; we found the safe haven we needed.

The two of us parked our bikes and entered the holy ground.

Relief pouring from our pores, Frank plugged in his phone and got some food. We took a seat to rest our harrowed bones while his battery charged. We were in there for an hour, regrouping and gathering our strength for the demanding ride back. It was so nice to sit down and take a breather, though my body filled with dread just thinking about the impending bike ride.

By the time his phone was at 50%, it was around 8 or 9 at night, drizzling, and cold outside. I wasn’t just tired – I was sleepy, and in no shape to bike another hour. As I mounted my cycle, my core was trembling. It was looking like that could have been the end. 

While this does sound quite a bit dramatic, at the time it certainly felt like I was doomed.

Chapter 13:  The Long Ride Back

It was time. Time to face that treacherous path ahead.

We retreaded familiar roads and alleys. It was not a reassuring route by any means. Revisiting tight, dicey corners only furthered my belief that I was going to die on that bike. Nevertheless, we pushed forward.

It was dark, grim, bleak, and cold. I was exhausted. I had to walk my bike yet again. But the worst of it came when we reached a long tunnel. I’m talking cars rushing by at 60 MPH without a safe distance for us to ride comfortably. It was absolutely terrifying.

Before we embarked, Frank gave me something of a motivational speech:

“We don’t have time to be afraid. This is our only way back. Otherwise we’re sleeping on the sidewalk tonight.”

The tunnel ran at a steep decline, causing us to zip down at breakneck speeds – mere feet away from speeding cars. My hand gently eased the brake to keep myself from soaring at a ludicrous speed. My legs were shaking, my entire frame was rocked. A slight twitch to the left or right and I was toast. There was no room for error here. And I was still not confident enough in my cycling abilities to feel like I could keep steady under those nerve-rattling circumstances.

Well, as luck would have it we made it through. And everything else after that seemed easy.

Now Frank recalls the incident quite differently. He was having a blast zooming down the tunnel. He also reminded me that there were a couple of pre-teens riding down that same tunnel like it was no big deal. I had forgotten that detail, but they were, indeed, biking down the tunnel with ease. Frank also insists the cars were going 40 MPH but I refuse to acknowledge that estimate.

I vividly recall seeing this interesting…whatever it is after we made it back – either on our way to the hostel or after when we searched for food. I cannot stress how much relief this image still gives me, knowing I survived such a frightening bicycle journey

Regardless, I remember that glorious moment when we were around the corner from our hostel; I couldn’t believe I was in the clear. I had fantasized about the very instant when we arrived safe and sound. It seemed surreal. Too good to be true. But we made it.

The relief I felt was unparalleled. I was happy to be alive in Japan.

Frank was also relieved. He was relieved because we made it back in time before the video game shop we visited earlier that day closed. What a guy.

Chapter 14:  A Hard Day’s Night

It goes without saying it had been a loooong day.

We went to the hostel, which turned out to have private rooms with bunk beds – the best accommodations thus far. I took the opportunity to do laundry and check my email. But I was also very hungry and in dire need of comfort food.

The usual dilemma of what to eat lead me and Frank to wander the nearby streets of Kyoto in search of a place that satisfied both our preferences. Of course, such a place did not exist, so Frank got his food, then we went to get mine.

We stopped into a restaurant where tables had hot plates upon which they dropped your food. I knew I had to experience this!

There was a tablet menu with a touchscreen for placing your order. After quite a bit of deliberation on what would be the most important decision of that night, I finally settled on yakisoba. I was given the choice of up to four toppings, and naturally, I went for the most predictable options: cheese, sausage, bacon, and…well, okay maybe not that predictable, as I forgot what the fourth ingredient was immediately after ordering. When they brought it to my table, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what the fourth topping was. I suspected it could have been calamari, though it really didn’t matter. It was delicious. “Oishi des.” It was, in fact, probably the single best meal I had during my entire stay in Japan. And that’s saying a lot!

Bloody Americans with their cheese and bacon!

I scarfed it down, then with Frank’s help, offered my compliments to the chef in Japanese. We paid, we left, and we said goodbye to that tumultuous day in Kyoto as we both sank deep into a very rewarding and well-deserved sleep.

Stay tuned, next stop: Nagoya. Again!

Written by ZB

Since the tender age of four, I have been playing video games to occupy my free time. Raised on Nintendo and Sega Genesis, I have an extensive knowledge and enthusiasm for the classics. Also an avid collector, I have accrued such consoles as the Atari Jaguar, Super Famicom, Odyssey 2, Sega Nomad, just to name a few.

Got any questions, comments, concerns, or threats? Feel free to email me at zb@nerdbacon.com. I am happy to hear your feedback!