Keep Moving: Tokyo to Cape Town by Motorbike

Copyright © 2013 by Monica Joseph.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2013904853

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4836-1119-8

      Softcover      978-1-4836-1118-1

      Ebook      978-1-4836-1120-4

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Contents

One    Getting Ready

Two    Japan

Three    Russia—The Far East And Siberia

Four    Mongolia

Five    Russia—The Altai To Kazakhstan

Six    Kyrgyzstan

Seven    Tajikistan

Eight    Uzbekistan

Nine    West Kazakhstan To Russia

Ten    Northern Europe: Finland To Belgium

Eleven    Southern Europe: France To Spain And Portugal

Twelve    North Africa: Morocco-Western Sahara-Mauritania

Thirteen    West Africa: Mali

Fourteen    West Africa: Burkina Faso-Togo-Benin-Nigeria

Fifteen    Southern Africa: South Africa-Mozambique-Zimbabwe-Botswana-Namibia-South Africa

Sixteen    Winding Down

Acknowledgements

To my husband Simon who made this adventure possible

‘The World is a book and those who do not travel read only a page’

St. Augustine of Hippo

ONE

Getting Ready

It all started over 30 years ago. The idea of travelling on a motorbike seemed attractive after backpacking for a couple of years in South America and cycling around England and Scandinavia. The cycling experience lost its gloss, as the effort required to cover any distance was fairly hefty (probably ardent and committed bicyclists would disagree). We would have persisted with cycling but the bikes were stolen in Sweden so that was the end of that. Seriously, if my husband Simon and I were going to travel extensively again, it seemed possible that taking motorcycles would be the way to go.

Simon was a passionate motorcyclist and back in those days I was a compliant and slender pillion. I accepted then that I would not be accommodated as a passenger despite being lightweight and so once back home I made the quantum leap to tackle the business of learning to ride a motorcycle. I subsequently got my licence and owned two bikes, both Hondas and 250cc’s – and the second one was a trail bike. I had a couple of years experience and then gave it all away after the birth of my first child. This decision was easy to make after a close road encounter with our dog, a German Shepherd who ran in front of me. I had the baby tied to my chest and only just managed not to lose control. It just didn’t seem compatible, riding a bike and transporting a baby and as time went by we were no longer thinking about the trip but living in the country and raising three children.

Years went by, fast track a quarter of a century later, and the long-dormant idea of riding motorbikes and travelling emerged once again. This time the plan would be to travel across Russia and the Central Asian countries. On a positive note, there were now more travel options in terms of routes, and more freedom to travel throughout countries like: Russia, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. There was also a wider range of suitable motorbikes available, compared to 30 years ago. This time I didn’t even put my hand up for a journey I felt would definitely be out of my comfort zone, and impossible for me to complete. I vaguely thought I would fly to St. Petersburg, which was the planned final destination of this trip and meet up with the intrepid motorcyclists there. At that stage, a few people were planning to join Simon and I was definitely not one of them! I felt uneasy about being in my mid 50s with no recent motorcycle riding experience and certainly no long distance experience. I was unsure if I would be able to get through countries like Mongolia where there are mostly no roads and the thought of dealing with the notoriously dangerous Russian drivers, or even having the stamina to ride a motorcycle for 21,000kms over four months, brought many doubts to the front of my mind.

Simon spent two years planning the trip, but the focus to commence in China was not working out. Prohibitive costs, which included guides we did not want and tight controls as required by the Chinese authorities about the roads we had to take, made it impossible to consider this route to reach Tibet. This did not totally surprise me, because these types of difficulties were familiar while travelling in China as independent travellers some 20 or so years ago. It seems not much has changed in that way. It was disappointing but we accepted that China was essentially closed to the wanderer-type of traveller.

Meanwhile, I decided to hop back on my old 250cc Honda trail bike, which no longer had a battery, to find out if I had any skills left a quarter of a century later. It was somewhat rusty, but still operational with a kick (I mean the bike but that could also apply to me). This decrepit looking piece of machinery was being dragged to the tip by trailer six years ago, when our then 12-year-old son Michael, begged for clemency and an attempt to get it going so he could ride it around the paddock. Simon had just finished restoring his beloved 750 Four. He was in the mood to give it a go, so he took a blowtorch to the barrel and voilà, the piston freed. A new front tyre, some cables from the wreckers, a cheap muffler and there you have it, a working 250 Honda and three kids fighting for turns around the paddock.

All that talk about the planned motorcycle journey and exotic faraway destinations got to be too much for me. I am a curious soul, which gives me a passion for travelling, and considering the fact that all the children had left home I wondered what was holding me back. It was certainly not housework, cooking and routine! In the end getting on my old bike was a whimsical decision, and I was most surprised to find a familiarity and a close connection with that ancient ‘unkillable’ old Honda XLS250. I still managed to kick-start the old machine and the years melted away as I zoomed around our five-acre property. I decided that I would give ‘it’ a go, but really, taking up motorcycle riding was not high on my agenda because I had some fears I didn’t recall having had before, that were now ever present. Simon was insistent that I needed to have 10,000kms completed if I was going to seriously consider coming along on the trip and he suggested at least half of them should be on dirt roads. He thought that if I could control the old Honda in its dilapidated and dangerous state, then he would be prepared to buy a new 250cc bike for me to train on.

At this stage I put my insecurities down to age, and decided to take a sensible approach, and to start from scratch by taking small steps. I booked a one-on-one lesson with a motorcycle-training group. I already had a licence, so I was not permitted to join the brand new learners’ groups. The owner of the business, an ex-policeman, assured me I was making the right choice by booking in for a formal lesson. He told me: The people who have the accidents are the ones who haven’t been on a motorbike for some years, you are doing the right thing. A young lad assigned to me was pleased with my efforts after a three-hour stint with him. He assessed me on the day’s performance and informed me that I wouldn’t have been able to get my licence because I wasn’t very accurate getting around the Witches Hats in low gears. He offered hope and reassuringly told me: Come back in six months for an advanced lesson and in the meantime practise!

Getting past the post to obtain a licence these days requires more than it did 25 years ago. I was glad I didn’t have to do any of that or I most certainly would have given up. The main thing was that this lad took me out on the open road and I felt loosened up and ready to go. I decided I was road safe enough. My plan was to buy a new 250cc dirt road bike and get on with the practise for six months and then progress to a bigger bike.

I was starting to do some serious reading about other motorcyclist’s experiences on the roads ahead. There were some good threads and ride reports on the Internet and I followed some motorcycle travellers’ adventures with awe and growing inspiration. I confess I might be the only person who has not read or watched the ‘Long Way Around and The Long Way Down’ men of fame Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. They seemed to be the only motorcyclists everyone I met talked about, but in reality there are quite a few others out there motorcycling around the world. Additionally, the bits I picked up about them indicated that they seemed to have had enormous problems in spite of having support vehicles and all the help and sponsorship in the world. I didn’t want to be put off by sensationalised catastrophes fuelling my fears and feeding negative self-talk. We would be travelling pared down to the essentials without any assistance. There was not going to be a support team or support vehicles for us. I didn’t want to complicate my fears. They were the ones I was trying to keep at arm’s length so that I could progress in my head. After more reading I became convinced that staying with a 250cc was not a good idea, mainly because I would slow everyone down with a smaller bike than my fellow travellers, and I would also struggle with carrying gear.

While nothing could have prepared me for the rough roads ahead in Mongolia, icy temperatures in Finland or the arrest and imprisonment in Spain, I had only one year to prepare and I needed to get that 10,000kms under my belt to start with. I spent every bit of spare time and most weekends out and about on roads, mainly dirt roads and the steeper the better. Gulp! This wasn’t easy as I had two paid jobs as a social worker that seemed to take up the bulk of my time. I squeezed in riding trips as often as I could and I know I hardly saw the beach that summer. We live on five acres just outside of Coffs Harbour, which is in a sub-tropical, temperate zone, and we have access to a great variety of country roads from bush tracks to highway. Nearly every weekend the intended travellers Simon, Cain and I would go riding. Our neighbour Casey, who indicated an interest in joining the trip, accompanied us on occasions. Sometimes another friend Jurgen also joined us. He had a DR650 to practise on and was planning to buy a bigger bike to accompany us on the leg across Russia. Cain knew many of the dirt rides in the area and planned to go out on two to three hour rides that would end up being all day sagas.

One day, GPS in hand, we set off merrily with our three brand new bikes to see what they could do. First we had an easy ride down the highway towards Bellingen, followed by a twisty dirt detour up the North Arm road to settle us in. After Bellingen, we were going to ride the well marked and maintained fire trails down to Bowraville. It is an easy one-hour run, so Cain reckoned. It was not long and we were on steep, twisting, narrow-rutted, log-strewn trails and lost to boot. No food, no water and no idea, except that I knew that even Cain’s 990 KTM was not enjoying it entirely. We finished many hours later, riding down the steepest, deeply-rutted track completely overgrown with long grass. Cain and Simon were relaxing and laughing at the bottom of the track. They reckoned they could hear me talking to myself a kilometre away saying: Keep looking ahead, Keep your head up, use first gear, let the engine do the braking, Keep off the back brake, That Cain is an arsehole! Another weekend of training was finished in preparation for my ride across the world.

At first Simon thought of doing this as a solo trip but I thought that he needed to be accompanied as a safety measure. Time passed and he planned and discussed the trip with about 10 people who wanted to join him. A year later it fell to half that number when people bailed out for various personal reasons. That was not a problem; a big group would mean more time needed in communication and settling on decisions. I had become more confident and decided to prepare to travel on this proposed trip.

In the end there were five of us. The date was set for May 3, 2010, which now made the trip tangible. I was firmly in and the route chosen was from Tokyo, Japan to St. Petersburg, Russia via Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. We would be entering Russia three times and needed to arrange a business visa, with validity for a year. It cost the earth. I am a travel junkie who now rides a motorbike.

The other four on the trip, of course were all blokes. Simon Rosentool, my husband, was leaving his job as the nurse in charge of the emergency department at the local hospital. He’s also a veteran motorcyclist with sound mechanical skills who speaks fluent Russian. He sacrificially chose a Honda XL 700 V Transalp (2008), though he really wanted a BMW F800GS but decided it was too expensive. The bike’s tank capacity is 17 litres and with a fuel range of 340kms if he is careful. It is a dual-purpose (dirt and bitumen) bike and more popular in Europe than so far in Australia.

Michael Casey, a retired engineer, neighbour, Canadian migrant and ex-owner of a Harley motorcycle was taking a modified Suzuki DR 650, Simon and Cain claimed that from behind it looked like an anorexic Harley after he had lowered the pegs, put a lowering kit on and a fancy wide seat with a big tank – all he needed was drop bars and tassels.

Dr Cain English was taking four months off as a general practitioner in a small country town. He is a motorcycle enthusiast and an avid dirt bike rider. He rides a KTM 990. Like Simon’s bike he had a poor kilometre range but the KTM is reputed to be the best dual sport bike on the market.

Lastly, there was our old friend Frank Driscoll from Canada who lives on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. Frank is also a veteran motorcyclist and long time traveller. He was riding his old trusty BMW GS 1000. He had a big tank holding 32 litres, which could go 800kms. The first time we travelled with Frank was over 30 years ago in a dug out canoe carrying a load of pigs down the Río de la Pasión through the middle of the jungles of Guatemala. More recently, whilst in Australia, he borrowed one of our friend’s motorbikes and rode 13,000kms on tarmac in Outback Australia.

I was the only woman on the proposed trip and I had a keen focus on skilling up and packing up. Four months before departure I bought a BMW G650 GS single cylinder (2009). My tank capacity was 17 litres and my fuel range, especially with the way I ride, was the most economical at 450kms. Cain claimed that it would get me across Russia on one tank! My bike is a strong red colour so I named it ‘The Red Rocket.’ We looked at lots of bikes but settled on this model BMW simply because it had the best height for me, as my feet could comfortably reach the ground. Simon had wanted me to get the BMW 650 Dakar, which had a better configuration for dirt roads, but it was too high and I could not reach the ground without sliding off the seat. I didn’t like the thought of not being able to reach the ground, especially with a fully laden motorcycle. In the end it turned out to be a great choice; it was fast enough on the freeway and could handle every rutted dirt road it was asked to go over for what turned out to be a 50,000-kilometre ride!

Simon nicknamed his bike ‘Sheila the Leg Breaker.’ Eight months before the departure date his bike fell on his right leg at almost zero kilometres per hour when he was turning out of Cain’s driveway. Unfortunately one of his old sneakers had a big hole on the inside, and his shoe and foot got caught on the brake pedal and the bike slipped from under him quite unexpectedly. Simon had a broken fibula, smashed in six pieces, and it took about four to six months to repair. There was also some injury to his ankle. The healing process was a frustrating experience but nothing was going to daunt his plans and long held dream.

It was imperative we depart in time for the northern summer and we had four months to get from Japan to St. Petersburg before the start of the northern winter. The plan was to spend five weeks riding in Japan, and to leave from Wakkanai in Hokkaido on June 8. This is when the first ferry for the season leaves for Sakhalin Island which is just off mainland Russia. Frank indicated he was going to part ways with us after we reached Samarkand in Uzbekistan and then he was going to head for the Ukraine and Poland towards Western Europe. He was planning to leave his bike in Switzerland for the winter and return in the next northern summer to complete Europe and ship the bike to the USA. Cain was heading for St. Petersburg, but later revised his plans to go to Moscow to meet up with his Dutch wife Yvonne and then head for The Netherlands via Finland. Casey had loose plans of going with Cain and to ship his bike back to Australia from The Netherlands. Simon and I were planning to spend a month in St. Petersburg and go onto Spain via Finland. Vaguely we would work out how to return home from Spain if I managed to get that far without mishap or injury.

We had much to do. We all posted spare rear and front tyres, the preferred Continental TKC 80s to Blagoveshchensk in Russia, which was one of our destinations. The tyres were going to see us through Mongolia and ‘The Stans’. I mention packing, and this was a mammoth task. We packed the house plus the bikes. It took months to pack up the house because we realised that we could easily be away for a year, so it was worth renting it out. As for packing the bike, I had no idea how I would cope with a properly-loaded bike, because the most I carted in the pannier bags was the odd litre of milk and a laptop computer when I rode the bike to work. I did one run with a loaded bike and was pleased that it seemed to make little difference. We threw a few ‘needle’ parties and between Simon and Cain, and with much merriment, we all got our immunisation injections of Hepatitis B, Hepatitis A, rabies and typhoid. Not satisfied with a total of eight jabs, Michael Casey was up for the Japanese encephalitis shot. I decided to take my chances with that one. Enough was enough and it was time to re-focus on the packing.

One pannier had the kitchen and the other had the bedroom. I was responsible for the stove, the fuel bottle, plates, mugs, tea towel, cutlery, cooking pots and a fry pan. In the other pannier I fitted the sleeping bag, winter motorcycle gloves and a spare pair of summer gloves, some books, an inner tube, disc lock alarm, head torch, a small hairdryer, a towel, wet weather pants and a few spare parts including brake pads and the like. Simon was the organiser. He had the GPS, maps and guidebooks, the heavy tools, the laptop, the camera equipment and tent. On the back we each strapped down our backpacks, filled with clothes for all seasons, with sleeping mats attached. Crating the motorbikes was the next big job that was sandwiched between packing. We needed to make our own crates and this took some days. The boys did the crating and organised the transport to Sydney. I took all our spare tyres down to the post office to send to a destination address we had in Russia because we didn’t want to carry them for seven weeks. The financial outlay for our bikes, gear, injections, visas and carnets (motorcycle passports) was quite hefty, but investment in dreams of this magnitude does not come cheap, especially multiplied by two now that I was on the trip. We didn’t bother with sponsorship and believe it is better to pay for one’s own dreams and retain the freedom. Though I wouldn’t have knocked back $100,000!

Packing up the house and winding up two jobs was exhausting. On another level it was also so emotionally draining burying our faithful Labrador, Ted who was 14 years old and well into old age for a dog. A few years before when we went to Cuba for five weeks, Ted adjusted poorly. He was blind and deaf and riddled with arthritis. He would have been extremely distressed if we left him for what we were sure were to be his final months regardless.

The last few weeks were hectic and somehow we managed to get most things done. We were all leaving on different days and with different airlines but the bikes were all on the same plane. We would meet again at the airport hotel in Narita, Japan. Our number one rule was to fly out after our bikes in case of problems. We were farewelled by friends and particularly by our three independent young adult children Larissa, Sophia and Michael. I dared not linger too much on wondering about how many of those friends secretly thought that this might be the last time that they might see me – ever. It was hard to say if everyone was thinking this way. After all, some of these old friends knew nothing of my efforts with the motorcycle or that I could even ride one! The only indication was the tender way some of them looked over at me, or the odd word exchanged at this final farewell party. It could have been just a faint echo of my own thoughts.

TWO

JAPAN

We all arrived in Narita in the middle of the ‘Golden Week’ holidays, eight hours after we flew out of Sydney on May 3. This is the longest vacation period of the year for many Japanese workplaces and a popular time for the Japanese to travel. We had just missed the main bloom time for the cherry blossoms but there was the chance to catch up in Hokkaido, as the blossoms flower later on Japan’s most northern island.

Cain, Simon and I met first and spent the day wandering around. One thing that struck us was that we had nothing to do and had no one expecting us, well, except for Michael Casey who had arrived a couple of days before us. Simon, Cain and I had left jobs that were demanding and that delicious feeling of freedom was exhilarating. We quickly settled in and wandered around, revisiting places Simon and I saw two years ago during a 24-hour stopover to Cuba. It was quaint and atmospheric then and is still very much the same. Cain, Simon and I visited Naritasan Shinshoji temple, which has beautiful garden surrounds. The temple is 1000-years-old and the huge Japanese-styled park was first opened in 1928. We missed the 500 budding cherry trees but saw heaps of turtles and big fish in the ponds and fountains. We also stopped at one of the many eating-houses and ate smoked eel, drank beer and saki while sitting barefoot on tatami mats (thick rice straw matting). Later the three of us met up with Casey and in the meantime Frank had flown in from Vancouver. After Frank settled into the same hotel we all left together to have a cheap dinner in a noodle house.

Luckily the tail end of that batch of public holidays was in sight and we needed to get a fair bit of business done to extract our bikes from Customs. (Kodomo-no-Hi, a celebration of children, called The Children’s Day was the last day of Golden Week). A decision was made not to employ a Customs broker and to do the importation procedure ourselves. The others went off to get four motorbikes out of Customs, or at the very least to commence reassembling them. We ended the day at an exquisite Japanese restaurant called Believe, which was worth every morsel. We ordered combined sushi and regional sashimi dishes, which were beautifully presented on shredded white radish, with lemon slices, bright green lettuce and salmon eggs. Each dish was artistically decorated with little wood and paper umbrellas or fresh flowers assembled on pleasing Japanese ceramic ware.

Another memory I have from that evening is the cook and the waiter racing after us with the camera that Casey inadvertently left behind. So far the impression I have of the Japanese is of extreme politeness and honesty. I understand from a cultural angle these people would have been distressed that our last memory of their restaurant was in connection to a lost camera. Of course we are going to be limited by lack of language in getting to know the Japanese better, but mastering the phrases ‘domo arigato gozaimasu’ meaning ‘thank you very much’ and ‘sumimasen’, a common expression of thanks and sorry to have bothered you, already looks like it will take us a long way in Japan.

The next day we had to take the train to Tokyo, 60kms away. The scene was of rice paddy fields merging with groves of bamboo, endless housing, greenhouses and cemeteries. We visited JAF (Japanese Automobile Association) to complete the required paperwork. As well, we had to find a motorcycle shop where we could obtain third party insurance. We managed to find these places and left Frank in Tokyo because he was expecting his bike at the docks in Yokohama, Japan’s prominent port city. We wouldn’t see him until after we returned on our bikes to Tokyo and by then he would have more news about exactly where his bike would be unloaded. It was a long, tiring day capped off by obtaining fuel (U.S. $1.60 per litre for high octane) and riding the bikes out of a very busy Customs warehouse. It was late at night when we finally rode them out and I will admit to feeling apprehensive when I had to dodge the forklifts and cranes coming every which way – but everything went well.

The first thing I needed to deal with was that all the road signs were in Japanese but at least I was comfortable riding on the left hand side of the road, the same as it is in Australia. The next hurdle was that I had no recent experience riding in a big city. I hadn’t negotiated Sydney streets for 30 years, albeit briefly back then, and I was about to tackle one of the biggest cities in the world, a daunting thought if I lingered too long on it.

Simon, Casey, Cain and I took the expressway, covering about 100kms. We had to cope with very strong crosswinds, no one knew where they were going and it was the blind leading the blind. This was especially the case once we arrived in Tokyo and had to find a hotel. I ran a few red lights and did a U-turn on a major road in the Ginza district and went up some one-way streets the wrong way to finally get to Hotel Horidome Villa. Amazing that we found the hotel but it was more luck than anything else. It was quite hair-raising but an awesome achievement to ride into one of the largest cities in the world on the first day of the trip.

Experiencing downtown Tokyo this way is not for the fainthearted and I might add it was mostly raining, not one of my favourite times to be on a motorbike. Hotel Horidome Villa was a reasonably priced hotel for a giant city like Tokyo but the rooms were tiny. We decided to spend two or three nights here, given that there was so much to explore and do. We jammed all our bikes into a space made for us by the restaurant next door to the hotel and freed ourselves from further parking worries. Casey and Cain managed to dine there at least on one occasion to show our gratitude.

What people choose to do in big cities is mostly down to personal taste. We split up in twos and threes and spent the next few days trying to cram in a few sights. Simon and I caught up with Frank who was staying in a capsule hotel in Asakusa. A capsule is streamlined sleeping space and comes as blocks stacked side by side in rows with one unit on top of another. A big bloke like Frank fitting into a capsule took some imagination. He even let us in so we could have a closer inspection of this novel accommodation. The space is not much bigger than a coffin but cheap, basic and comfortable enough for a short stay. Asakusa district is the area which offers a glimpse into Tokyo’s past. Many of the streets are narrow, lined with old buildings and very colourful shopping lanes.

There were plenty of fabric and Japanese souvenir shops. One shop sold only hand-held folding fans made of silk and paper. The display was extensive and impressive. We also went into Asakusa’s Kannon Temple, reputedly one of the most vibrant and popular Buddhist temples. It is, in fact, Tokyo’s oldest temple.

We caught the metro to Harajuku; definitely famous for its shopping, where young people congregate and people watching is the highlight. The Harajuku district attracts the young and the innovative and the street scenes were a feast for the eyes. We walked down a narrow alley named Takeshita-dori to see what’s hot in fashion. There is a quirky side to the Japanese, which is fairly evident in this area. It is the fashion hub for cool and kitsch Tokyo teens. We were mesmerised with the sight of young people dressed in bizarre and rather flamboyant clothing and sporting crazy hairstyles. Afterwards we walked to the tranquil Meiji Shrine. It was quite a contrast to the street scenes in Harajuku.

We arrived in Tokyo in spring and what I loved were the gorgeous displays of hedges of flowering azaleas everywhere. I appreciated the little alleys and side streets with flowers in full-bloom even in pots. Tokyo is a clean city with heaps of character. There are no obvious beggars and everything seems to be very orderly on the surface. We spent some time exploring Akihabara, the largest and most famous electronics district, and popped our heads into a Pachinko Parlor. Pachinko is similar to pinball and seems to require much skill; the parlor is extremely noisy and packed. Gambling is illegal in Japan but there are plenty of prizes that can be won in these parlors.

On our last morning in Tokyo we squeezed in the Tsukiji Fish Markets, which were huge and very impressive. The odour of fish was very strong and pungent and the smell of the markets was evident from the metro. The sight of endless stalls of fish and seafood was on a scale I have never seen before. Tourists were definitely in the way, and the serious business of fish trade was the priority here.

Cain and Casey managed to acquire some tickets to watch sumo wrestlers and they were happy with the experience. Sumo is a Japanese style of traditional wrestling and a very popular national sport. It wasn’t easy to get tickets I was told. They scalped some tickets from a well-dressed middle-aged woman who couldn’t make the matches that day. They also squeezed in a visit to the Edo-Tokyo Museum and got as far as the gardens of the Imperial Palace. They finished up in the bright lights of Shinjuku at some strip clubs and bars.

It was agreed that more days could be spent here, but there was a sharp keenness in the air to keep moving. We didn’t manage to visit the Tokyo Imperial Palace. That old and expensive piece of real estate would have to keep for another time and offered a small incentive to return to this vibrant and interesting city.

We left Frank in Tokyo to sort getting his bike out of the container and made a loose arrangement to meet up with him in Kyoto in a week or so. Meanwhile, we decided to explore Izu Peninsula southwest of Tokyo, a hilly region with numerous hot springs and to then slowly make our way to Kyoto. Heading south was the general direction we agreed on and the detour to Izu Peninsula would also give Frank some time to retrieve his bike and catch up with us. One of us farewelled Tokyo with a bang as Casey knocked over three parked bicycles and seemed oblivious of the pile up. After a delayed reaction Frank came to the rescue and pulled them back up out of my way with assistance from a few startled Japanese bystanders, so I could proceed without getting off my bike.

It took some intense map reading before we found our way out of Tokyo. One of those exhilarating moments was riding along and then unexpectedly glimpsing Mt. Fuji, a stunningly beautiful and iconic sight. We saw