Sanuki City, a.k.a. Flatsville

NO-LONGER-TIMELY SAKURA REPORT:

SO.  CLOSE.

After resting up and filing our final report on the sandwich case, we left our haven in Higashikagawa.  We hadn’t made it very far around Shikoku yet -- once again I have been deceived by the relative sizes of land masses, and once again I curse the American educational system that has failed me in geography -- so we really had to haul ass to get to the next campsite that Jake had planned for us, which he assured us was “only” 70 kilometers away.  Doing some quick mental calculations, I was relieved to figure out that 70 kilometers worked out to 2.6 cubic acres or 1.0 standard soccer pitches, and that we could be there by lunchtime (DAMN YOU ONCE AGAIN, AMERICAN EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM).

The road was much the same as it had been the day before: wide-shouldered, relatively well-maintained, and sparsely populated with courteous if confused motorists.  We made good time that day, biking over a few small mountains (or extremely large speed bumps) and stopping for a long lunch at one of Shikoku’s many excellent and very cheap self-serve udon restaurants.  Happily, we pedaled our little hearts out and took photos of some of the local sights.

Goat count: 1.

I'lltakeit!  Whatever it is,  ya sold me!

And: abject horror.

We were confident that we could make it to Kannonji with a few more hours of hard work.  Students of foreshadowing should be well aware by now that I was due for the mother of all flat tires.

Now, before embarking on this grand cycle-venture of ours, Jenn and I took the precaution of taking a bicycle maintenance class at Sunflower Cycles in Lawrence, a fine organization staffed by many competent young men with giant gauges in their ears.  Our instructor demonstrated how to do common repairs such as lubing our chain (which we had only screwed up once) and patching a flat tube.  We had nodded at his sage advice to practice at home on our unladen bikes to familiarize ourselves with the process, but unfortunately had to cancel our plans to follow through on it due to an urgent X-Box-related appointment.  Which explains why we had carried spare tubes of the wrong size and a pump for the wrong tire valve for about 1000 miles afterwards.

By this point in Shikoku, we were seasoned vets: we had repaired flats many times before, by which I mean we had paid others to repair flats for us.  No judging, you.

Fortunately, Jake is an expert in all matters cyclic; a former D.C. bike messenger and frequent bike tourist, he is a kind of Wolverine of the road, though I imagine an adamantium spine and healing factor would be much appreciated to better accommodate his habits of chain smoking and carrying his whole load in a messenger bag.  Anyway, Jake was on hand to instruct me in all of the ins and outs of tube patching, and before long it was successfully patched.  CUE MONTAGE:

Only to find another punk in the tube right behind the first one.  This was slightly less troublesome than the first one, as I had learned much from my first experience patching a hole, and also Jake did this one to save time.  CUE SECOND MONTAGE:

Our celebratory booty-dance was short-lived, as we discovered an additional six punctures, bringing the total to eight, also expressed as function (all of the patches in my patch kit) + 1.  Again, that is eight punctures in one day.

With yet more help from Jake, we were eventually back on the road, just in time to pick up several more patch kits at a nearby Daiso before the sun set and it dipped below freezing once more.  We sought refuge at a city park at Sanuki City’s welcome center/rest stop, which remains the first and only park with a posted, explicitly-worded “no camping” policy.  Too bad we, as gaijin, can’t read Japanese.