Shimanami Kaido 3: If You Travel Far Enough, Sooner Or Later You'll Meet A Kiwi

The tent was full to bursting with the smell of unwashed cyclists.  The only speck of food that hadn’t yet been eaten (by us or by crows) was two packets of spicy mustard and three dozen teabags.  It was time to take our leave of this horrible place.

Also, by this point Harry really was starting to need a shower.

We made it back to sea level in distressingly little time and pried our fingers off the brakes just long enough to eat a massive lunch at a supermarket at the foot of the mountain.  Protip for those of you considering cycling in Japan: conbinis are extremely convenient (hence the name), but they will drain your wallet quickly and fill your stomach with food of questionable nutritional value.  Supermarkets are less plentiful, certainly, and less likely to have WiFi, but their bentos are typically cheaper and fresher than their 7-11 or Lawson equivalent.

Our bellies full, we hurried on, passing over Oshima, Hakatashima, Ommishima.  Each bridge was an exercise in frustration on the way up, with spiraling cycle paths steadily climbing into the troposphere.  Then, on the way down, no matter how tired we were, neither of us could resist saying “Wheeeeeeee.”

Found by the side of the road on Ikuchishima.  Almost assuredly a disused time machine.

Caution: Pumbaa.

We paused only to take photos or meals or breaks.  Before long, we found ourselves at another campsite, this one nestled in a coastal valley, unreachable by car.  There, we met some very rare creatures indeed: fellow cycle tourists.  Davide and Thijs (I dare you to guess which of these names is deemed acceptable by Autocorrect) had already started the party with a box of sake, and we joined in with our beer and instruments.  By the time it had grown dark, we four had a nabe party ending with Davide’s speciality, fire-grilled mochi, dipped in soy sauce and sugar.  We retired to the tent like kings: dead drunk.

The following morning, we rode the final leg of the Kaido, skipping over another island to take a look at mainland Honshu.  Unfortunately, contrary to our understanding of the whole “bicycle route” business, the only way to set foot on Honshu was to take a ferry across the final 50 meter canal.  We shook our fists at such an indignity and promptly turned back towards Shikoku, where we had purchased ferry tickets to take us back to Osaka four days hence.

We have nothing for you but ferocious selfies, Honshu.

On the way back, we passed by our campsite, which was still vigilantly guarded by the fierce Dinosaurus.