Shimane: No Rest For the Gaijin

An uneventful few days passing through Tottori and Jenn and I made it to Shimane, notable for being the second-least-populated prefecture in Japan (and if the two were combined, they'd still be the least populated).  The eastern half of Shimane is made up of a few fingerlike peninsulas that stretch across a couple of just-barely-inland lakes.  We were beginning to get pretty wiped out, but we still had a few days of pedaling until we reached our next WWOOF host, so we girded our loins and got moving (you pedal with your loins, right?).

Unfortunately, Shimane proves to be one of the least awesome places to camp that we've run across.  Our first night in the prefecture, just on the other side of the border, we came to the only park within 10 kilometers of our route.  It was a very well set-up campsite, to be sure, with water and electricity and real toilets and all that good stuff.  Best of all, it was right behind a supermarket, meaning fish and gyoza were on the menu rather than our usual banquet of non-perishables.  The office was closed by the time we arrived, so we warily circled it to find some information, eyeing the groups of rowdy twentysomethings having parties at their campsites.  Eventually we found a notice that seemed to suggest that one of the basic campsites without water or electricity cost ¥6500 a night, expensive enough that we might as well shell out for a hotel.  We considered our options, the sun nearly gone over the horizon, and finally came to the conclusion that the only moral thing to do would be either to pay the fee in the morning or leave and find a hotel room.  Then we decided to just do a sleep-and-dash, punk rock style.

The only known photo of Jenn taken at 5 a.m.

We were awake by 5, the tent was down by 5:30, and we were outta there by 6, well before any employees came to open up.  As far as I know, we're still wanted in Yonago City.

A few days later, after a thorough rest in Matsue and an utterly forgettable trip through Izumo, we were blasting along the coast on the home stretch to Hamada, our home for the next week.  Once again, we were in a bit of a jam that quickly escalated to "pickle," then to "crisis."  The first park we passed in the day, while lovely, provided little in the way of cover.  Also, having just read about Argentinian tent slashers the previous day, we had qualms about setting up anywhere visible from the road.

Dooooooooom.

Somehow we pushed another ten kilometers, until it had grown quite dark indeed.  We discovered that the next park that Google Maps had to offer us closed its gates at 6 p.m., leaving us with nothing but a tiny roadside bathroom and...war memorial?  I don't know, but it had a cannon, anyway.  We set up the tent (barely) on the ten feet of gravel behind the bathroom.  Once again, we were up at 5 a.m., just as the neighbors around the corner began to stir.

Our final night camping in Shimane was made substantially worse by our dictionary.  The park, a big, sprawling place with a forest, a campground, and a beach, was littered with notices posted on every available surface, all of which we were able to get the gist of with the help of our iPod dictionary.  "No barbeques," "no fireworks after 10 p.m.," "this water is not potable," all that good stuff.  "A bear has been sighted in the woods on May 5th."  That one we probably should have skipped.