Dee Vero
What began as a bikepacking trip from Tokyo to Kyoto on rented Winspace G3 gravel bikes from BikeRentalcc quickly turned into equal parts adventure, suffering, chaos, and awe.
Tokyo tested our patience with what felt like seven billion traffic lights before local legend Mikey Rice—an American who’s called Japan home for 35 years—completely changed the game.
Alongside his wife Gypsy at Gypsy Café in Odawara, he rerouted us from traffic-choked roads onto quiet mountain passes and scenery so good it barely felt real.
And then the climbing began.
Hakone introduced us to the Japanese concept of hospitality… and gradients. Mount Fuji delivered one of the trip’s greatest highs—literally—with a climb to 2,305 metres under perfect blue skies.
Universal cyclist language proved alive and well on the slopes: point at carbon wheels, nod aggressively, say “OHHHH,” instant friendship.
Not every plan went smoothly.
One day, our epic Mount Fuji ascent was defeated not by fatigue or weather—but by a ¥280 cash-only toll booth.
Cash – in 2026.
We had gels, GPS devices and carbon bikes… but not enough coins.
The Japanese Alps brought a different kind of challenge: long climbs, endless tunnels, and enough elevation to make our legs file formal complaints with management. Typhoons, road closures, and spontaneous detours kept things interesting.
One “simple reroute” became a 160km survival mission involving torrential rain, flooded roads and navigation that could generously be described as “aspirational.”
Our Wahoo computer deserves special recognition.
It repeatedly announced, “You’ve arrived,” while we were still kilometres away from our accommodation. It also struggled to acknowledge tunnels as existing infrastructure, occasionally inventing climbs and distances that bordered on psychological warfare.
Still, Japan kept rewarding every hard-earned pedal stroke.
There were descents through forests so surreal they felt like a video game. Crystal-clear rivers that looked Photoshopped. Quiet mountain villages where locals waved as we rolled through rice fields and tiny farming towns.
One moment we’d be battling headwinds in the rain; the next, soaking in an onsen with a beer wondering how life got this good.
And then there was the food.
Convenience store stops became tactical refuelling operations. Recovery nutrition included ramen, wagyu gyoza, smash burgers, coffee, and a medically questionable amount of beer.
Scientific evidence remains inconclusive, but morale improved dramatically after each stop.
By the time we reached Kyoto, we realised this trip had become about far more than distance or elevation.
Bike touring strips travel back to something simple. You earn every view, every meal, every descent and every destination.
You don’t just pass through a country—you feel every contour of it.
Japan gave us ancient castles, misty mountain passes, bamboo forests, hidden backroads, and enough unforgettable moments to last a lifetime.
It also taught us several valuable lessons:
Weather forecasts lie. Cash still matters. Beer tastes better after 100km. Climbs are always steeper than they look. And never fully trust a Wahoo.
Most of all, we were reminded why we ride.
Because somewhere between the suffering and the scenery, the wrong turns and the perfect descents, cycling gives you something rare:
Adventure in its purest form.
Japan, we’ll be back.
