The second and
third day Ulf rode through a less and less populated landscape.
He suffered from
bruises after an ugly fall early the second day. Failing to respect
his aching muscles he tried speeding up a curve, only to be rewarded
by a visit into the nearest bamboo grove. At least going uphill made
the fall less than fatal. It still reminded him he was mortal though.
Muscles he had
forgotten he even had still ached well into day three, and always,
always, the hurt concerning Christina followed him like a ghost.
He tried joking
that he had finally become unfaithful to Maria to the degree where he
didn't even miss her, but that only made him remember their dead
daughter. So he shoved the memories of that life into the darkest
recess of his consciousness, but that only had Christina resurface
again.
Get over her!
Start anew! But there was no getting over her. Some people you
only met once in your life, and until he met Christina he always
thought Maria was that one person. They spent a good life together
after all, and he had loved her, but never with the burning
intensity of the last year, or better part of a year.
Ulf ate at the
cheapest restaurants he could find, drank from the vending machines
whenever water was hard to find, and slept in another love hotel,
even seedier than the last one.
There would be
one more night in such a hotel. After that Ulf planned to make use of
his bivouac. There were shorter routes to the Kansai area, but he
wouldn't use them.
Japan might not
have the generous unwritten laws about camping in the wilderness that
Sweden had, but Ulf suspected he'd get away with squatting for a
night at a time as long as he carried his gear out of sight from the
road.
The main problem
would be fuel for his kitchen, but petrol stations should have the
alcohol he needed.
After two years
in Japan he wasn't about to suddenly miss out on a decent cup of tea.
Or his beloved espresso for that matter. That was his one piece of
sheer luxury, a portable espresso brewer.
Ulf forced his
way up a long slope. The northern route was a killer to his legs,
just the way he wanted. When he arrived in Nagano he'd rest for a day
in Matsumoto, after that small roads to Takayama. There he'd decide
whether to bike south through Gifu or continue east through Ishikawa.
Avoiding the
saner, southern route meant staying away from Shizuoka, Hamamatsu and
Nagoya, each large enough to increase the risk of someone picking up
on him visually.
Are they
looking for me? Probably. Ulf allowed himself a little rest of
the pedals when he reached the crest. From here downhill for maybe a
kilometre, then another murderous climb. If they set up that
secret organisation for us arrivals I guess they're not too keen on
one if us vanishing.
He focussed on
the road. Going down he quickly gained speed, and here in Japan he
had to be careful so that he didn't break the speed limit. On a bike
to boot. Still, forty kilometres an hour was nothing for him on a
downhill slope. Curves might be dangerous, but he'd paid for a bike
that would handle speeds twice that.
On both sides of
the road wooded mountains reached upwards in that steep greenery he
had only seen in Japan. Sometimes the greenery was broken by a patch
of brittle pink where a lone sakura made itself reminded. Murderously
heavy uphill of breathtakingly fast downhill his tour never felt
boring like biking back home too often was. For that reason Ulf
sought out the Alps during his more adventurous years.
He grimaced when
a road didn't deliver what it promised. This was the third time he'd
taken a wrong turn, and he had to backtrack for over half an hour
before he hit the correct one. Without a GPS he'd lose well over a
day, but turning on his phone would also squeal his position to
anyone who was interested. Quite a few, Ulf guessed.
So he endured the
hit and miss whenever he consulted his map. Besides, orienteering the
old way was just so much more fun.
And, I won't
be found this way. Only an idiot would bring a bike cross country
right through the mountains like this.
Because, in a
way, that was what he was. An idiot, and a craven one at that. For
the first time in his life he ran away from a problem he brought upon
himself. But I'm sick and tired of playing the guinea pig.
He grunted and
wheeled into something too large for a village but too small for a
town. Food. Hungry. Should be a ramen shop or something here.
There was one.
While noodles might not be the best for nutrition he had more need of
replenishing energy than anything else.
Ulf stopped,
climbed off his bike and went inside. It was the usual diner style
shack that promised a large bowl of something hot for almost no money
at all. It made a burger joint look outright expensive.
South, Ulf
decided as he wolfed down his bowl. South after I hit Takayama.
It was a risk. He couldn't really avoid Nagoya that way, but there
was a village inland of Yokkaichi he needed to go to. The village
where his mother had been born. Well, not his mother in this world,
but still a place he remembered, despite never having gone there in
since his transition to this version of Japan.
Nothing rational,
just a desperate need to connect with his own memories.
It doesn't
matter if they've never seen me before. I'll remember, and I'll get
to visit the graves even if they're not really my family any longer.
One way or
another he'd make it there, make himself as unobtrusive as was
possible in a village, and after that he'd continue his hike west.
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