Day 7. The last one. The leg that would finally put me in Kyoto. From Omihachiman it was about 55km, around three hours, mostly flat terrain except for a few short but steep climbs in Otsu.

I left the hotel around nine, rode down to the shore, and picked up the cycling road. Not far along, I stopped at Fujigasakiryu Shrine, a place I’d visited once a few years back and had wanted to see again. It’s a small shrine, built onto the rocks at the water’s edge, just a red torii and a narrow cave with the lake spreading out behind it. This time, though, the path leading in was closed off after a landslide in early 2025. It didn’t matter much. The wind had stirred up a light chop, which gave better photos than a flat calm would have. And then there were the hawks, a good number of them wheeling overhead. I made a point of keeping any food well out of sight, because these bandits notice the moment it appears, and come down like an arrow to snatch it before you know it. Don’t mess with the hawks!

Day 6 felt different, for two reasons. I’d passed Nagoya the day before, and Nagoya sits about halfway, so Kyoto was no longer some abstract point on the far end of the map. And I’d be spending much of the day on the shore of Lake Biwa. Both of those put me on the other side of something. Closer to the end than the start.

I left Tarui early. About 65 km to cover that day. Not far out of town the road tilted up and I started climbing into the pass. Partway up I passed Sekigahara.

Day 5 started in central Nagoya. The forecast looked suspect, and I might have to put in some work later, so I kept the ride short, planning to stop just before the hilly pass at Sekigahara. About 47km. A welcome distance after the long days behind me, and my thighs agreed. I carried on along the previous day’s diagonal line, heading northwest.

Day 4 was a shorter ride than the days before: just over 70km from Toyohashi to central Nagoya, in a more or less straight diagonal to the northwest. Mostly urban, but with rice fields turning up anyway. Anywhere you go in Japan, you can’t really dodge the rice fields.

I left the hotel early and rode out through the suburbs of Toyohashi and Toyokawa, where I started crossing paths with the Shinkansen again, the line running overhead on its viaduct while I ducked under it.

If Day 2 was all hills, Day 3 was flat. Flat, but long. I rode about 150km that day, and the bike handled it without breaking a sweat.

I started from Shizuoka city early in the morning. Just past the outskirts, the road took me through a few kilometers of hills, climbing up to Utsunoya Pass, the old crossing between Shizuoka and Fujieda. This was a hard stretch of the Tokaido for centuries, the kind of place travelers dreaded on foot. These days it’s just a busy National Route 1. What’s strange about Utsunoya is that it has four tunnels side by side, one each from the Meiji, Taisho, Showa, and Heisei eras, including a brick one from 1876 that was Japan’s first toll tunnel. Once the hills ended I dropped into Fujieda, and from there the road leveled out.

Last night did not rain. I left the hotel early in the morning and rode northwest, following the Sakawa river. For a while the road ran flat through farmland, tilled fields on either side, and here and there a huge old tree standing alone at the edge of a field. No traffic, no hurry, just the fields, the birds, and the river in the early light. A pheasant darted across the road in front of me. I fumbled for my phone, too slow, and he disappeared into the brush before I could snap a shot. Further on, I could see the forested mountains ahead, with fog still hanging on the slopes. I’d cross through a valley between them, but the climb was still waiting for me.

And here I thought I could journal on this blog while riding from Tokyo to Kyoto, like I promised in my last post I would. Fat chance. Most days were seven, eight, nine hours in the saddle, and by evening my legs were done and my head had nothing left for writing. If I’d really wanted to journal, I’d have had to narrate into a voice recorder while pedaling up a hill, gasping between sentences as the cars went by and possibly missing the next drink vending machine.

Which is why I’m only writing this now. I finally parked myself at the corner seat on the second floor of Doutor — my favorite seat in Kyoto, the one I try to make for every time I’m here. Why this seat? Because it’s the VIP seat, and the price of admission is one chilled Shine Muscat Yogurn (which is what I’m sipping right now, and it fits the hot weather). I’ve got the perfect view of Shijo Ohashi, one of the most famous bridges in Kyoto. Hordes of tourists cross it at any given time, snapping selfies and shooting photos of those fancy restaurants on wooden pillars along the Kamogawa. Two hawks keep circling the bridge strategically, looking for a chance to snatch some food. The sky is perfectly clear, and across the water the Minamiza kabuki theater catches the light of the setting sun. Hard to believe that in two days all of this will be drenched in rain from an upcoming typhoon.

This trip has been on my mind for a while now, and recently I’ve been monitoring the weather closely, in hopes of catching a few consecutive days without rain. Luckily, starting this coming Saturday, the forecast looks decent for the next four days or so.

As usual, I planned the ride using Komoot (a very handy cycling route site, in case you don’t know it). I will depart from my home in northern Tokyo, cut through central Tokyo into Kanagawa, then continue through Shizuoka and along the coast all the way to Nagoya, up to the northern end of Lake Biwa, and finally along the lake’s shore into Kyoto — with Kyoto Station as the grand finale. Unless something unpredictable happens along the way, I plan to stick to this route and schedule.

I’ve just added a new batch of photos, this time from a trip to Kotokuji Temple (廣徳寺) in Akiruno, Tokyo, and you can see them here.

If you haven’t heard of this place, you’re not alone. Hidden in the forested hills in the western part of Tokyo, Kotokuji feels like it belongs to a different era entirely. I could easily imagine it as a set for one of those TV dramas set in the Edo period. The main hall and the two gates (the outer one and the sanmon gate) still have thatched roofs, which is something you rarely see at temples nowadays. Kotokuji was founded in 1373 (that’s over 650 years ago) and belongs to the Rinzai Zen school.

Whenever I visit a shrine or temple, I try to pick up a goshuin. A goshuin is a hand-written seal stamp made with elegant calligraphy and red ink, recorded as proof of your visit. You can have it written directly into your goshuincho (stamp book), or you can receive a pre-written version on paper (kakioki goshuin) to paste into your book later.

I’ve updated Postcards from Japan with a new Goshuin section that shows my growing collection of stamps I received at temples and shrines across Japan. The collection is searchable, you can enter a shrine or temple name in either English or Japanese. I will keep adding to this collection, so come back to see new ones!