(If you have not read the prologue, start here)
For me, spending two hours at leisure is harder than spending all day on a bicycle.
Last night, we had talked about taking it easy this morning and catching the 10am train home. But habit is a formidable thing, and I woke early. Surely we could catch the 8am train after all? More to the point, what were we going to do here until ten? The feeling rose slowly in my throat. No, no, my mind argued back. Hadn’t I only just decided yesterday that it mattered to take my time? Have a bath. Wander around the hotel. Take a few photographs. Wouldn’t that be enough?
On a bicycle, a few unfilled hours become a treasure chest brimming with the promise of encounters. All I have to do is ride out into the neighborhood. I have an unfounded confidence that I will find something. I need only keep pedaling until I do. The world is big; I can go as far as I like.
That reassuring sense of the wide world seemed, paradoxically, to make the hotel feel confining. There must have been plenty of opportunities to make connections within its walls, too, but my fear of having “nothing to do” got there first. It was the bicycle that sustained my curiosity. Perhaps that was why I had fallen so deeply into cycling.
In the end, I gave in to the fear of empty time and decided we should take the 8am train. No progress at all, I thought. Honestly. My friend took even this last-minute change in stride, adapting at once without a hint of annoyance. Just as I would expect of him.
Leaving the hotel early meant we reached the little local station before the rain. A woman was waiting for the train in the waiting room. Beneath the eaves of the unstaffed station, we took our bicycles apart and packed them into their carrying bags. Our ride had come to an unceremonious end. Before long, another woman appeared in the waiting room, and the two began exchanging a few words.
Trains bound for our destination, the northern city of Akita, came just once every two hours. I had assumed the two women had merely happened to be at the station together, but when the train pulled in, they waved to a third woman already on board. Apparently they had arranged to meet her. Arranging a rendezvous aboard a train already on its way—now that was an advanced skill!
I watched the landscape we should have been riding through pass outside the window. It was not raining yet, but perhaps because of the overcast sky, everything looked a little lonely. I had wanted to reach our destination using my own legs, and felt the sting of disappointment. I would come back, I thought. Next time, why not start a little closer to Akita, climb that great coastal volcano, then ride through Akita to head further north? After a while, the rain began.
I happened to look back at the three women. They were happily chatting, sharing snacks and drinks in easy companionship. Were they off for a day out in the city? The weather and the gray scenery outside might as well not have existed. We were in the same carriage, yet time was passing quite differently for them and for us. Somehow, watching them eased my heart a little.
Carrying all these different feelings, the train slid into the city station in the rain. Outside, the air was chilly. Changing our tickets took longer than expected and left us flustered, but in the end we caught the next bullet train home. It departed almost as soon as we boarded, as though it had been waiting for us. We had no time to look around even the station, let alone the city. I so rarely get the chance to come this far. What a missed opportunity.
On the bullet train, my friend was already catching up on news from the outside world. After what seemed like a brief nap, he was working furiously on his phone. A patient with an unusual condition had been referred to him, and apparently he would head straight to the hospital after getting home today. What energy. At Tokyo Station, we said our goodbyes. I put my bicycle back together and rode the rest of the way home, following the historic highway we had ridden together last year.
And so our journey along the Sea of Japan came to an end. A little shorter than planned, but deeply rewarding. So many memorable encounters. How joyful it is to be out in beautiful scenery! I had a feeling my friend would be up for another trip together next year. These journeys seemed to mean something to him, too. I am already looking forward to planning the next one.