The last few days we had been riding through towns whose names had a clear hint of what was to come. Fujikawa. Fuji. Shin Fuji. Fujinomiya. Often shrouded by cloud, and completely hidden, but lucky for us and for the next two days, we had Mt Fuji as our riding backdrop, framed with crisp blue sky.
We left our luxurious ryokan straight after breakfast by 8am, quite late but the weather was still crisp and frosty. We could see our breath every time we exhaled and no wonder, we passed a sign that recorded the temperature as -3°C! All those hills we had cycled up the day before paid off. For the next 40km it was pretty much straight downhill, following Highway #187. One of the easiest and most beautiful mornings we had ever had, with spectacular riding following the rivers and smaller towns.
“Do you think we’ll see snow?” I said as we rode side by side. We had seen tiny flakes lightly falling in the evenings, but it would melt as soon as they hit the pavement, and the skies would be clear by morning. Our friends had been up in Hakuba, one of Japan’s popular ski areas, excitedly sending through pictures of skiing and snowboarding in white fluffy landscapes. I was hoping we would see at least some ground coverage.
We sat drowsy and disoriented from our night in the clouds, with a commotion unfolding a few seats down. An elderly Japanese man intent on getting his luggage first was trying to barge past a couple, repeatedly hitting the wife with his briefcase. The yelling had escalated but the old guy was refusing to register any delay to his plan.