Free Living

Up at 6am. Get dressed, get psyched, get on my bike. Today, I’m cycling to Haguro.

I’m up early to try and beat the heat. Midday can be a killer in August, the hottest month of the year. And all I’ve got to protect me is my baseball cap. But I don’t need anything else, because I’ve got a bike. It has been at least 6 years since I’ve had a bike, and I didn’t even realised I missed it until I got back on the seat. This bike has become a part of me since I have arrived here. It’s how I get to work, how I go shopping, how I go to the bank and the post office, how I explore my new home and now, how I work out. I grab a bottle of electro-whatsits (the appetisingly named Pocari Sweat) from the first vending machine I meet, check my map one last time and then push off.


Cycling is common here, almost more so than walking. Testament to this is the surprising number of small bike shops scattered around the city. Bikes are everywhere, but not bikes like mine. They're all some kind of a standard-issue grey uni-sex bike that comes with between one and four gears, a pitiful generator powered lamp and a less than majestic basket attached to the handlebars. It has been decided by popular consensus that this is all that anyone could ever need in a bike. Popular concensus is clearly wrong. My neighbour, to my constant amusement, has such a bike. I don’t. I have a real bike.

My black-beauty and I power out of the city in twenty-first gear, over the river and east. The daily humidity has a tendency to haze out the horizon ever so slightly as the temperature rises, obscuring the far off countryside. It’s early in the morning though, and right now the view is particularly clear. And what a view.

Directly north of my home city is a stretch of flat land which runs about 40km alongside the Sea of Japan. Everywhere else? Mountains. Flying into the regional airport after leaving Tokyo my first week here, all we could see below us was rice fields, forests, valleys and mountains. And mountains. And mountains. The “Yama” in Yamagata? It means mountain. Yeah.

Almost every direction I look there are folds of earth and woodland pushing up from the ground. Considering that technically I’m hemmed in, surrounded by these mounds of rock and soil, I feel amazingly liberated. Something about mountains just makes me feel free. Staring out to my left at a peak far in the distance which easily pierces the clouds, the wind whipping warmly across my face and the road stretching out in front of me, I couldn’t be happier. But enough daydreaming, I’m on my way to Haguro.

The road begins a steady incline which gradually steepens as I approach my goal, 16km from my apartment. I have to take the last kilometre in first gear, each push making frustratingly little progress. And then I’m there. Haguro. Which means things are about to get tough. Dismounting my bike, I pass beneath the moss-covered stone of the Torii gate which marks the entrance to a holy place. Haguro is the first of the Dewa Sanzan, the sacred trio of mountains which can be found, well, pretty much in my back garden. Each mountain has a temple on top and the three should be visited in order. Haguro-san, Gas-san and Yudono-san. Visitors are asked not to tell others about what they discover in the final temple. Gotta find out for yourself. And I intend to, before the mountain pass becomes inaccessible due to snowfall in late Autumn.

Haguro is the little brother of the three, standing at only just over 400 meters tall. Reaching the summit can be done in less than half an hour, but Haguro isn’t famous for nothing. Two thousand four hundred and sixty six stone steps lead to the top. It is, and shall always be, the original Stairmaster. The entire path is lined with beatiful, reddish brown cedar trees shooting straight up into the sky, but my eyes mostly stay focused on the next step as I will my legs to keep pushing. I’m painfully aware that once I reach the top, I still need to go all the way back.

Dripping with sweat, I wash myself with the cool, fresh water in the pool provided for pilgrims before stepping into the temple grounds. I take a deep breath, remind myself that the stopwatch is running, drain the last of my salty, sugary sports drink and make my way back down the narrow, uneven steps.

Back on my bike, I am delighted to be reminded that physics is a wonderful, wonderful thing. A kind, and merciful friend. As I look down at the curving, sloped road before me, I think it may even be my best friend. I push down on the pedal just once, before free-wheeling at least three kilometres down the now defeated mountain.

I’m exhausted, full of endorphines and slightly dehydrated. I’m not going to lie, I think I may be a little high. The cool air is keeping me awake, but my brain ain’t doing much. I’m enjoying the panorama, the smell of the fields and the tingle of the sun, now hotter in the sky. Speed limits in Japan are very, very low. On my bike, I can almost keep pace with the occasional car that shares the road with me. I feel so happy that I think I’ll start looking for that really tall mountain again, the one in the distance. It’s to my right now, isn’t it? But I can’t see it, and I feel strange staring straight past the car that has almost pulled level with me. I want to let it pass, but he just seems to want to match my speed and stay parallel. It’s weirding me out. Am I doing something wrong? Does he want to say something? I look right at him and he slows. Slows considerably. And something catches my eye on the road ahead. Something red.

My bike lets out a screeching sound, first from the back brake, then from the front, like I remember learning. Gravel skips and jumps under my wheels as I come to a sudden stop at the edge of the intersection. For which I have a red light.

As the crossing traffic trundles by, I briefly take stock of the situation. The hardest, toughest, most protective thing I’m wearing right now, is the peak of my cap.

I don’t know why parents worry about their children leaving home. I’m going to be juuuuuust fine.