Chapter 15: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next day dawned nice and sunny. That and a good night's sleep made me eager to get going. I gulped down my Japanese breakfast and dashed back to my room to collect my things.

“We're going to have to do a lot of putting today, little buddy, if we want to make it to Muroto-misaki.”

Be-Beep!

We got out of the suburbs of Tokushima within half an hour. Route 55 first took us through some low mountains that were more like hills and very green. Then it took us somewhat along the coast but still stayed far enough away from it that I couldn't get any good views. But south of the fishing village of Mugi Route 55 hugged the coast, occasionally took us through more fishing villages with houses even more cramped together than those fishing villages along Lake Biwa and crossed us over the border into Kochi Prefecture, the largest in area in Shikoku.

“Look at that seascape little buddy! Just like John promised.”

Be-Beep!

Farther south, “Hey little buddy, this seascape is so beautiful I'm going to stop and take some pictures. And let your engine cool off a bit.”

Be-Beep!

The traffic thinned out the farther south we putted making the driving even easier. From time to time a tour bus fumed by.

Must be heading for the cape, too.

As we putted through the small fishing village of Toyo, we passed a road sign reading “Muroto-misaki 35.”

From there on there were no more fishing villages to go through. Just one long magnificent seascape to the east and low lying mountain ridges way to the west. I stopped us several more times to snap photos.

But as we were putting around one of the curves I damn near rammed us into the last person in a long line of others tramping along the highway and would have run her over if I hadn't slowed for the curve. As I putted us much more slowly along the line I noticed they were mostly elderly, all dressed in white, wearing round pointed straw hats with handwritten Japanese script painted on them and most were carrying tall wooden staffs of some sort, lots with jingling bells attached to their tops

After we finally passed by the leader of the line I sped us up. “Looks like some kind of pilgrimage, little buddy. But don't they know it's dangerous to be hiking in a group like this along a national highway?”

Beeep!

I noticed the people in most of the few cars that passed around us were all dressed in white, too.

When we got within 15 kilometers of the cape a southerly breeze started up and quickly turned into a wind blowing stronger and stronger, forcing me to downshift into second to push against it. By the time we were within five kilometers the headwind was gusting so hard I had to downshift into first. Even after twisting the throttle all the way out, it was all I could do to creep us along at less than ten kilometers an hour.

“I don't know what's causing this headwind, little buddy. But keep chugging! We're really close now.”

Beeep!

At last we putted into the parking lot with a large sign reading “Welcome to Muroto-misaki.”

“Great going, little buddy! You got us here!”

Be-Beep!

I went to the edge of the viewing platform and looked down at the waves crashing onto the rocks that formed the very tip of the cape. The view was spectacular and definitely worth all the pushing against that headwind to get here. I pulled out my pocket camera, flicked the lens guard aside, snap-thumbed, snap-thumbed, snap-thumbed three fast photos, quickly flicked the guard back over the tiny lens to protect it from the saltwater ocean spray the wind was slamming against us.

“Hey little buddy, let's get our picture taken in front of this sign to show we made it!”

Be-Beep!

I asked a guy dressed in a motorcycle suit, “Excuse me, could you please take a picture of me and my cub in front of this sign for Muroto-misaki?”

“Be glad to.”

After he handed my camera back, I asked, “Want me to take a picture of you with your bike, too?”

“No, that's OK. I've been here several times already.”

He disappeared behind a large camping van where I guessed he'd parked his bike. I was expecting to see him ride out on a bike like Kenji's back in Shirakawa. Suddenly Bada-BOOM!Bada-Boom!Bada-boom!boom!boom!boom! erupted from behind the camping van. And out he boom!boom!ed riding a Harley Davidson!

“A Harley? In Japan? How does he keep that thing on the road, little buddy?”

Beeep!

He flashed me a V-sign. I had no chance to V-sign back before he boomb!boom!ed out the parking lot and bada-boom!Boom!BOMB!ed up the highway to way past 60 in three seconds flat.

“My God, little buddy, he's still only in second! I knew Harleys were powerful. But I didn't know they were that powerful!

Beeep!

As we putted out of the parking lot a tour bus fumed in and flushed out all its passengers.

“They're all dressed in white, too! And most are carrying those staffs. Who the hell are they?”

Beeep!

We putted out on the highway past a cobblestone pathway leading up a hill with stone lanterns lining either side. White-clad people were climbing up it, too.

“Must be some kind of long entranceway to a temple. But anyway little buddy, this time that headwind is going to be a tailwind and blow us so fast we just might catch up with that Harley!”

Be-Beep

Except it didn't.

What little wind there was kept changing directions. “This wind's kind of a letdown, huh little buddy?”

Beeep!

By now I just wanted to get us to next fishing village and find a place to stay while I still had enough time to do a little sightseeing.

Submitted: June 04, 2020

Romance romance japan gaijin travel-in-japan japan-1970s

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B Douglas Slack

Did quite a bit of seashore-combing myself. Misawa was right at the very northeast tip of Honshu in Aomori Prefecture. The tiny fishing villages were a real treat to the palate when any fish dinner was eaten. Loved the sea bass and squid. When I was there, any of the fishing float glass balls had to be returned to the village for re-use. It was not required, but customary.

Bill

Mon, June 8th, 2020 3:52pm