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@xDOMx
Challenges are often subjectively perceived. Some take pleasure in learning new skill sets, some in pushing their bodies past limits that they thought insurmountable. Earlier this year, what I considered to be challenging altered inconceivably when I was the victim of a near-fatal hit and run whilst on the way to work and, at that moment, the goalposts moved irreversibly.
During my initial recovery, I had to be careful of over-exertion, largely due to brain surgery and a consequential partial loss of equilibrium, as well as not being able to put any weight on my (now heavily plated) wrist. For this reason, the road back has been long, fraught, and mentally and physically painful.
With my pre-incident condition weighing heavy on mind during the hardest, darkest days immediately following discharge from hospital, I felt impelled to push myself beyond my previous longest single ride of around 182km; partially to achieve something relatively unique within cycling and partially not to be beaten by the crash.
This ride would take in 5 of the 47 prefectures in Japan, traverse the country from the Pacific Ocean to the Sea of Japan, and be comprised of over 350km of distance and over 2,000m of elevation gain (the goal being to complete it and be back in Tokyo in under 24 hours). Ultimately, one is faced with a beautifully simple set of options; withdraw before the start, start and scratch, or finish.
Having fastidiously planned and taken tips off of some other ultra-distance cyclists (thanks to Neil Phillips and Tim Pulleyn), at 20:30 on Saturday 12 November 2016, a group of 6 of us rolled out from Kasairinkaikoen (on the Eastern coast of Japan) with the goal of traversing the width of Japan to Naoetsu, Niigata (on the Western coast of Japan); 5 bound for Niigata and 1 committed to leading the group down the Arakawa safely and quickly.
The starting stretch of 90km or so ran down the Arakawa River, a familiar stretch of cycle road to the pack that took on a different nature during night riding with the occasional ‘road furniture’ requiring vigilance and good paceline etiquette. Due to the support of a rider who’d only join for the first part of the ride, we could push a relatively hard pace (albeit this had the effect of pushing my heart rate past what I’d imagined I’d be doing early in the ride). Unfortunately this is where we lost one from the ride due to a knee injury sustained on his way to the starting point. When you lose someone during a ride, an ensuing element of self-doubt is inevitable and our thoughts remained with him throughout the remaining distance.
Almost on the stroke of midnight, we crossed to the Tonegawa River and stopped in a konbini, something which allowed us to travel a little lighter than if we were stowing all our food onboard. On crossing to this new river, the mood was electric, despite noticing an immediate drop in temperature down below 5°C and that we were now cycling into what was only a moderately strong, but entirely unwelcome, headwind.
With the cold and the required effort, apprehension and self-doubt about whether I could even complete the challenge crept in, but the camaraderie buoyed me through any issues arising relatively early on. There was no doubt in my mind that, far from this being a merely physical challenge, my mental state would be the deciding factor in completing or scratching.
Around 3am, in what I gathered would be the most psychologically arduous time (the 3am to 6am time slot where the body is ordinarily in deep sleep), we came off the river near Takasaki (Gunma prefecture) and hit the only major highway for a short period of time during which we were barraged by haulage vehicles, bright lights, exhaust fumes and narrow misses. The night had been long, the sleep deprivation and exertion formidable.
With this short run being dispatched nervously yet hastily, we passed Lake Usui, dealt with some minor elevation and entered the first major climb of the ride, Nakasendō, an area within which some roads had been created during the 8th century and used into the early Edo period and beyond. This long climb was only disturbed by the occasional sounds of the abundant wildlife in the area and, later on in the climb, the sound of ostentatious drift cars sliding obliquely around the switchbacks as we passed them, grinding up the ascent in the opposite direction.