ECLECTIC
CLATTER
A
warm light fills the tent. We
unzip the door and gaze at
the red sun rising out of the
mountain. It’s peaceful,
all we can hear are birds
chirping and the soft trickle
of water from a nearby stream. It’s
everything you’d expect from waking
up in Japan - until the eclectic clatter
of motorcycles kicks in.
A diesel Royal Enfield putters into
life as a revving Ducati Multistrada
competes next to it. A chopped-up
hog fires up and drowns them both
out. A couple polish their Fireblades’
wheels as two young Marlon Brando’s
zip up their cafe racer jackets. There
are motorcyclists everywhere, they
don’t know each other and it’s not a
ride out or club meeting. It’s just a
typical morning at a free Japanese
campsite.
Alissa fires up our stove and we
invite our neighbours for green tea.
They bow in thanks and share fruit
in exchange. Half an hour later and
TRAVERSE 85
the Japanese are all neatly packed,
the grass has been combed clean and
they’re all riding off in different direc-
tions. Nowhere near as efficient as
our Japanese counterparts, we’re last
to leave as always. We load up our
bikes and pick a fresh squiggly line
on the map.
We click into gear and chase a new
road along the Pacific Coast shoreline
towards Japan’s southern islands and
away from the cities. We left them
behind months ago. They’re mag-
nificent explosions of culture, neon
lights and new and old architecture,
but crowded, expensive and not fun
to ride through. Riding anywhere
near them on national roads is free
but agonisingly slow. There is an
expressway, but you need to remort-
gage your house to use it. So, we stick
to twisty back-roads that lace their
way round green cliff edges and flow
beside sparkling blue water. We stop
to slurp noodles, eat fresh fish, sip
steaming tea and gaze at the beauty of