...the perfect answer, perfect timing, perfect match, the perfect wave, a perfect...what does it mean to have attain perfection?
An issue of absolute correctness? The vacancy of faults? "The highest degree of proficiency, skill, or excellence"? Surely that's part of it but not all of perfection. Some things are completly subjective - a perfect meal.
Not only had we camped under the ideal outdoor gazebo (about as good as you're going to get it while cyclo touring), we woke up in an hidden ropes-course playground. This morning is going to be fun =)
Growing up for me has come to mean the reconciliation of responsibilities with respect for selected expectations. It does not mean missing out on having fun!
Failing to remember all the slides I spent gliding down (and up) in my preadolescent youth, the pile of cardboard at the bottom of the slide quickly reminded me why by butt and bottom legs were so sore after the ride.
Each "stage" in the park has it's own dedicated space and feel. This one in particular was selected for it's view.
Go, admiring what is set out before him.
Taking photos of Fuji is so easy, she is so photogenic.
My new favorite profile picture.
Enough messing around on slides and ropes, we were newly invigorated with passion and stamina inspired by the magnificent view, we packed quicky and made our way closer into town for breakfast.
We knew we had to eat big. Usually, I love to ride and then eat. However, no food along the way up the great mountain meant it would be the opposite today. Protein, carbs, protein!
As we cycled through town we noticed a masse of people, usually a sweet indication of festivities of the carnival variety.
I knew I was going to have one as soon as I saw these strange bananas. On such a hot lovely summer's day, frozen bananas are an excellent treat! So I was so ready I try one, though it did not turn out to be frozen. The treat, still very much to my liking, is dipped in a yogurt type frosting shell with nuts and stripped with chocolate. Never again have I seen or tasted such a treat.
One last shot of the distant challenge before the climb.
Roll a ball down this hill and it won't stop for a good amount of time.
Go keeping pace! I only lost him a few times, otherwise he was right behind or next to me the whole way up.
Couldn't pass up this photo opp - Golden state California bear silhouette; gold and black - go Bears!!
The last five kilometers are killer.
Seeing the top of Fuji for the fist time since the morning.
Victory!! The road ends for us here, nothing more to cycle up. Even in a nauseous spin of fatigue, I can still force a smile. Today's achievent captivates for a moment my confidence, and I let the feeling of illimitness imprint my aspirations.
Supper stoked to have a friend with me, these achievements aren't as special if you don't share them. I know Go was tired and cold as I was, proud of us. "Best Golden week - ever", were his words.
Immediatly, the cold struck my chest and fingers when we got off our bikes. Thinking ahead, we brought pants and layers for the descent.
A view outward from the top.
The initial down was as bad as the last part up. Above the tree line where nothing grows, it's so cold that my fingers began to turn blue, my breath could be used to make smoke signals seen from miles away, I couldn't feel my ears, my feet were positively numb and felt like lead weights rather than lower bodily appendages.
Maybe we were foolish. We had already completed what we wet out to do, get to Fuji, up and down in four days. Now complete, we were still against the clock. Go will have class tomorrow and we had to get him back on time.
And now, the well deserved tall Asahi supper dry cold beer enjoyed in a cushioned reclining seat going 100km an hour. We'll be home in two hours what it took three days to cycle.
Maybe my description of the epic summit continues to linger anticlimactically, like how that final one day of graduation somehow doesn't wiegh out all the sleepiness nights of writing and studying it took to get there. Certainly it's an achievement to grow on, though perhaps one that's appreciation will come over time. Now, I'm heavy with exhaustion. My fingers are still numb and my stomach woozy with the speed of the train.
Today began with the most perfect weather. Even though I was raised on the Golden coast where almost everyday is beautiful, there are those few days that truly stand out - the sun is not overbearing, the moisture in the air is light and cool, the wind blows gently and you never need a second layer even after the sun has long past set. Those days stand out.
I've spent enough lazy hours laying on soft grass under palm trees to predict that today, at the edge of Fuji, the weather will shine like a perfect Californian day.
The morning came with Christmas. We climbed yesterday in complete darkness to the top of a small hill in hopes of discovering there a park to camp, indicated only by a small patch of questionable green that easily could have been a small forest of thicket instead. We stumbled around and made out a covered structure; that was good enough. I was surprised and happy then to see where luck had planted us in the morning.
Yes there is snow at the top of Fuji. However, snow need not fall the night before to enjoy this man made slope. Grab a sled and race!
Classic playground main-stays such as monkey bars, rope bridges, and a baseball diamond decorated the park, yet here I rather be, ready at the top of a slide designed for children much smaller than me, looking out onto the world of possibilities like a currious youth, peaked with optimism and ambitions.
View from the top. We were fortunate to arrive with today's weather. Yesterday was so foggy and cloudy that Fuji could be seen but through a haze of merky air that fuzzed the impact of Fuji's awe-mazing presence.
We were right. A huge Sunday spring/summer festival began with propped up tents filled with dart games, toy fishing, wooden mazes, air gun ranges, face painting, toy shops, amulet bazzars, and others preparing delectable sweetsfrying or the drying of food. A perfect distraction.
Now, I've been away from my home for a long time. And since then, the biggest socio-environmental differnece I feel is the ubiquity of temples and shrines. Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Thaialnd, and Japan are all ornamented with temples (Singapore less so but not without) visitors come from all around the world to see/pray in.
And for the most part, I simply pass on by. Ruins are more fun to look at and walk through, for me, because my upbringing was simply not religiously enclined enough to be impressed by places of warship. Perhaps that is why I am inclined to the Shinto approach in subtlety.
That being said, I do pray at each temple I see. Out of respect, sure; though also to broaden my hoizens in an area of Life I have little practice in. However, all that being said, Japanese shrines are the only ones I feel comfortable praying in. Let me explain.
Simplicity. The shires here are not adorned with gold or massive imitations of God or Bhuddah, they do not intimidate you like the great cathedrals ceilings or finely crafted mosques; there is no social pressure forced upon you, no guilt in approaching the space; there is no reluctance of obligation, and no scheduled conformity. It is, as shallow as I understand it through practice, an indipendant and highly personal action.
And so I prayed. To the god(s) of mountains and Fuji herself, for a safe journey Go and I were off to begin right now.
Fuji looks so far away, though it's incline can already be felt. Up, up, up...
The climb itself can be analogized to the three types of environments Fuji exhibits.
Here, the first stage is heavy with the scent of bark and crisp leaves. Shade provides for a cool ascent but do not be fooled. Although the climb is a mere 31km, this stage is unlike the rest. This 5% incline is the warm up. I hope you stretched this morning.
We decided to go at our own pace. Cycling uphill, when done correctly, is never about "the push." You shouldn't be cranking down on your pedals with too much force or cycle around them needlessly in too low a gear. For me it's about maintaining that perfect momentum. There's a feeling of equilibrium when your momentum is effortlessly perpetuated by your contribution, but would be too weak to begin with. Finding that place, and the perfect gear for the job, comes with practice and good thinking.
At around 13km left to go on the climb, you are thrown into overdrive. This is stage two.
The greenery of the trees are all shriveled away by the encroaching snow. The ground feels heavier, thicker, and the air begins to sting, you check your water bottles and hope there'll be a fountain somewhere, or better, a hot spring. Don't be fooled, allusions, illusions, and mirages all come with the rapid change of temperature and elevation suddenly slammed into your physic and psyche. Also, a real incline sets in. You're now looking at about 10% incline for the very foreseeable future.
Snow, steep, dark, and no one around. At least the roads are maintained.
The Sun shines in your face two fold, directly and once again off the snow; hands begin to tingle from resting so long in cold space, the lips get chapped and break...and I was so hungry/tired that I almost threw up twice. Yes.
All of that, and in addition, the strangest sensation I have ever since felt. A contradiction. The maintenance of sustaining that upward momentum was keeping me warm, indeed I didn't feel like I needed another layer other than the single Tshirt and shorts I began with. Yet, my outsides were cold and the sweat that dripped off me came to a frozen halt; lines of white crystals streaked my face and arms. Simultaneously cold and hot, the equilibrium of homeostasis in conjunction with that maintence of momentum - I'll never forget that feeling of gagging efficiency.
It's worth it. I've mentioned the processes of thought which enter one's mind as you keep that uphill climb in previous posts. So let's skip that part. Rather, more personally, I'll tell you the subject of those processes included facing many inward daemons over the four hour climb, and a confrontation with a recurring nightmare I now believe to have solved. Also, I know now what I've been looking for.
One last victory photo for the time.
By the time we had conquered Fuji it was already past five. We knew it would be getting dark soon. Checked my brakes and tire pressure and down we went.
One minute into the down and I slammed my breaks. My fingers were so cold from the additional wind chill that they really hurt me, like a drunk acupuncturist pushing needles in way too deep paired with slamming your hand in a heavy wooden door, twice. Rubbing them together and shoving them under my armpits for warmth, I gave the signal that I was ready and we tried the descent again. This time, all the way down on one push off the ground.
In thirty minutes we somehow managed to inquire about tickets, handle the luggage off our bikes, take off front wheels, racks, and pedals, slip the bikes inside RINKO bags (a necessity for train rides), throw all our luggage into bigger single bags, haul the bike and bags across the terminal and up the stairs at the perfect time - just as the bullet train approached.
Yet I say that if you love something, you also hate it. You must, even if just a little. There are days when I curse cycling; days when I wish my bike frame would break in half so I'd have an excuse to fly home; days when I tell myself how stupid I am for riding alone through deserts/mountains; there are days I want to quit.
The converse is only sometimes true. Hate can contain a twisted, abscured, unrefined love in it (as I hated reading when I was a child). There is also just hate. My point is that Love and Hate punctuated the day, praising the Natural beauty and opportunity, cursing the climb and feelings of surrender. And still, somehow, it all led up to the perfect day.
Much love, stay close.
-A
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