日本夏2026年 - Day 22 Hirado to Nagasaki
I slept well in Room 512 at the Kishotei in Hirado. Last night, I had gone up to the rooftop bath and soaked in the outdoor onsen, gazing across at the castle and Hirado Bridge in the distance. Heavy rain fell through the night, but I stayed warm, and all of my gear was dry by morning.
I had mapped out a new route to Nagasaki that avoided smaller roads. The plan was simple: get there and replace my broken saddle. At departure, the staff looked at me in disbelief as I stepped out into the torrential rain. To be fair, I wasn’t entirely convinced either. Staying another day would have been the sensible choice. Still, I pressed on.
I made a short stop at the Oranda Shōkan, the reconstructed Dutch trading post. Though the building itself is a replica, the artifacts offered a fascinating glimpse into the region’s history. From there, I rode to the emerald-green St. Francis Xavier Memorial Church, which I had spotted the night before from the onsen. There’s something quietly surreal about stepping into a Catholic church in Japan.
On my way out of town, I stopped at 7-Eleven for a café latte and a chocolate doughnut. Crossing the Hirado Bridge in a poncho, in the middle of a windstorm, was a nerve-wracking experience.
I pushed on, and eventually the rain eased. Along the route, I kept noticing Christian statuary—unexpected and striking—as well as repeated warnings for wild boar. Before long, the wind and rain returned as I climbed over a pass. A tunnel offered brief shelter, followed by a steep descent.
I knew another climb was coming, and I was already hungry. Sechibaru offered no food options, so I settled for a can of Georgia coffee from a vending machine. Then the road pitched upward again in a series of steep switchbacks. Ongoing drivetrain issues meant I couldn’t access my small chainring, so I resorted to using a stick to manually nudge the chain into place—a crude but effective solution that would define the rest of the day. My bike was in desperate need of a tune-up. Still, if all went according to plan, I’d be back in Tokyo a week from now.
At the top was a long, windy tunnel, nearly a kilometer in length. I had hoped the route would take me into central Sasebo, but instead it skirted the city. After another climb and tunnel, I passed Kawatani Dam and its reservoir.
Higher in the mountains, the fog thickened and visibility dropped. I switched on my rear light and radar before descending a narrow, steep road into Haiki. There, I spotted a bike shop and stopped. They had saddles in stock, but I hesitated. I didn’t want a temporary fix—I wanted an exact replacement for my Brooks. In hindsight, it may have been wiser to buy something as insurance. Instead, I gambled that my damaged saddle would hold until Nagasaki.
Hunger finally forced my hand. The first restaurant I tried wasn’t serving, but I soon found Ramen Akira, where I had a bowl of ramen, gyoza, a rice dish, and a draft beer. When I stepped back outside, the rain had intensified once again.
Leaving town required another climb before I dropped onto Route 202 toward Nagasaki—56 kilometers away. It was 3:40 PM.
I crossed the Saikaibashi Bridge into Saikai, then followed the coastline of Ōmura Bay. Even in the rain, it was beautiful—green, rounded islands dotting the water. I passed a Dutch-style windmill and a massive torii gate but didn’t have time to stop. I also rode past Nagasaki Bio Park.
The entire day had been a gamble. With the weather and mechanical issues, it wouldn’t have taken much to force an unplanned night under a bridge. But by 6:00 PM, I knew I would make it. I stopped at a 7-Eleven to book a hotel, then pushed on through the outskirts of the city, scanning for bike shops. As darkness fell, I switched on my lights.
Nagasaki sits in a long, narrow valley shaped by the Urakami and Nakashima Rivers as they empty into the harbor. Steep mountains rise on all sides, and the city climbs dramatically up their slopes, creating a dense, terraced landscape unlike anywhere else in Japan.
In the city center, I heard a rhythmic clicking sound I first mistook for a traffic signal. Then I noticed a small group of people chanting—it lingered in the air as I rode past.
I checked into my hotel, still without a new saddle. After a full day on a warped, unstable seat, I was sore in ways that were hard to ignore. The woman at the front desk smiled and assured me that tomorrow’s weather would be better.
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The day's weather forecast |
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| Obligatory Japanese bathroom sliipers |
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Christian themed reliefs |
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St. Francis Xavier Memorial Church, Hirado |
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St. Francis Xavier Memorial Church, Hirado |
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| Map/Elevation Profile |
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