Yet some of my most memorable days in Japan were spent far from the country’s famous cities, pedaling along empty coastlines, through fishing villages, past steaming hot springs, and beneath the slopes of active volcanoes.

That is what drew me to cycling Kyushu.

Japan’s southernmost main island is often called the Land of Fire. Volcanoes have shaped its landscape for millennia, creating dramatic mountain scenery and some of the finest hot springs in the country. Yet for a cyclist, Kyushu offers much more than volcanoes. It is an island of rugged coastlines, offshore islands, historic ports, quiet farming valleys, and roads that seem made for bicycle travel.

My journey around Kyushu began in South Korea. After cycling across much of the Korean Peninsula, I boarded the overnight ferry from Busan to Fukuoka and arrived in Japan at sunrise. Standing on the deck as Kyushu emerged from the morning haze felt like the beginning of a new adventure.

Why Cycle Kyushu?

What struck me most about Kyushu was its variety.

One day I would be cycling beside the sea, passing fishing ports and tiny harbors where squid dried in the sun. The next day I would be climbing into forested mountains or crossing high volcanic plateaus.

The northwest coast around Karatsu, Matsura, and Hirado was among my favorite parts of the island. The roads were quieter than I expected, the scenery superb, and the villages retained a distinctly maritime character. Farther south, Nagasaki offered a fascinating blend of Japanese, Chinese, and European influences unlike anywhere else in Japan.

The route then led through the Amakusa Islands, one of the most beautiful coastal regions I encountered anywhere in the country. Here, narrow roads hugged rocky shorelines while fishing villages seemed suspended between sea and mountains.

The farther south I traveled, the more remote the journey became. Cape Toi, with its wild horses grazing above the ocean, felt a world apart from the urban centers of northern Kyushu.

Eventually the route turned inland toward Takachiho and Mount Aso, where the island reveals its volcanic heart.

What Makes Cycling in Japan Different?

Over the years I have cycled in dozens of countries, but Japan remains unique.

The roads are generally excellent. Even minor roads are paved and well maintained. Public bathrooms are frequent and remarkably clean. Convenience stores are everywhere and provide reliable access to food, drinks, and supplies.

Yet what I remember most is not the infrastructure.

It is the people.

Throughout Kyushu I repeatedly experienced small acts of kindness. A shopkeeper pointing me in the right direction. An onsen attendant charging my phone while I soaked in the hot pools. Local residents stopping to ask where I had come from and where I was going.

Even more striking was the road etiquette.

Drivers routinely slowed down, waited patiently, and often waved me through first. If one car stopped, every vehicle behind it stopped as well. I never heard a driver honk at me anywhere in Kyushu. On the contrary, drivers often smiled as they passed.

Years later, while cycling parts of Honshu along the Nakasendo and Tokaido routes, I found traffic noticeably busier and drivers somewhat less accommodating. Kyushu, by comparison, felt calmer and more relaxed.

Onsens: The Cyclist’s Reward

No discussion of cycling Kyushu would be complete without mentioning onsens.

After a long day in the saddle, few pleasures compare to soaking in naturally heated mineral water while looking out over mountains, forests, or the sea.

The volcanic activity that created Kyushu’s dramatic landscapes also created countless hot springs. Some are attached to hotels, others are public bathhouses, and many are found in small towns that owe their existence to geothermal activity.

I often planned my days around the possibility of finding an onsen in the evening.

Sometimes I camped afterward. Sometimes I continued cycling. But every visit left me feeling restored for the next day’s ride.

The Volcanic Heart of Kyushu

For many travelers, Mount Aso is the island’s defining landmark.

One of the world’s largest volcanic calderas, Aso dominates the center of Kyushu. Grass-covered hills rise toward smoking volcanic peaks, while roads cross the rim and descend into a vast landscape shaped by ancient eruptions.

Unfortunately, when I reached Aso the weather turned against me. Heavy rain, strong winds, and the remnants of a typhoon limited how much exploring I could do.

Yet even under grey skies, the scale of the caldera was unmistakable. The volcanic landscape remains one of the most memorable parts of the island.

Three Ways to Experience Japan by Bicycle

Every part of Japan offers something different.

For those interested in Japan’s wild northern landscapes, Hokkaido remains a favorite. Wide-open spaces, long distances, and lower population density create a cycling experience unlike the rest of the country.

For those drawn to history, culture, and the routes that shaped Japan for centuries, the old roads linking Tokyo and Kyoto provide an unforgettable journey through the country’s past.

Kyushu occupies a middle ground between the two.

It combines dramatic natural scenery with rich history, active volcanoes with coastal villages, and modern cities with remote countryside. It is perhaps the most varied cycling destination I have experienced in Japan.

For cyclists planning their first Japan tour, or for those returning to see a different side of the country, Kyushu deserves serious consideration.

Further Reading

If you are interested in bicycle touring Japan, go to:

Cycling Hokkaido: Exploring Japan’s Northern Frontier

Cycling the Old Roads of Japan: The Nakasendo and Tokaido Routes

Cycling Kyushu: Around Japan’s Land of Fire

Together, the three journeys offer very different perspectives on one of the world’s most fascinating countries.

Japan rewards those who slow down.

The farther you get from the bullet trains and crowded stations, the more likely you are to discover the quiet villages, hidden coastlines, mountain roads, and everyday encounters that make a journey truly memorable.

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First-time visitors often arrive with a mix of idealized expectations and logistical assumptions that don’t quite hold up once on the ground. Most mistakes aren’t dramatic. They’re subtle, cumulative, and easily avoided with a shift in mindset.

1. Trying to See Too Much

Japan rewards depth, not breadth. Packing too many destinations into a short trip often means spending more time on trains than in places. Cities like Tokyo and Kyoto are not single-day stops; they are layered environments that take time to absorb.

Choosing fewer bases and staying longer pays off.

2. Assuming Old Routes Still Exist as Routes

Historic names like Nakasendō and Tōkaidō suggest continuous, preserved roads. In reality, what remains are fragments—post towns here, stone paths there—interrupted by modern development.

This matters whether you’re walking, cycling, or driving. Expecting a continuous historic road leads to frustration. Accepting fragmentation leads to better decisions.

I address this head-on in Cycling the Old Roads of Japan, especially for travelers considering long-distance routes.

3. Underestimating Crowds—and Overestimating Tolerance

Japan handles crowds efficiently, but that doesn’t make them pleasant. Temple districts, transit hubs, and popular neighborhoods can be overwhelming, especially at peak times.

The mistake isn’t encountering crowds—it’s failing to plan around them. Early mornings, weekdays, and off-season travel make a dramatic difference.

4. Treating Transportation as the Experience, Not the Tool

Shinkansen travel is efficient and impressive, but hopping between cities without time to decompress can make Japan feel rushed and transactional. Local trains, walking, and cycling reveal far more texture.

Movement should support experience, not replace it.

5. Romanticizing Everything

Japan is not a theme park version of its past. It is modern, dense, functional, and sometimes messy. Convenience stores, expressways, tunnels, and suburbs are part of the landscape.

Accepting this makes the moments of beauty—temples, gardens, quiet streets—far more meaningful.

6. Ignoring Weather and Seasonality

Rain, heat, and humidity shape Japan more than many guidebooks admit. Autumn and spring are popular for good reason, but even then, weather can surprise you.

Build flexibility into your plans.

7. Thinking You’ll “Understand” Japan on One Trip

You won’t. And that’s not a problem.

Japan reveals itself slowly, across repeated visits and changing contexts. The goal of a first trip isn’t mastery—it’s orientation.

For travelers interested in moving through Japan at a human pace, with all its contrasts intact, I explore these themes in Cycling the Old Roads of Japan, tracing a full journey from Tokyo through Kyoto and back.

The biggest mistake isn’t getting something wrong. It’s rushing past what Japan quietly offers when you give it time.

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The stage from Minokamo to Gifu-Hashima, much of it paralleling the Kiso River, belongs firmly in the latter category.

On paper, it looks benign. The route trends gently downhill, the river offers open views, and historic Inuyama Castle lies along the way. But riding here today means sharing space with a constant stream of traffic—far more trucks than passenger cars—moving fast, close, and with little margin.

As the video shows, much of the riding happens on narrow shoulders or faded edge lanes. When the pressure becomes too much, the only escape is often the sidewalk—technically shared-use, but frequently overgrown with weeds, broken by curbs, or interrupted altogether. The choice becomes a familiar one: stay in traffic and tense up, or retreat to the sidewalk and accept slow, awkward progress.

This is not an isolated experience. It’s emblematic of what cycling the Nakasendō corridor often means today once you leave the preserved post towns behind. The historic road still exists in spirit, but the physical reality has been reshaped by modern logistics and industry. The river that once carried goods now parallels roads that move them faster, heavier, and in far greater volume.

And yet, moments still surface. A sudden glimpse of the river widening. The silhouette of Inuyama Castle rising above the trees. A brief stretch of quieter pavement that reminds you why you’re out here at all.

I share this stage not to discourage, but to be honest. Cycling Japan is not uniformly idyllic. Some days demand patience more than strength. Knowing that in advance helps you pace yourself—mentally as much as physically.

This stage, and others like it, are part of the broader story I tell in my recently published guide to cycling the Nakasendō and Tōkaidō. It’s a story of old roads that survive in fragments, of choices between romance and realism, and of learning when to push on—and when to roll past without stopping.

If you’re planning your own ride through Japan, or simply curious what cycling these historic corridors looks like today, I hope this glimpse adds clarity to the picture.

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Japan has long fascinated cyclists. Its reputation for safety, infrastructure, efficiency, and cultural depth makes it an alluring destination. Yet riding through Japan is rarely what first-time visitors imagine. The romantic image of quiet lanes, historic villages, and contemplative temples exists—but it exists alongside expressways, tunnels, dense urban sprawl, and relentless traffic.

That tension is exactly what drew me to cycle Japan again.

After earlier long tours around Kyushu and Hokkaido, I returned to Honshū to tackle a different idea: riding the country’s two great historic highways—the Nakasendō and the Tōkaidō—linking Tokyo and Kyoto, and then returning to Tokyo along a different corridor. What emerged was not just a route, but a lesson in how old roads survive (or don’t) in modern Japan.

The result is my newly published book, Cycling the Old Roads of Japan, now available in paperback.

Why the “Old Roads” Matter — and Why They’re Misunderstood

The Nakasendō once connected Edo (Tokyo) with Kyoto through the mountains, serving merchants, officials, and pilgrims. The Tōkaidō, by contrast, followed the Pacific coast and became the busiest artery of the Edo period. Both routes are often described as if they still exist in continuous, rideable form.

They don’t.

What remains today are fragments: preserved post towns, cedar-lined paths, stone markers, temple precincts, and place names embedded in modern development. Cycling these routes requires constant choice—when to detour, when to bypass, and when to accept that a highway or tunnel has replaced history entirely.

The book doesn’t attempt to reconstruct the past artificially. Instead, it documents what it’s actually like to ride these corridors today.

The Journey, in Brief

The journey unfolded as a loop:

• Tokyo — Several acclimatization rides inside the city to learn how to cycle safely in one of the world’s largest urban environments.
• Nakasendō — 12 cycling stages through the Japanese Alps, from the edge of Tokyo to Kyoto, navigating valleys, long climbs, rain, tunnels, and selective detours onto preserved walking sections.
• Kyoto and Nara — Ten days on foot and by bicycle, exploring temple districts and neighborhoods without trying to “see everything.”
• Tōkaidō — Eight stages returning east, following the modern coastal corridor, choosing continuity over nostalgia as time became more limited.

Throughout, I recorded daily tracks, noted practical realities, and reflected on what was worth lingering over—and what wasn’t.

Who This Book Is (and Isn’t) For

This is not a checklist guide. It won’t tell you to stop at every shrine or post town. Nor does it promise a traffic-free or idyllic ride.

Instead, it’s written for cyclists who:

• want a realistic understanding of riding in Japan,
• value context as much as scenery,
• appreciate candid discussion of weather, traffic, tunnels, and urban riding,
• and are comfortable making their own choices rather than following a rigid itinerary.

GPX files for each stage are included as optional references, not prescriptions. The book is structured, but flexible—meant to inform, not dictate.

Why I Wrote It

After decades of self-guided travel and more than forty published cycling guides, I’ve learned that the most useful information isn’t always the most romantic. It’s knowing what to expect, what to skip, and how to adapt when reality diverges from the plan.

Japan rewards that mindset. It is endlessly fascinating, deeply layered, and sometimes challenging in ways guidebooks gloss over. Cycling reveals all of it—good and bad—at the same human pace.

If you’re contemplating cycling in Japan, whether for a short section or a longer journey, I hope this book helps you decide not just where to go, but how to go.

Cycling the Old Roads of Japan: A Journey Along the Nakasendō and Tōkaidō, From Tokyo to Kyoto and Back is now available in PDF.

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