Nana has been after me for a couple of weeks about any word from José, and it wasn’t until Saturday that I realized what she was after: we’d been to Aizu-Wakamatsu, and she wanted to know when I was going to hand over the omiyage from that trip. I hadn’t yet decided on the route for my ride on Sunday, but this helped give me direction. I contacted José, and we agreed to meet up outside his flat at 8:30.

I was wondering Saturday evening if the bottle of saké would fit in the front bags, and then when I woke up Sunday I realized this would be a perfect use for the Ortlieb trunk bag.

I was making pretty good time in preparation but I realized I wouldn’t leave in time for the 8:30 meet-up, so I messaged José it might be 9 or 9:30. And then when I arrived in the parking garage at 8 a.m. sharp, it was only to discover Kuroko’s front tire was basically flat. I used the hand pump and was making good progress for the first few dozen strokes. I’d just reached 90-100 strokes when I tugged a bit too hard and the nozzle popped off the valve. And then while trying to reseat it, I had a good look and saw I’d really bent the valve core in the process. In fact it was bent quite a bit more than it was just over a week ago when I noticed the same issue (and replaced it on that occasion).

Rather than fight again with the hand pump, I took the elevator back to the Workshop in the Sky and fetched the floor pump. With that, it was just a minute’s work to replace the bent valve core and inflate the tire to the proper pressure. While I had the pump, I gave the rear tire a boost as well. At last at 8:33 I messaged José I was on the way.

I’d been updating José on my progress throughout the morning, including a photo from the Imperial Palace — just 10 minutes from his flat. And yet when I arrived, there was no response. I waited more than 10 minutes, ringing him from time to time, and then continued on my way.

I’d planned to reach the Arakawa and then head upstream to a point where it was a straight shot due south back to home on Yamate Dori. But with my omiyage yet to be delivered, I adjusted my plan to ride around the top of Tokyo Bay and return on Eitai Dori — the way I’d come. That was fine with me: there are a lot of sights along the way.

It was while I was cycling around the perimeter of Wakasu Seaside Park that my phone beeped to let me know that José was alive and well. He’d overslept, which was no surprise. I let him know where I was and said it would be an hour or so before I was back in his vicinity. At the stone garden by Tokyo Gateway Bridge I topped up my water bottle from a vending machine before heading back into traffic.

On my way back towards Shin Kiba, the wind was at my back for the first time all day, and I set a PR, covering portions of the ride at 30km/h without breaking my nonbiri pace. I turned west on Eitai Dori back into the city, picking up a silent tail-gunner at Kiba who followed me until the bridge over Sumida river, where he passed, upright, casual, in civvies, without a bye-your-leave.

The delivery, at last

José was awake and waiting for me at Yasuhira Shrine when I returned. I handed over the bottle of saké and some miso for his new bride, and he gave me a miniature bottle of Scotch and some dashi in exchange. In all we spent about 20 minutes catching up and making plans before I continued on my journey home.

No sooner had I got back to the main streets than I encountered a police officer at the intersection. They’d been out in force all day, and I was taking care in light of the new enforcement regulations which took effect at the beginning of the month. (The new regulations allow police to cite cyclists with a fine for traffic offenses, bypassing the court procedures of a formal traffic violation.)

After a slow but uneventful climb up Kudanzaka, I arrived at Budokan and Chidorigafuchi. For some inexplicable reason I neglected my usual photo of Tayasumon Gate, a favorite. I sat at a shaded bench in Chidorigafuchi and ate the last of the onigiri. I had just enough water to reach home, and not a drop more. At 1:30, I messaged Nana I’d be home by 2:30 and set out on the final stretch.

The route home was marked by a commuter bus that blocked a downhill run, forcing me to climb the following rise from a standstill, and then waited patiently for me to execute a right turn at the next light; and a delivery cyclist on an electric motorcycle who insisted on cutting between me and the curb, forcing me in front of a car on the second pass. While waiting at a light near Shinjuku Gyoen I raised a fist in solidarity to some passing protesters carrying the flag of Palestine. And then it was simply me and the traffic and the lights for the remaining three kilometers or so to get home. I pulled to a stop at 2:12 and messaged Nana that I would soon be up.

On a moving time of 3:28:16, I averaged 17.5km/h, which is certainly a nonbiri pace. I rode a nearly identical route last August (omitting the two stops at José’s liar) at 58.45km in an elapsed time of 4:56 and a moving time of 3:10:04, for 18.5km/h. I’m absolutely fine with the current pace, but need to build up the distance (and lose some weight) leading up to a reprise in September of the Tour de Tohoku.