Oyama to Yaita

Day two was not about freshness or excitement. It was about grind. Eight and a half hours of steady kicking, sixty-four kilometres in total, and the hills beginning to rise.

We found places to stop where we could. A patch of shade outside a shop, bottles lined up at our feet, silence between us while we caught our breath.

The road gave us one clear marker. A small Route 4 sign, nothing special, just a number: 100 km to Tokyo. We stood there for a photo, smiling because it meant something. For me, Route 4 carries memories from 2017, when I spent days moving along it. Coming back felt like reconnecting with an old part of myself.

The rest of the day blurred into repetition. Kick, roll, pause. Trucks passing, towns slipping by. No drama, just the slow work of distance.

By the time we reached Yaita, the tiredness was heavy. Hotel Route Inn gave us a place to stop, nothing more needed. Dinner was curry rice with hamburger steak, miso soup, a salad, and cold Asahi. Ordinary food, but it landed perfectly.

This is the beauty of Japan. There is always somewhere to get a drink or some food. The roads are always clean and nice.