A Volcano and a Bicycle: Lessons I learned
- Lowell Sheppard
- Jun 15
- 4 min read
Updated: Jun 18
How a Volcano and a Flat Tire Helped Prep Me for the Biggest Challenge of My Life, and How It May Help You Too!
Twenty-five years ago, I stepped off a ferry from Osaka, having arrived in Shibushi Bay in southern Kyushu. From there, I cycled 125 kilometers to one of Japan’s most active volcanoes, Sakurajima, or Cherry Blossom Island. It was a dramatic and symbolic beginning to what would become an epic bicycle journey the length of Japan.
I was 45 years old. Not particularly fit. Not experienced in long-distance cycling. But I was about to embark on a 3,000-kilometer ride from south to north, chasing the fleeting beauty of Japan’s cherry blossoms, and, perhaps unknowingly, a more profound sense of myself.
With a brand-new bike, some modest training, a stack of paper maps in my panniers, and a book contract obligating me to write about my journey, I pedaled out of Shibushi Port toward the smoking giant that would host my first night.
I revisited that island today, the first time in 25 years. I had wanted to be here for my 70th birthday three months ago, but alas, the sea and sickness prevented me. But as I am here today, I am reminded again of how on that first day, three lessons emerged, uninvited, unmissable. I didn’t go looking for them.
It sounds a tad corny, but it is as if they rose up like the island’s volcanic steam, subtle, powerful, and unforgettable. Here they are:
1. Face the fear early, so it doesn’t ride with you.
I wasn’t afraid of mountains or long distances. What worried me most was a flat tire. I’m not mechanically inclined, and the thought of fumbling with tire levers, patches, and inner tubes on the roadside made me anxious.
So naturally, within five kilometers of setting off, I had my first puncture.
I had to stop, unload the panniers, flip the bike, and get to work. No one was coming to help. But I managed it. Slowly, awkwardly, but successfully. And when I got back on the saddle, something unexpected had changed.I no longer feared the puncture.
That early mishap, rather than ruining the start, freed me. I had faced my fear head-on and left it behind, right there on the roadside.
It became an important lesson for me: Better to meet your fear early, before it follows you like a pesky dog nipping at your heels.
2. The Right Kind of Exhaustion
By the time I reached the hostel on Sakurajima that night, I had cycled 125 kilometers.
My legs were screaming. My back ached. My body was wrecked. But I was glowing.
There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t empty you, it affirms you. That day, I felt both pain and pride.I had set a goal, stuck with it, and achieved it. And despite the soreness, or maybe because of it, I slept deeply, feeling not just tired, but earned tired.
That day reminded me that Exhaustion from purpose feels better than rest without it.
3. Lighten the Load
I had tried to pack light. But that night, in the cramped room of the hostel, I laid out all my gear and realized I was still carrying too much.
Books I wouldn’t read. A camera I wouldn’t use. “Just-in-case” items that only added weight. That morning, I made a decision: I cut my luggage in half, from 20 kilos to 10.
And I felt it immediately, on my back, on my bike, and in my mind.
I learned that the lighter you are, the further you travel in every sense.
Back to the Beginning, and What It Set in Motion
Now, twenty-five years later, I’ve returned to Sakurajima, not by bike this time, but once again by ferry. The volcano still smolders. The mountain hasn’t moved. But I have.
I no longer carry fears about flat tires. I still embrace the right kind of exhaustion. And I continue to lighten my load, on the road, and in life.
That first long ride across Japan wasn’t just a physical challenge. It was a harbinger, awakening something in me, a love for solo journeys, for slow travel, for discovering meaning between the miles. And in many ways, it planted the seed for Pacific Solo, years before I laid eyes on Wahine, the Sailing Boat that was to become my home, by vessel, my life laboratory, and my writing room.
That journey taught me how to move forward even when unsure, how to listen to the land and the elements, and how to keep showing up, even when I was sore, scared, or overwhelmed.
Some journeys don’t need to be repeated to remain relevant. They need to be honored. And sometimes, returning to where it all began.
This island started a story I’m still writing.
Your Turn: What Will Your Journey Teach You?
Not every journey begins beside a volcano. But every meaningful journey, whether on a bicycle, in a business, in a relationship, or aboard a boat, requires something similar: courage to begin, stamina to continue, and wisdom to carry less than you think you need.
So, let me ask you:
What’s the “flat tire” you’re afraid of facing? What kind of exhaustion might be worth embracing? And what are you carrying that you could let go of today?
Here`s A Simple Exercise Before You Begin Your Next Big Journey
Take 10 minutes today, just 10, and write down.
1. One fear that might arise early in your journey. How could you prepare for it, or even welcome it as your first teacher?
2. One success marker that will remind you, even when tired, that you’re moving forward. What will make the pain feel worth it?
3. One thing you can leave behind. Physically, mentally, or emotionally—what weight can you drop to move lighter and further?
“Clarity often comes not from more planning, but from less baggage.”
If you're planning your adventure, be it a solo project, a personal reinvention, or a literal voyage, know this: You don’t have to be 100% ready. You never are. You have to begin.
No matter how much you train, the first week in the saddle is your true teacher. That’s when your body adapts, the pain starts to ease, and a rhythm emerges.
