I looked down at the curve I’d just driven Winter sunrise over the Kofu Basin from Tokakyo Bridge Park

I’d wanted to see the winter sun cast its first light across the Kofu Basin from Tokakyo Bridge Park. So I left home in Ariake while it was still pitch-black and headed west in my red 4WD sedan. It was a day trip, so I could take my time driving back once the basin was bright. After leaving the expressway, I passed through a town that still seemed to be getting ready for the day and made my way to Tokakyo Bridge. As I followed the bend, the bridge railing stretched ahead of me. I love following the road around a curve, turning the wheel little by little until the bend comes to an end. Today, I wanted to look back at that same road from above.

I turned right at the pink tank marking the way to the park’s car park. It’s a small car park, with space for about eight cars. I arrived while it was still dark; once I switched off the engine, everything around me was astonishingly quiet. It felt as if even the sound of my car door closing might carry all the way across the basin.

The park has upper and lower sections, joined by steps and paths. I climbed the steps from the car park. With every step, the view below opened up a little more. By the time I’d warmed up a bit inside my coat, I could see the bridge I’d just driven across below me. From up here, its enormous arc—something I hadn’t noticed behind the wheel—curved right around over the town. I couldn’t help tracing it with my finger. I’d just driven all the way around that curve.

The sky was still dark before sunrise, and orange streetlights glowed along the bridge. I’d read that the bridge lights are part of the view across the Kofu Basin at night. A few lights still dotted the town below, too. With the last traces of night mingling with the first hint of morning, I breathed little clouds into the cold air and waited for the sky to brighten.

Mt. Fuji lay far across the basin. Beyond the outline of the nearer mountains, I could see its snow-covered summit. I’d read that in winter the sun rises near Fuji, so I got my camera out and waited. I thought I was watching only the sky, but before I knew it, my gaze had drifted to the houses below the bridge, too.

As the sun appeared, the rooftops and windows seemed to brighten one by one. What had looked like one distant mass of buildings a moment earlier was suddenly a town full of homes waking up to morning. I took a seat in the gazebo and looked out over the town. The bridge’s curve seemed to lead right into it, and I found myself wanting to sit there a little longer.

By the time the sun was fully up, the bridge’s streetlights had faded from view. The curve that had glowed orange a little earlier now glowed pink in the morning sun. I was so glad I’d stayed to watch the same bridge change from night to morning, right from start to finish. This must be the reward for getting up early.

By the time I got back to the car, I already felt as if I’d finished my morning drive. Before heading home to Tokyo, I wanted to stop for a bowl of Yamanashi hōtō. The thick noodles are simmered in miso broth with some flour still clinging to them. That flour thickens the broth, helping it cling to the noodles and all the ingredients, or so I’ve read. After the cold of that morning, a warm bowl sounded like the best thing I could ask for. Looking back at my photos, the bridge in front of Mt. Fuji looked bigger than I’d expected. Today, I’ll head home remembering the road itself, not just the mountain.