I'm in Hammatsu and I think it's my fault. I sit at the bar. Classic rock bubbling away. Curls of smoke pass dusty bottles. Cigarettes dangle. A cat is gently patted. We're about to answer a question for the fifth time since arriving a day ago, 'Why are you in Hamamatsu?'. I look at my buddy. We laugh. I'm on a big trip, big for me. Two months, two countries. Japan, Italy. Cultural and culinary titans. For all its simplicity my plan is ill-defined, I'm anxious it'll work out. Skiing in Hokkaido has given way to sightseeing in Tokyo, friends peeling off. I'll be skiing again soon in the Dolomites. But keen to see Kyoto and Osaka I've tagged along with the final two of my group of seven. My travelling companions are brothers, described aptly by our friend as 'handsomely lost lads'. Notorious dawdlers. So much so that their surname has been conjugated into an adverb to describe their dilatory antics: Nolling. Fail to be at point X by time Y consistently, you're Nolling. Hand-wring and fluster at time-critical moments, you're Nolling. Delay and frustrate all. But accomplish this with naive grace. Delicate and considerate gestures. Be 'handsomely lost'. Hammatsu was the eldest brother's suggestion. 'Land of the eel' was the big pitch. An early warning sign our plan was flimsy. That research was not undertaken, other options thoroughly considered. But I didn't offer an alternative, lazy in my own plan-making. So I'm in Hammatsu, and yeh, I think it's my fault. This is a city ill-equipped to entertain tourists. A working city. Home of large corporations, significant industrial and agricultural production and everyday Japanese people. In many ways it is the perfect palette cleanser between Tokyo and Kyoto. Respite from warp-speed travel. I'm keen to ride a bike. Japan is a great cycling country, motorists polite, infrastructure and scenery hi-spec. But first, almost methodically, coffee. Google maps is opened. Coffee searched, filters layered: open now, top-rated. Thumbs pinch screens, winner selected. I set off with the younger brother. At our winning cafe we hesitate, no espresso. Plan B: the cafe next door to our apartment. Arriving, the cafe entry is blocked by two older women selling packed lunches. They stand under a sign advertising coffee as we are told it isn't available. Hope prevails as we are led across the street a bar of theirs, Time Tunnel. We perch at the bar with our coffee and chat. The question is asked, 'Why are you in Hammatsu?'. Her cat, Ikura, moves from morning sun to my lap. Our barrista states she is unsure if it's male or female, her cat of 9 years. Puzzling. It's enjoyably quaint, but the cat's breath is unpalatable, like the coffee. We make to leave. Plans are made with our barrista to return later for a whisky. We collect the other brother, Noll a bit and head to the bike shop. Awkwardly hiring our bikes with subpar Japanese brings over the bored tourism info lady to translate. Inevitably the question about being in Hammatsu arises again. We ponder possible routes, settling on Lake Sanaru to the south and a ride back along the beach to the shop past the Nakatajima sand dune, Map's big highlights for Hamamatsu. Expectations are low. We ride to the lake. Water pushes onto the northern shore by a cold southerly as we circle it on a gravel path. Just passing time, no points of interest noted— cleansing the palette. A Dachshund on wheels circles the lake in the opposite direction, bouncing off bigger bits of gravel. A possible point of interest. We head east. The beach is inaccessible, a tsunami wall is under construction. We ride along the recommended bike route, choked with dump trucks. We're tiny, but politely passed, Japan. Three clicks later we ascend the tsunami wall. The Pacific looks wild. Riding the wall we hit the soft Nakatajima dunes. Laughing at our ride's oddity we pour sand from our shoes and return to town, to the Time Tunnel and that plaguing question. Why are we here? Each time the question asks more of me, deeper within. Maybe I'm just the same, handsomely lost, Nolling through life.