Pedaling Home, One Kilometer at a Time, From Rome to Japan by Bicycle. An interview with Leonardo Scarton.Leonardo is Roman, born and raised in Garbatella, but he left the neighborhood to study in Bologna, where he earned a degree in Economics, a choice he describes as neutral, made at a time when he had no clear idea what he wanted to do with his life.If he could go back, Leonardo says he might have studied Geography instead. After his undergraduate degree, Leonardo completed a master’s in Environmental Economics, which gradually led him toward cartography and territorial studies. He later obtained additional certifications in cartography, developing a meticulous passion for route planning and the detailed study of travel.During his university years, he completed three Erasmus exchanges, experiences that strengthened his international outlook and deepened his desire to move across borders, not only geographically but culturally as well. He also completed an internship at the FAO, part of the United Nations system, an interesting experience but not quite his world. That was followed by two years in environmental consulting, working largely with spreadsheets and data analysis. Despite the stability, he felt he was making no real impact on the world, neither positive nor negative. That sense of neutrality became one of the reasons he chose to radically change direction. Looking beyond Japan, Leonardo’s long term vision is beginning to take shape. He would like to dedicate himself to tourism and possibly help develop his wife’s family restaurant, a business that has been running for four generations. It is a project still evolving, rooted in tradition yet open to the future, much like the journey Leonardo is now cycling through, one kilometer at a time. Rome – Japan by bicycle is a huge project. How does an idea like this begin? Was it a dream cultivated over time or an impulsive decision? What made you say, “I’m leaving now”?It definitely wasn’t an impulsive decision. The idea dates back to 2019, when I was studying in Japan. That was the first time it crossed my mind to return from Japan to Italy without taking planes or public transport. It was more of a romantic thought than a concrete plan. For various reasons, I didn’t do it then. Life moved in other directions. But the idea never really disappeared. Over the years it stayed there in the background. At some point, I met a very close friend who had done incredible things, cycling from Trieste to Greece and even climbing the highest volcano in South America alone. Seeing someone close to me do things that seemed both extraordinary and slightly crazy gave me courage. It made me realize this wasn’t an impossible dream, but something realistically achievable. In 2024 I did my first real test: one thousand kilometers by bicycle from Kyoto to Seoul. Before that experience, I didn’t even own a bicycle. The first week was the hardest, physically and mentally. But once I got through that, I understood that I could actually do it. The “I’m leaving now” moment came from a convergence of circumstances. My wife lives in Japan and is currently preparing for an important professional exam. For six months, maybe a year, she is completely focused on that. She told me, if you want to do this crazy thing, do it now, because later we won’t talk about it anymore. It was the perfect timing. I left my job, saved money, and bought all the equipment, strictly second-hand, over almost a year of preparation. It wasn’t impulsive. It was a project built piece by piece. How much did the fact that your wife lives in Japan influence your decision?It matters a lot. Right now, Japan is home to me. And that distinction is important. I’m not going to Japan. I’m returning to Japan. That’s a very deliberate choice of words. Knowing she is there completely changes how I see the destination. It’s not just a point on a map. It’s a place where I belong. That gives me enormous strength. I’m not chasing something abstract. I’m going back to where I feel I should be. Are you leaving to reach a destination or to experience the journey?I never think about the destination. If I stopped to think, “I have to get to Japan,” I’d feel anxious. It’s too far. Ten thousand kilometers are overwhelming if you look at them all at once. For me, only tomorrow exists. Where do I need to go tomorrow? What do I need to do today? It’s one step at a time. The destination is there, of course, but it stays in the background. It’s the day-to-day approach that allows me to live it and keep moving forward. What does it feel like during the first kilometers of a journey that will last months? Was there more excitement or more fear at the moment of departure?The night before, you don’t sleep. There’s a huge amount of fear, because you’re still living the journey as an idea. You’re idealizing it. You think about the ten thousand kilometers, the enormity of it. The first day is the hardest mentally. The first three, four, five days are the hardest physically. But once you get on the bike and start pedaling, everything shrinks. You’re not going to Japan. You’re riding one kilometer. Then another. Then another. The journey breaks down in your mind and in your body. The tension of the night before turns into a kind of release. It’s as if the action is much simpler than the idea. How much did you prepare physically and mentally?Mentally, a lot. I think I was already ready in 2024. The hardest part isn’t imagining the journey, it’s organizing it, leaving your job, making the departure real. Physically, very little, and that’s not good advice. I trained for three weeks before leaving, just to see if it was feasible. I wanted to test myself far from home, in the Tunisian Sahara, to understand how I would react in tougher conditions. Now I’m carrying some aches with me. My neck cracks, my knee needs attention. I think the biggest challenge will be my relationship with my body when it starts demanding something back. You’re still at the beginning of the journey. What has this experience already taught you?It has taught me that the world is far more welcoming than we tend to think. Everywhere someone warns you about the next place. In Campania they say be careful in Puglia. In Korea they say be careful in China. In China they say be careful in India. Then you arrive and you find hospitality, kindness, people willing to help. I expected more hardship. Instead, I’m finding generosity everywhere. So far, the surprises have all been positive. In such a long journey, what makes a moment truly memorable?Encounters. I played chess with a Bedouin in the desert without speaking the same language. In Korea, a family saved me from the monsoons and we communicated only through gestures. In the end, it’s not the monuments. It’s communication without words. Understanding each other with a look, with your hands. That’s what really stays with you. How much space is there for solitude?All of it. To do something like this, you have to be happy alone. You have to be comfortable with yourself. If I had deep regrets or doubts, or if my wife hadn’t supported this, it would be a nightmare. Solitude is the foundation. Then you meet people, maybe you travel together for a few days, and that’s wonderful. But the strength has to come from within. What happens in your mind when you pedal for hours?You think a lot. Boredom is productive. Many great inventions were born while walking, wandering, being bored. On a bike, your mind flies. You have deep, creative thoughts. I’m sorry I don’t have the strength to write them all down. Thoughts come and go, but personal growth remains. Is this journey also a reflection on our lifestyle?Absolutely. I live with a tent, a small stove, a few clothes. In the city, the more you earn, the more you spend. In the end, you’re left with little, and what you waste most is time. Right now I feel incredibly rich because I have time. And time is the most precious thing we have. Ask an eighty-year-old person if they want a million euros or one more year of life. The answer is obvious. What would you say to someone who dreams big but keeps postponing it?Don’t look at the whole dream. Break it down. Focus on the first step. Then the next one. If you only look at the massive goal, you freeze. If you look at what you can do tomorrow, you start moving. Was the hardest step leaving, or will it be continuing?Leaving was the hardest. Continuing will be hardest when my body really starts to hurt. At that point, I’ll have to remember I’m not a superhero. In Corato they told me something beautiful: you have to be like a mule. Slowly, but always forward.

Leonardo is Roman, born and raised in Garbatella, but he left the neighborhood to study in Bologna, where he earned a degree in Economics, a choice he describes as neutral, made at a time when he had no clear idea what he wanted to do with his life.If he could go back, Leonardo says he might have studied Geography instead. After his undergraduate degree, Leonardo completed a master’s in Environmental Economics, which gradually led him toward cartography and territorial studies. He later obtained additional certifications in cartography, developing a meticulous passion for route planning and the detailed study of travel. During his university years, he completed three Erasmus exchanges, experiences that strengthened his international outlook and deepened his desire to move across borders, not only geographically but culturally as well. He also completed an internship at the FAO, part of the United Nations system, an interesting experience but not quite his world. That was followed by two years in environmental consulting, working largely with spreadsheets and data analysis. Despite the stability, he felt he was making no real impact on the world, neither positive nor negative. That sense of neutrality became one of the reasons he chose to radically change direction. Looking beyond Japan, Leonardo’s long term vision is beginning to take shape. He would like to dedicate himself to tourism and possibly help develop his wife’s family restaurant, a business that has been running for four generations. It is a project still evolving, rooted in tradition yet open to the future, much like the journey Leonardo is now cycling through, one kilometer at a time. It definitely wasn’t an impulsive decision. The idea dates back to 2019, when I was studying in Japan. That was the first time it crossed my mind to return from Japan to Italy without taking planes or public transport. It was more of a romantic thought than a concrete plan. For various reasons, I didn’t do it then. Life moved in other directions. But the idea never really disappeared. Over the years it stayed there in the background. At some point, I met a very close friend who had done incredible things, cycling from Trieste to Greece and even climbing the highest volcano in South America alone. Seeing someone close to me do things that seemed both extraordinary and slightly crazy gave me courage. It made me realize this wasn’t an impossible dream, but something realistically achievable. In 2024 I did my first real test: one thousand kilometers by bicycle from Kyoto to Seoul. Before that experience, I didn’t even own a bicycle. The first week was the hardest, physically and mentally. But once I got through that, I understood that I could actually do it. The “I’m leaving now” moment came from a convergence of circumstances. My wife lives in Japan and is currently preparing for an important professional exam. For six months, maybe a year, she is completely focused on that. She told me, if you want to do this crazy thing, do it now, because later we won’t talk about it anymore. It was the perfect timing. I left my job, saved money, and bought all the equipment, strictly second-hand, over almost a year of preparation. It wasn’t impulsive. It was a project built piece by piece. It matters a lot. Right now, Japan is home to me. And that distinction is important. I’m not going to Japan. I’m returning to Japan. That’s a very deliberate choice of words. Knowing she is there completely changes how I see the destination. It’s not just a point on a map. It’s a place where I belong. That gives me enormous strength. I’m not chasing something abstract. I’m going back to where I feel I should be. I never think about the destination. If I stopped to think, “I have to get to Japan,” I’d feel anxious. It’s too far. Ten thousand kilometers are overwhelming if you look at them all at once. For me, only tomorrow exists. Where do I need to go tomorrow? What do I need to do today? It’s one step at a time. The destination is there, of course, but it stays in the background. It’s the day-to-day approach that allows me to live it and keep moving forward. The night before, you don’t sleep. There’s a huge amount of fear, because you’re still living the journey as an idea. You’re idealizing it. You think about the ten thousand kilometers, the enormity of it. The first day is the hardest mentally. The first three, four, five days are the hardest physically. But once you get on the bike and start pedaling, everything shrinks. You’re not going to Japan. You’re riding one kilometer. Then another. Then another. The journey breaks down in your mind and in your body. The tension of the night before turns into a kind of release. It’s as if the action is much simpler than the idea. Mentally, a lot. I think I was already ready in 2024. The hardest part isn’t imagining the journey, it’s organizing it, leaving your job, making the departure real. Physically, very little, and that’s not good advice. I trained for three weeks before leaving, just to see if it was feasible. I wanted to test myself far from home, in the Tunisian Sahara, to understand how I would react in tougher conditions. Now I’m carrying some aches with me. My neck cracks, my knee needs attention. I think the biggest challenge will be my relationship with my body when it starts demanding something back. It has taught me that the world is far more welcoming than we tend to think. Everywhere someone warns you about the next place. In Campania they say be careful in Puglia. In Korea they say be careful in China. In China they say be careful in India. Then you arrive and you find hospitality, kindness, people willing to help. I expected more hardship. Instead, I’m finding generosity everywhere. So far, the surprises have all been positive. Encounters. I played chess with a Bedouin in the desert without speaking the same language. In Korea, a family saved me from the monsoons and we communicated only through gestures. In the end, it’s not the monuments. It’s communication without words. Understanding each other with a look, with your hands. That’s what really stays with you. All of it. To do something like this, you have to be happy alone. You have to be comfortable with yourself. If I had deep regrets or doubts, or if my wife hadn’t supported this, it would be a nightmare. Solitude is the foundation. Then you meet people, maybe you travel together for a few days, and that’s wonderful. But the strength has to come from within. You think a lot. Boredom is productive. Many great inventions were born while walking, wandering, being bored. On a bike, your mind flies. You have deep, creative thoughts. I’m sorry I don’t have the strength to write them all down. Thoughts come and go, but personal growth remains. Absolutely. I live with a tent, a small stove, a few clothes. In the city, the more you earn, the more you spend. In the end, you’re left with little, and what you waste most is time. Right now I feel incredibly rich because I have time. And time is the most precious thing we have. Ask an eighty-year-old person if they want a million euros or one more year of life. The answer is obvious. Don’t look at the whole dream. Break it down. Focus on the first step. Then the next one. If you only look at the massive goal, you freeze. If you look at what you can do tomorrow, you start moving. Leaving was the hardest. Continuing will be hardest when my body really starts to hurt. At that point, I’ll have to remember I’m not a superhero. In Corato they told me something beautiful: you have to be like a mule. Slowly, but always forward.