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There is a distinct moment when Tokyo finally lets go of you.
It usually begins as the elevated, sun-baked concrete labyrinths of the Shuto Expressway fall away, swallowed by the rolling green foothills of Gunma. But the true boundary is marked not by roads, but by air.
As the tarmac begins its long, steady climb into the highlands of Nagano, the heavy, humid blanket of the Kanto plain thins out, replaced by a crisp, pine-scented breeze that carries the distinct, cool invitation of the mountains.
Welcome to Karuizawa.
Stepping out onto the quiet streets, the change in tempo is immediate. Perched a thousand meters above sea level at the foot of Mount Asama, this town operates on a completely different frequency. Historically a vital post-station along the ancient Nakasendo trail, Karuizawa evolved into Japan’s premier highland escape after Western missionaries and diplomats discovered its cool summer climate in the late 19th century.
To wander through Kyu-Karuizawa today is to experience a deep sense of shibui, that subtle, understated Japanese aesthetic where true elegance never needs to raise its voice. You hear it in the gentle crunch of gravel along tree-lined avenues, the aroma of wild blueberry jam wafting from vintage bakeries, and the quiet calm around Kumoba Pond as the larch trees mirror off glass-like water.
Shadows and Fire
Yet, for all its peaceful, postcard-perfect charm, Karuizawa exists in the constant, dramatic shadow of a giant.
Looming over the town’s northern horizon is Mount Asama, one of the most active volcanoes in Honshu. Its presence is felt everywhere, not as a constant threat, but as a quiet, powerful subterranean heartbeat.
The very onsens that soothe weary travelers, from the tranquil outdoor baths of Hoshino’s Tonbo-no-yu to the secluded forest waters of Sengataki, owe their therapeutic existence to Asama’s geothermal heat. Just a short drive north at Onioshidashi Park, a surreal sea of pitch-black, jagged lava rocks stands frozen in time, a striking monument to the mountain’s catastrophic 1783 eruption.
Karuizawa is a sanctuary resting gently on the edge of fire. It is a place where soft, mossy serenity lives in perfect harmony with raw, latent geological violence.
And if you look past the boutique cafes and larch-lined golf courses, you realize something extraordinary: this quiet highland retreat is completely surrounded by some of the most technical, breathtaking mountain roads on earth.
To the east drops the treacherous, mossy descent of Usui Pass with its 184 hairpins. Northward lies the Onioshi Highway, slicing through volcanic lava fields toward the high-elevation sweeping ridges of Route 292, the legendary Shiga-Kusatsu Kogen “Route 292” that climbs past Kusatsu Onsen to Shibu Pass, the highest point on Japan’s national highway network at 2,172 meters.
Most visitors come here to unwind. But for anyone with oil in their veins, Karuizawa is an idyllic launchpad resting directly in the epicenter of driver’s paradise.
Settling an Old Score & The Gateway of Yokokawa
My decision to make Karuizawa my base camp for this trip was born out of an itch left unscratched from my previous adventures in Japan.
If you’ve followed my previous touge runs across Gunma and Tochigi, you’ll know I’ve spent a fair share of time in Japan chasing mountain ghosts, punching through the Hakone Turnpike in the M2, returning a year later to tackle those same roads in the rain with an M3 Touring, and dancing a beautiful Z4 M40i through the hairpins of Mt. Haruna. I’ve sliced through the fog on Mt. Akagi and traced the cascading switchbacks of Irohazaka, yet one legendary route had still eluded me: Usui Pass.
Tucked along the border where Gunma meets Nagano, Usui’s 184 technical hairpins and rich pop-culture legacy had to be left behind on my last trip, forced off the itinerary by fading daylight and tight schedules. Usui was my missing puzzle piece.
On the way up toward Karuizawa on the Gunma side sits Yokokawa, a town steeped in both railway history and automotive folklore. This is where you find Ogino-ya, the historic home of Toge no Kamameshi, the famous warm, seasoned rice meal served in traditional Mashiko ware clay pots. Dating back to 1958, Ogino-ya became legendary during the steam train era; passengers would lean out of train carriage windows to buy the thermal clay pots on the platform while extra helper locomotives were attached to push trains up Usui’s brutal 6.6% railway incline.
For a generation raised on Japanese car culture, Ogino-ya carries a distinct, nostalgic magic. Its Yokokawa parking lot was the backdrop for one of Initial D’s most memorable moments, the ill-fated rendezvous between Mako and Iketani.
Stepping onto that tarmac today, the location double-hats as a rest stop and a pitstop for petrolheads, featuring a café dedicated to professional drifter Sayaka Shimoda and her real-world homage to the legendary Impact Blue SilEighty.
Usui wasn’t just a road; it was an epicenter where history, pop culture, and geography collided. The initial goal of this drive was simple: drop my bags in Karuizawa, wake up before dawn the next day, and finally settle the score with the pass.
I didn’t know it yet, but the landscape had a much larger story waiting for me.
The Machine as a Mirror: The Quiet Beast
To explore a region defined by such an intriguing duality, I couldn’t have asked for a more fitting partner than the machine resting quietly outside my hotel: the G99 BMW M5 Touring.
On paper, a long-roof wagon is the ultimate exercise in automotive understatement. In a world increasingly dominated by aggressive, attention-demanding supercars, the wagon silhouette carries an inherent composure and quiet luxury. It belongs here.
Engage ELECTRIC Mode, and the M5 drops into a state of total serenity. The 18.6 kWh battery under the floor takes full control, powering a 197-horsepower electric motor integrated directly into the 8-speed transmission. Rolling through Karuizawa’s morning fog, the M5 glides past dark timber villas and mossy stone walls without making a sound.
There is no cold-start V8 bark to disturb the guests sipping morning tea on scenic verandas, no unnecessary drama, just pure, silent momentum up to 140 km/h if required. It respects the quiet rhythm of the highland sanctuary; it doesn’t break the spell.
Look closer, though, and the machine gradually reveals its true identity. The swollen rear arches, the widened track, the aggressive front aprons, and those signature quad tailpipes poking out from the carbon rear diffuser hint at a latent, savage purpose.
Underneath that practical long-roof body lies BMW’s S68 4.4-liter twin-turbo V8. Combined with the electric motor, it unleashes a staggering 727 horsepower and 1,000 Nm of torque.
Much like Karuizawa drawing its gentle, warm thermal baths from Asama’s violent volcanic subterranean fires, the M5 Touring conceals explosive performance beneath a calm, luxurious surface. It wears its power almost not as a shout, but as a subtle nod to those who know where to look.
An Unexpected Prelude: The Shiraito Loop
Before packing up for the night in Karuizawa, there was one local landmark I wanted to check off: Shiraito Waterfall (“Waterfall of White Threads”). I expected a quiet, casual afternoon detour, a slow, picturesque crawl through the trees to stretch my legs after the drive up from Tokyo.
What I didn’t expect was that the road leading there would turn out to be an absolute driving gem.
Branching north out of town, the Shiraito Highland Way is a private toll road that carves an emerald ribbon through dense, high-canopy forest. Winding through the larches, the tarmac unrolls into a rhythmic series of slow S-bends and sweeping elevation shifts. It is a deceptively technical and uneven stretch of road, giving a tiny, tantalising taste of the legendary tarmac that rings this entire plateau.
At the end of the toll road, Shiraito Waterfall itself is pure geological magic. Rather than a roaring river plunge, rain and snowmelt filter through Mount Asama’s porous volcanic rock for decades before emerging along a curved, 70-meter-wide rock face. Hundreds of delicate, ice-cold streams pour continuously out of bare stone like drapes of fine white silk, dropping the ambient forest air by a crisp five degrees.
But as enchanting as the falls were, it was the drive that truly caught me off guard.
With late-afternoon dampness clinging to the asphalt, the M5 Touring revealed its first real dynamic surprise. Heading into the flowing bends, I braced to feel every bit of the wagon’s 2.5-tonne mass. Instead, the magic of active rear-wheel steering and instant low-end hybrid torque allowed the long-roof to flow through the forest with uncanny agility. You turn the wheel, the rear axle quietly steps into line, and the chassis simply sets itself, carving through damp curves with fluid, effortless composure.
As night fell over the pines and Karuizawa settled into a quiet, misty chill, I set my alarm for dawn. The forest loop had been a breathtaking prelude, but the real test was waiting just over the plateau’s edge. To slice through 184 hairpins without a single tourist bus or delivery truck in sight, you have to beat the sun.
Usui was waiting, and tomorrow morning, the score would finally be settled.
