It had been a cold icy winter this year. Names of passes remained unspoken for months, and the longer they remained unsaid, the more powerful those words became. No longer simple names of roads, they became prayers, a summons to the Gods of these western mountains. And they were lonely too; it had been far too long without the homage of their two-wheeled acolytes. But they heard the chants of their names, and knew it was time to bargain with the Gods of the seasons. Out with that indolent lazy God of Winter and in with the Goddess of Spring. Bit of a looker, Ms Spring, which is always a bonus.
So the snows melted, and the ice slunk off to the shadows, stubbornly waiting for the less wary; whilst landslides uncleared since Autumn stumbled onto the broken asphalt. Tsuru ! Yabitsu ! Magino ! Nokogiriyama ! My prayers had been answered at last.