The Road Warriors, Part One

We came, we rode, we did it for The Kids!

This past Thursday, March 20th saw the start of something I've been waiting through four months of miserable winter for--the annual Oita Prefecture JET Charity Bike Ride! Three days, about 275 kilometers, several bananas, thousands of feet of mountain pass climbing and only my brain to keep me company. If that's not a recipe for hijinks I don't know what is.


The completely unremarkable Sakanoichi Station. If I lived in this part of Oita City I would almost certainly turn to crime just to add some spice to life.

Ostensibly this ride was to support Room to Read, the charity of choice for we Oita JETs that funds school construction in third-world nations, but for me it was a test of pretty much everything I've done with cycling for the past four years. I think most of you know the story: I started riding in Japan four years back just to get to and from school, which then morphed into recreational cycling at all hours around Oita. When I returned to America and my motorcycle ran into problems I adopted the bicycle as my primary means of transit, going virtually everywhere on it and making friends by it. It became a lifestyle. But still, I'd never gone further than runs down the Peninsula to visit friends in Palo Alto and that can't be more than thirty miles of mostly flat terrain. This trip was to confirm that I had it in me to do a serious bike tour.


The ride route is the green line. I couldn't find one of this quality that also went down into Miyazaki and Nobeoka City so just imagine that the line goes off the map another few inches.

First I'd like to fill you in on the parameters of this ride, where it was going and how it was being conducted. There were around twenty riders in all, mostly American, British and Australian ALTs, but with four Japanese riders who were teachers from an agricultural school in Mie (which we'd be passing through) and two ALTs from our southern neighboring prefecture of Miyazaki. Following the entire group were a rotating cast of support personnel numbering about ten. Among the whole group there were four hardcore cyclists, not counting myself: Guy from Miyazaki, Mr. "I don't eat chocolate or drink alcohol in a quest for a low BFI" (that's not a dig at Guy, he's a real upstanding, uh, guy); Mike from Utah, head of the Oita International Center; Creepy Joe from Yufuin, a forty-something man who hit on every woman in the group at some point; and "Alaska", a JET from Alaska.

The ride started in Oita City at Sakanoichi Station, an annexed suburb on the eastern edge of the ever-creeping urban landscape and seaside industrial blight. From here we headed East to Saganoseki and followed the seaside road down, down, down through Usuki, Tsukumi and Saiki until finally reaching the first night's lodging at Kamae-machi's Marine Culture Center. While the first day had only two challenging inclines, day two was virtually nothing but extreme inclines. The coastal road down to Nobeoka from Kamae is like a sadistic roller coaster that only lets up once you drop down to sea level in Nobeoka...only to have to climb back into the mountains for our rented cabins in backwater Ume-machi, back over the border in Oita Prefecture. The third day had less than ten kilometers of challenging climb as we headed over a mountain pass into Mie and then flattened out (somewhat) through farming valleys and pasture land. The final stretch was the twenty-five kilometers following the Ono River back to our start/finish point of Sakanoichi. The route isn't particularly done justice by the map above, what with all the twists, turns and alternate routes, but the days were 108, 85 and 75 kilometers, respectively. However, for me those numbers are highly fuzzy as you'll soon read.


Indeed I can walk and chew bubblegum at the same time!

Thursday started, literally, dark and ominous with a thick layer of rain clouds looking more and more like they'd fulfill the 10% chance of rain prophecy. And it was windy, oh my how it was windy. Bikes were being tossed over like bits of paper and the damn stuff never seemed to be at one's back. And I was going to need that too because a handful of us who brought our bikes by car had nowhere safe to park and ended up hunting for 45 minutes while the entire group started ahead of us. So much for group solidarity. I was delayed another handful of minutes when my pedals decided to fall off. Don't worry, I fixed it and was on my way without incident for the rest of the trip from them. Now, I know this wasn't supposed to be a race, but here I am with a badass roadbike, all done up in (sexy) riding gear and setting myself up to be last into Kamae. There were certain people who I especially didn't want to arrive behind as well so I stepped on it and sprinted down the coast to Usuki, passing two ALTs and the four Japanese riders, but seeing nobody else. Oh well, I resigned myself to fate and pulled into a Portuguese restaurant in Usuki I'd always wanted to try for a Guiness and some J-Portuguese fusion cuisine--you know, real biker food.

Leaving Usuki is one of the two challenges for the day, the double threat of a steep hill climb for a couple kilometers followed by a 2.5 kilometer long tunnel with no sidewalk and terrible exhaust venting. Thank you Twin Peaks, Buena Vista Heights and Potrero Hill for giving me the tools by which to fearlessly book up hills! In the level tunnel I was able to get a tailwind and tuck into the calm air behind some cars to keep up at a brisk 50 KPH or thereabouts. Descending into Tsukumi on the other side I discovered half the group stopped off at Lawsons for a quick snack break/lunch meaning the hill and tunnel had killed them. With a little time on my hands I went to pay my friend Lisa a visit and then went to take on one of the more inscrutable route choices of the entire trip.

Between Tsukumi and Kamiura heading south there exists a tunnel approximately two kilometers in length and with at least two bends inside of it. To reach the same destination without the aid of the tunnel would require a ten kilometer detour around a cape with unbelievably steep roads and frequented by armies of concrete and gravel trucks. So the tunnel is a godsend, right? Well, it would be except...it's not finished yet. The trip's planners assured us that the surface inside was entirely paved and it was only the far end's entrance/exit that hadn't been quite finished yet and I had no choice but to believe them because there were no lights in there other than tiny, faint LED fire hose markers and I'd left my light in my car. Hey, I had to keep my CF frame light, gimme a break! What was very mysterious about the affair was riding blissfully past the construction crew working outside the entrance and them no caring that some American dude on a bike is riding into the blackness.

Past the tunnel and into Kamiura the seaside fishing towns look like Hawaiian resort towns that have seen better days: winter-withered palm trees line the shores; souls are scarce anywhere around town; and the paint on all the fishing boats are peeling unchecked. I've been here twice in the summer though so I know it turns lively as the year gets on. Before I knew it though I was in downtown Saiki trying to find my way to the country lane that leads to the final climbing challenge of the day, but failing miserably and making a four kilometer unintentional detour until a super-hot gas station attendant set me right.

By this time in the day I'd gone over eighty kilometers and I had to admit it was all wearing on me quite badly. Climbing the hill I had to really concentrate on points in the distance and set them as mini-goals for the whole three to four kilometers of climbing. Bombing down the backside of this pass into the northern reaches of Kamae was one of the best feelings in the past few years of cycling as I was certainly breaking the posted speed limit.

Kamae is one of the most unique seaside fishing towns I've ever seen. Perched between the sea and nearly vertical cliff sides, the town is like a snake clinging to land trying not to be swept into the sea, contouring itself into and around several coves and capes for kilometers on end and never more than a two hundred meters wide. Following the snake for another forty-five minutes I finally came to the goal, Kamae's Marine Culture Center. Miraculously I was the third to arrive. I bought a cookie to celebrate. I earned it after all.

More hard road slog to come when I pick this up again tomorrow. Good night for now!

--Matt

The Good Ship No Name

Graceful curves it lacks; high tech gizmos and fly rims too. Its engine is only 2/10ths of a liter larger than my motorcycle. It's an automatic and the steering wheel is on the wrong side. Still, I've bought a car to call my own in Japan!



The Honda Logo is a model we never got in the States in the mid-nineties, probably because it's only just a tad smaller than a Civic and fills a similar market segment. Surprisingly though it's a fabulous little car with exceptional acceleration, ride comfort and fuel consumption. The thing's a bucking bronco at red lights where I can out-drag aggressive Japanese drivers and torment old ladies trying to cross the street. The best thing about this buy though has to be its price--I snagged the bastard for only 100,000 J-bucks Less than $1,000) from an outgoing JET eager to sell, which was 1/4 what he paid for it a couple years earlier. He took great care of it and she's flawless other than the inevitable faded paint. Actually, that brings up another great thing about this buy, the paint job. Exposure has stripped the car of its glossy texture and now it's an absolutely perfect platform to paint on. Nothing huge, just doodles every here and there. Or maybe something huge. Maybe I'll turn it into an art car. There's a store in Fukuoka that sells Lego men so hey, maybe I'll diorama the roof. The possibilities are limitless and that's the way I like it!

Anywho, I took a day off today to head into Oita City and change the ownership on it, spending about an hour at the Japanese DMV, a.k.a. rikuunkyouka. Got that? I'm feeling pretty good about that whole experience despite how exciting your mind's eye might be picturing it. Sure, it's a dull, soul-sucking place (or places, actually) and process, but the guy who sold me the car played up the level of Japanese skill needed to complete the process and I seemed to pass the test well enough. Nothing like a trip to the DMV to stroke one's ego, eh?

--Matt

The Handa Kogen

I felt bad about not getting (acceptable) pictures of Kizuna Onsen for everyone and hatched a plan to go back there today rather suddenly. But I'd spent the previous night drinking beer and eating ridiculous amounts of okonimiyaki pushed on me by a couple of Japanese men much more drunk than I and was feeling, well, guilty about that night's unhealthy dietary choices so I took my bike along with my towel and shampoo.


The Yamanami Highway looking south and north, respectively. Yes, that's a smoking volcano crater. Yes, that's a dude ranch called "Rancho Grande".

In Japanese, kogen means "plateau" or "highlands" and is a common geographic moniker around the rim of the massive Aso caldera in neighboring Kumamoto Prefecture. Indeed, Handa Kogen is high, flat and breathtakingly beautiful--an ideal place to explore on two wheels. I started at the Otsuri Bashi, the highest suspension bridge in Japan and that goes absolutely nowhere, then rode up through the town of Handa, straight past my target of Kizuna Onsen and up a few kilometers of the Yamanami Highway. Sticking with the day's health conscious attitude I stopped at an all-tofu restaurant and got a massive and massively delicious lunch set. I think the most unhealthy thing in there was the rice.


It came with a tiny, cute little hibachi grill! How can one resist?

Kizuna was as wonderful as before and this time I got the pics...look!


The rotenburo at Kizuna Onsen. Perfect, iron-rich water and a breathtaking view to boot.

--Matt

The Five Stages of Grief

Geez, who's up for some pungent foods? Anyone? Anyone...?

Every generation lays claim to some traumatic historical moment that its members will never forget where they were and what they were doing: the Kennedy assassination; the explosion that destroyed the Challenger; September 11. On Friday night I had a bit of a traumatic moment of my own I don't think I'll ever forget.

I was writing an email on my computer at exactly 9:17 PM on February 29 when I got The Message from Lindsey who'd gone to visit Lisa in Tsukumi that night. The message read simply "The Trandor is gone! I almost cried." My eyes wide, heart pumping irregularly, sweat collecting on the brows, I stared at that message long and hard to comprehend its magnitude. Trandor. Gone. Inconceivable.


Need to plan a wedding but are just too lazy...or white? Call Lazy Cinderella's right NOW! The next one is a hair salon I've been meaning to take shot of for about four years now.

What is "Trandor" exactly? I think only my family that came to visit me in Japan have experienced its myriad intoxicating charms among the readers of this blog. Trandor is a bakery located in Oita Station that makes pastries, sandwiches, fresh bread and various other things that only marginally fall under the banner or "baked goods" for the city's commuters. When I was studying at Oita U. (if one took the train to and from school) Trandor was the reason you came and went to class--to hell with learning and edjumacation, gimme a shrimp roll sandwich and some cheese toast! As I'd mentioned before, any Japanese city worth a damn has a Trandor in their station...and now I would have to face the reality that the city I love would be, well, a neutered one.

I went into denial. "There must be some misunderstanding, a sick trick of the light or narcoleptic fit perhaps caused you to miss it," I thought as I emailed Lindsey for confirmation. "I wish it were, now I'm stuck with Mr. Donut..." came the reply. Angry at the situation I kicked the table in my room and hurt my ankle. Ow. Perhaps it was the pain, but I reverted right back to denial. I was heading to Oita for Lisa's b-day party the next day anywho and decided to swing by the station to see with my own eyes what the fate of Trandor was, hoping that if it wasn't there I could move on to the bargaining phase and start a petition for its reinstatement.


Duncan says he bought this shirt on 10-minute's notice for this party, but who really has luck that good? Next door Lisa and Nobu blow out the candles on the heavenly chocolate birthday cake Ippei bought.

That crack smoking sonuvabitch...Trandor hadn't gone anywhere. Its hot racks of curry pizza pitas, jam-filled buns and hot dog permutations were right there staring back at me with delicious eyes. Lindsey later explained she meant the Trandor at Hita Station, but that one's always been sub-par and I couldn't care less about it. I chewed her out properly at Lisa's party. The pink and black-themed bash was held at Redwood Bar and Grill just a few blocks from my old dorm/apartment in Nagahama and is always a blast to hang at. The owners are obsessed--OBSESSED!--with Texas and take vacations there whenever they can. Well, I won't tell them that there aren't any Redwood trees in Texas as long as they continue making tasty Tex-Mex and burgers.

--Matt

Japan's Abandoned Places

Yufu-dake, which rises like a spike overlooking the hot springs town of Yufuin, has lost its snow cap on this unusually warm winter day. Next, the road to Kijima--the Beppu-Yufuin Pass.

One of my favorite link blogs, Grow a Brain, had a link to a Japanese photographer's portfolio webpage a while back that was chock full of fascinating shots of a Japan most people--Japanese included--never see. The subject: Japan's abandoned places. It took me only to page three to become completely enthralled by the collection since #41 is a place I see every single day here in Kusu. The Bungo Mori Kikanko (Bungo Mori Train Roundhouse) is located at what was the center of town little more than thirty years ago, the Mori neighborhood. It's every bit as creepy-looking as the photographer makes it out to be even though there's a Roundhouse Festival every year the town takes pride in.


Kijima's skating rink with Yufu-dake's eastern face in the background. Next door to that, Ranko and Yo-chan mug for the camera.

The site sort of slipped from my memory until last Monday when I went ice skating at Kijima with all eight students from Hiju JHS. Kijima is a strange combination amusement park/golf course/spa resort complex located in the mountains between Yufuin and Beppu, east of Kusu. That strip of mountains is such beautiful country that I'm mortified at the idea of a gaudy amusement park there, and even moreso now that I've got a good look at it and know it will almost certainly be on the above mentioned website within twenty years, tops. I don't think there's anyone to blame really except the park's owners/investors who had the brilliant idea to deposit such a park on a high, windy plateau where only visitors who want fingers amputated for frostbite would come knocking during the four winter months.

Did I mention I got a new computer? Yeah, there it is like the obelisk from 2001. Sorry guys, I've had too much trouble with form-factor/toaster computers to go with one anymore.

As an added bonus this post you get to see my typical lunch...the infamous Kusu-machi Kyushoku! Miso soup, rice, some side vegetable dish, milk and, this time, a freakin' creme brulee?! Just. Plain. Nutty.

--Matt

Nirvana...

I doubt there's a person reading this blog that doesn't know I LOVE onsen (hot springs), but just let me reiterate it in case--I love onsen. In fact, I think I'll make it my firstborn's middle name, right there between "Remington" and "Lopez-Rockefeller". Anyways, I'm always on the lookout for The One Onsen that will rule over all other hot springs in my mental encyclopedia of Kyushu resorts. Today I may have found it!

As I'd commented in one of my past posts I like to take a trip into the mountains of Kokonoe-machi about once a month to have the best hot dog in Japan (that I've ever found) and then hit a hot spring. Well, much to my dismay the hot dog shop is closed until spring, which makes sense considering the road to it was impassible for much of this last week due to snow. Peeved, but not angry, I pressed on towards a new onsen near the "cider" springs of Yamazato Onsen only to find it really blah-looking. Cheap at 200 J-bucks, but boring. Pointing my car towards the billowing volcanic peaks of Mt. Kuju and the gorgeous Yamanami Highway (in my opinion one of the most beautiful leisure drives in the nation) I stumbled onto what looked like just another two-story family house except for the sign in front--"Kizuna Onsen". Having never failed with the small, cozy type of hot springs I pulled into the lot.

Entering the bath I was let down to find it disappointingly normal except for the bath faucets that were inscrutable. It took me a little bit to get used to multi-directional knobs and buttons I had to press to activate hot water mode and luckily I was alone for the time being to look like a complete jackass who didn't know how to use a faucet. There was a door set against the wall and I didn't pay it much mind because it was small, like a staff access entrance or something. Then I heard voices through it while washing my hair and opened it up to find a rotenburo (outside bath) made of polished rocks and this view...


Why couldn't I have brought my normal camera?! Next time, next time...

What you're looking at is Mt. Kuju on a perfectly clear winter day, its vents steaming. This puny picture does it no justice at all, I damn near went weak in the knees and collapsed like some 13-year-old girl at a Monkees concert. (They're so dreamy!) The air was freezing--literally -2C outside at the time--but the water was perfect, and I mean perfect! I brought a book to read in the bath and could hardly think about picking it up in the face of such magnificence. I could sit there and stare all day and night until I was a waterlogged prune of a man I think.

I can't wait to head back, next time with a proper camera. Also, down the driveway and across the street are a few stylish mountain cafes that claim to be organic so I'll report on those as well.

--Matt

P.S.: I finally rushed out in time to snap a shot of the Sweet Potato Cryer's truck. This is a man with a portable sweet potato oven in his van that drives all over down singing (in warbly Japanese) "Sweet potatoes for sale! Delicious, delicious and good for you too!"

The Wedding Party So Awesome They Had It Again!

Way back in mid-December a man with exceptionally bad teeth that I'd never met or seen in my life before invited me to his wedding party, possibly while under the influence of alcohol. Not really knowing, or particularly wanting, to say 'no' to his toothy grin I accepted and put it mostly out of mind for some time. Two weeks ago a couple of the Japanese members of Kusu's English conversation circle reminded me of the upcoming day and said they'd pick me up that Sunday. Amidst driving rain and freezing wind we headed to the hall gussied up in our finest along with around seventy other guests, many of them in full-on kimono and whatnot, which was intimidating—I mean, this is my first Japanese wedding party and I'm the only foreigner in the room, so I wanted to make a decent impression for the team. Nobody can ever say I didn't try to stem the tide of nations queuing up to hate on America.


Domo arigatou, Mr. Matto

As I gazed upon the spread at my table that included such unusual wedding dinner fare as fine sushi alongside fried chicken, pizza and bottle-upon-bottle of beer, I noticed an unusual banner behind the bride and groom's table. Translated it read “Eiji and Izumi's Second Wedding Get Together”. At first I thought this meant they'd been married before, split and reconciled, but actually it merely meant this was their second party, the first being in Izumi's hometown of Hita. A glance around at the guests and another thing was made apparent: this was a complete sausage fest. I think there were about fifteen women in the hall total, counting the hostesses serving us too. I felt sorry for the handful of really attractive ones as there's nothing that'll make decent men lose faith in their gender than a roomful of drunk Japanese men in the presence of a beauty. The reason for the sea of testosterone is that most were members of the same para gliding club as the groom, which led to at least three really funny toasts to the bride and groom where every aspect of married life was compared to various atmospheric effects or para gliding procedures. “Let your love always catch updrafts” and other horribly corny C-list toast lines like that.

All the guests brought wedding gifts for Eiji and Izumi. I didn't. Actually, I was told by my two friends, Nobu and Kuma, not to bring anything and soon found out why. They didn't bring anything either except for bass and electric guitars and their gift was to perform for the bride and groom at the party—and apparently so was my gift! “Matt, can you sing 'Stand by Me' while we play guitar?” So with about fifteen minutes to psych myself up and go over the lyrics in my head I was shoved on stage, handed a microphone and told to be a wedding singer. I'm willing to bet there are photos of me on one knee belting out “So darling, darling, stand...” but I've yet to see them. Maybe it's for the best.

Nobu and Kuma went on to do some acoustic stuff and I took my seat and polished off a beer. While I was swilling that down the groom disappeared until the set finished, then reappeared in a Japanese demon costume, arousing my “WTF” sense immediately. He was soon joined on stage by one of the other guests and the two started up a manzai routine. Manzai is like the Japanese equivalent of two-man standup comedy in the same vein as Abbot and Costello or Laurel and Hardy, but I couldn't tell what the hell they were joking about so I just looked on in curious amusement and drank more beer. I didn't get drunk here in case you're curious, but I certainly drank my fill over the course of the three hour party, and for good reason. You see, Japanese wedding parties aren't like Western ones where the costs are taken on by the bride and groom—I paid 3,000 J-bucks to get in here, much to my surprise. Sort of made me feel better about not bringing a proper gift.


The groom, Eiji, striking an innocent pose as some hideous male take on Lum (I spent entirely too much of my youth watching and reading Urusei Yatsura)

So modern Japanese wedding parties, in conclusion, aren't all that different than their Western counterparts with exceptions being that guests have to pay-to-play, sushi and pizza are companions on one's plate and people dress up in demon costumes. I was really hoping for some pagan goat sacrifices and naked prostration in front of a jello statue of Bob Barker with his arms crossed, but no such luck.

So, note to the future Mrs. Matthew Lopez, if you're reading this, see what you can do about Bob Barker jello molds, OK?

--Matt