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The best part of my day is when I leave work. It
is not that I don't like my job. But there is something
about getting on my bike and soaring down the steep
hill just outside the high school where I teach that
each day brings a certain thrill. As I pass the athletic
fields I hear the soccer team counting in unison -
ichi, ni, san, shi, go - and the soft tennis team
ceaselessly chanting fight-o with each swing of the
racquet. And upon reaching the bottom, where an elementary
school sits, I am greeted with the shouts and laughter
of the few young stragglers who mill at the corner
and occasionally wave to the foreigner on her mini-mountain
bike with the red bell. Old women push their shopping
up the hill; a young man fiddles under the roof of
his black sports car. It's over quickly: that moment
of soaring merged with sights and sounds of daily
life in Matsue. But everyday a simple ride down a
hill brings this experience of living in Japan all
together. Soaring while falling. Succeeding and sometimes
failing.
When I arrived in Japan a year and a half ago I hadn't
ridden a bicycle in 10 years. Literally. My last memory
of a bicycle ride was to high school tennis practices
in the days before the golden ticket of a driver's
license graced my wallet. My Prince racquet strapped
to the handlebars with two pastel ribbons, I was often
the only bicyclist on the main roads of the small
suburban town where I grew up. Thus, my reintroduction
to two-wheels/no gas was a shaky one. There were several
incidents of running into walls, nearly hitting children,
and a particularly nasty crash that left me clutching
a wad of tissue to a bloody hand during the morning
teachers' meeting. I was, and still am, a pretty lousy
cyclist, but here in Japan it is my mode of transportation.
I ride in stockings, heels, suits and pajama bottoms.
I ride through the rain, sleet and hail of winter
and the relentless sun in summer. I ride on the narrow
shoulders of construction-filled roads and on bumpy
sidewalks that rattle loose. I ride over curbs, potholes,
downed advertisement flags and forgotten umbrellas.
I ride late at night on empty, moonlit streets and
early in the morning during dawn-kissed rush hour
traffic.
I am twenty-six years old and I ride a bicycle.
Little did I know when I first started bicycling in
Matsue that there were so many regulations of the
road. Cyclists in Japan usually follow both pedestrian
and motor rules, and thus so did I. But one morning
- as a florescent-sash-wearing, safety patrol mom
put a flyer in my basket - I discovered there are
some pretty stringent bicycling dos and don'ts.
The following cycling moves are illegal and come with
fines ranging from 20,000 yen to 50,000 yen:
1) Riding double;
2) Riding while holding an umbrella;
3) Riding at night without a light;
4) Riding while intoxicated;
5) Riding side-by-side;
6) Riding on the right side of the road;
7) Disobeying traffic signals including stoplights,
stop signs, one-way streets signs and no bicycling
signs.
And yet many of these infractions can be witnessed
individually or in combination by students, toddler-toting
parents and business people alike. While some schools
and community centers take to posting teachers, PTA
members and elderly neighbors on the roads to nab
culprits breaking the rules, for the most part bicyclers
are free to get to their destination by any means
necessary. In a country where standards and regulations
serve as a base for most actions, it is odd that such
a blatant disobedience for the rules is the norm.
One might expect a bit more chaos.
But, this is where another part of Japanese culture
comes in. I have witnessed buses, cars, mopeds, bicycles
and pedestrians share the narrow strip of road outside
my apartment with only an elderly crossing guard to
keep them in check. In a country of little space most
have learned the subtle art of avoiding confrontation
and collision. Cutting someone off, double parking
or nearly clipping a helmet-less cyclist seems only
to require the slightest of bows. Raised voices, fist-shaking
and cross looks seem to be the weapons of those not
used to such congested roadways nor familiar with
the school of thought: with many some will get trampled.
The closest anyone comes to making a fuss is a clink
of a bell or the screech of the brakes. And that seems
more like a courtesy to the other person than a strong
desire to get the walker or the slower bicyclist out
of the way.
Riding my bike has been part of my training as a foreigner
in Matsue. While it certainly hasn't taught me patience
- I've been known to shake a fist- it has taught me
the rules of Japan are far more subtle and flexible
than at first glance. Before leaving I hope to master
my wheels and the roads of Matsue. But I can only
hope to begin to comprehend those rules of Japan that
don't come handed to you on a glossy flyer.
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