A Midlife Journey

 Many years ago (Yes, I can say that, even though I am in Midlife!) I took my third multi-day bicycle trek, which also happened to be my first trip outside North America. Like many Americans on their first (and for some, only) European adventure, I started in London because Laker Sytrain (Remember them?) and a few other carriers provided flights to Gatwick that even newly-minted college graduates like me could afford. Also, I—again, like many other Americans—felt I could “ease in” to my journey by starting it in a place where people speak my language, more or less.*

After living on my bicycle for three months through four countries, I landed in Paris, where I would spend three years. When I came back to the States, I was convinced that I was a changed person.  Indeed I was, though perhaps not for the reasons I thought I was.

The real difference, I  now realize, between myself and my peers (around 25 years old) wasn’t so much that—as I believed at that I’d become less American or more European. If anything, my journey and stay highlighted the differences between me the people I met. For one thing, although the bike I rode—a Peugeot PX-10 with clincher wheels and tires—was considered good but not exceptional among my riding, training and racing partners and rivals, it seemed like a spaceship compared to most everyday European bikes of the time.  But perhaps more important, even though my command of any language besides English was not rudimentary, to put it charitably, I could sometimes “go stealth” because I am visibly of European heritage. That, of course, is not possible for me or most Americans in any Asian culture.

The way my European sojourn changed me, I realized much later, had more to do with not following the expectations of my family or society: I did not go to graduate school (I would, however, do that later), take an entry-level corporate job or, as my father wanted, become a young military officer. That, in itself, made me more American than I was willing to acknowledge: Even in the most liberal parts of Europe, most young people followed, consciously or not, a proscribed narrative.

As much as I loved Europe—especially France—I knew I had to get to Asia, particularly India and Japan, some day. Back then, I had a vision (though not a real plan) to save money and work, whether by tutoring English or picking grapes, my way across two continents.

So, on the journey from which I just returned, I couldn’t help but to wonder what I would be like had I taken to my version of the Silk Road, whether on bike or by other means, or had I come to Japan for my first non-North American sojourn.

My guess is that what I would have encountered would have been very different from what I witnessed during the past couple of weeks. While I saw many people riding to and from work, school and other places and events in their daily lives, I suspect that Tokyo and other cities didn’t have the kind of bike culture one now finds there and in many European (and a few American) a cities. My bike probably would have stood out even more than it did in Europe.  

(The bikes I rented in Tokyo and Kyoto were similar to machines people ride every day.)

But perhaps more importantly, simply to survive,  I probably would have had to immerse myself in Japanese language and culture to an even greater degree than I had to learn European ways. That is not to say the Japanese are less hospitable; they simply express emotions and relate to their heritage (and that of others) differently from Westerners. Also, I get the impression that breaking away from expectations could result in more ostracism,  and is simply more difficult, than in Western cultures.

Some of what I’ve mentioned may have to do with the Japanese language itself: There seem to be even more rules, implicit as well as explicit, than in say, French, which is less flexible than English. Could that be a reason Japanese pedestrians and cyclists, let alone drivers, do not seem to even think about crossing at red lights—and why Japanese cops don’t seem to have to do much to enforce traffic regulations?

Oh, and while temples, shrines, monuments and other sites are full of tourists, they feel more like little worlds to enter than boxes to check off on an itinerary. Some of that, of course, has to do with the fact that most visitors—Americans, anyway—know little or nothing about, say, the Shoguns but have at least heard of Michelangelo or Leonardo before going to the Uffizi or Louvre. Also, at many Japanese sites—even the non-religious ones—visitors must take off their shoes and even perform some small ritual or make an offering upon entering. This, I believe, delineates the “inner”and “outer” worlds and is a reason (along with hygiene) why Japanese people take off their shoes when entering their, or anyone else’s, home.

Of course I’ll never know what kind of person I’d be had I first visited and cycled in Japan during my youth rather than in midlife. But I am glad I finally got there,  and have more to tell. (I didn’t want to make this post too long!)

*- I think it was George Bernard Shaw who quipped that England and the United States are two countries separated by a common language.

I’m Back And Will Have More To Share

 Last night I returned from Japan. The Boeing 787 was like a time machine: It landed at JFK Airport at almost the exact minute it departed Haneda! The reason, of course, is that Tokyo time is thirteen hours later than New York, and the flight took about 12  1/2 hours. (The flight to Tokyo took about an hour longer because the plane was flying into the prevailing wind.) But I am still living on Japan time; it probably will take me another day to re-calibrate.

When I embarked on this trip I had planned to post on this blog every day, or nearly so. So why didn’t I? I was having such a good time.  But, dear readers, that isn’t to say that I post when I am not having a good time. Rather, I enjoyed—and at times was exhausted by—my days there because I was experiencing so much. 

Also, even though I’d read that most of Japan is very hot in July, I was not prepared for the heat I experienced: Every day the temperature reached 34 to 37C (93 to 98.6 F) and, because the areas of Japan I traveled are further south than New York, the sun was more intense. So at the end of a day of cycling to temples, shrines and other sites, I was exhausted!

Speaking of cycling: I rented bikes in Tokyo and Kyoto. The former has a bike share program but it’s difficult to use if you’re not a resident. I didn’t cycle during the three days I spent in Osaka: No one I asked seemed to know how or where to rent a bike. 

During the next few days I’ll write more about my cycling and other experiences in Japan. I hope the trip I just took won’t be my only one to the Land of the Rising Sun.

A Good Way To Be Tired

 I have been in Japan for ten days.  Every one of them has ended with my falling asleep moments after entering my hotel room,

I could blame some of that fatigue on the heat and humidity: Every one has felt like the steamiest one I experienced in New York, Florida or anywhere else I’ve lived or visited. I don’t recall Cambodia or Laos, which are well within the tropical zone, being so  resembling a sauna. Today I did the trek up Fushima Inari, where ten thousand orange gates frame the trail up the mountain. Every body—including those young enough to be my grandchildren and lithe enough to be ballerinas and marathoners—were sheathed in sweat.

 

 

Were my fatigue a result only of the sweltering conditions, I would feel resigned, perhaps dispirited: The weather just happens. But I am satisfied, even content. I am experiencing so much during my days here, not only from my bike rides and visits to shrines, temples and other sites, but simply from being here.

It’s as if I am “catching up” or “making up for lost time.” At the risk of sounding trite, I wish I’d come here sooner—as in, decades ago. I find myself wondering what I might be like had I immersed myself in a culture where people do their jobs and helpful not because they’re trying to be helpful, but rather because, really, what else can we do? Now I wonder how much I’ve come to see aggression and confrontation as normal as a result of living in New York and, increasingly, the United States.

When I ride the unprotected bike lanes that line some streets, I don’t hear a crescendo of car horns behind and beside me or feel the hostility of drivers who just might run me over if it meant nothing more than a fine and points on their licenses (if indeed they have licenses). And in the sidewalk bike lanes, I don’t get the sense that pedestrians see me as part of an invading hostile force.

Oh, and store clerks don’t stare and sigh when I confuse the two coins with holes in the middle—a 50 vs a 5 yen piece—and explain—or call someone can —when I ask what’s in a package or bottle with a label printed only in Japanese. They have better things to do—namely, their jobs—than to shame or patroniize you.

In short, I don’t think I have ever been in a more civilized place. I wonder what I might now, be like if I’d experienced it earlier in my life. For now, it’s an adjustment—and adjustments tire me out. But I don’t mind this kind of tired.

A Shrine To What Is

 A week in Japan. Three days in Osaka. My twenty-seventh country and—how many cities, monuments and faces have I seen?  Yet I feel I am experiencing everything for the first time.

This has been my first trip to a place I hadn’t previously seen since I went to Greece six summers ago, a few months before COVID changed the world—and me.  (In early 2023 I went to Paris, where I lived years ago and have visited several times since.) Tokyo, Osaka and Japan certainly are different from other places I’ve seen: The qualities of light and color, and even of time and space, are as unlike others I’ve felt as takoyaki is from a jambon-beurre sandwich or a hamburger. Yet I can’t help but to feel that the real differences between what I have known and what I am learning lie within me and sometimes within my body itself.

For one thing, I notice that I am more tired at the end of a day of cycling, walking and sightseeing. Mind you, I have long realized that wanting to end a day of any journey—whether in a place I am seeing for the first time or a place to which I return nearly every day—by laying down my head is usually a good thing:  It means that I have lived that day, if not fully, then at least to the best I could.

The bike I rented in Tokyo.

Of course, some of my fatigue has to do with age: While I am in the middle of my life as long as I don’t know when it will end, I cannot pretend that my body is what it was forty years, or even minutes, ago. That, I realize, is also the reason why I could—and, I admit, do—wish I could have taken this trip earlier in my life, I am glad I am on it, and that it still lies ahead, now.

Then there is the weather: I landed in a heat wave. Or so it seems. Every day I have been here has been as hot as the steamiest days of any summer in New York.  That makes sense when one realizes that Tokyo and Osaka are on the same parallels as the American South. But it seems even hotter here than in Cambodia and Laos, which are undeniably tropical. 

I am not complaining: If everything is exactly as you expected, you aren’t traveling.

Perhaps that previous sentence seems smug or sanctimonious. Perhaps it is. For what it’s worth, it’s something that made sense to me today when I visited the Sumiyoshi Taisha shrine. (Hmm, maybe there is something to those shrines and temples after all!) Yesterday, after touring Osaka Castle, I wandered into NHK World. Not surprisingly, there were screens everywhere showing various Japanese TV programs—and Jaws with Japanese subtitles. I saw that movie the summer it was released and thought back to that movie time when I was pursuing the dreams of my father and a few other adults in my life. I thought that if I hadn’t pursued what they envisioned for me—mainly, their own unfulfilled wishes—my life would have been what it was “supposed to be.” I utterly failed in most of those pursuits because, I was told, I didn’t try or study or Jesus hard enough and that I should just “snap out of “ my “moodiness.”

But today I realize I hadn’t failed, although I couldn’t have known it all of those years ago. If nothing else, I learned that those dreams and goals—such as going to West Point or Annapolis and embarking on a military career, which my father wanted for me—simply weren’t right for me. Perhaps even the dreams I had, like being a marine biologist, were not meant to be even if I blamoed my father and a buddy of his for hijacking them.

As for what any of this has to do with cycling: It’s probably one of the few passions I’ve ever had that nobody could change or destroy.  So here I am, in midlife, cycling in my 27th country.

Anyway, I realized at the shrine that my failure—if indeed there is any—was in believing that my life was “supposed to be” a certain way, whether in line with my own or other people’s wishes. Rather, I need to acknowledge, if not embrace, what is and journey through whatever will be.

Front and side view of one of the shrine’s sanctuaries .

After leaving the shrine, I entered a cafe—“Vie de France”—for a cafe au lait and to use their internet connection. I called Callie, Sam’s significant other, who is looking after Marlee. “I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you too. And Marlee?”

I met her—and “Sam”—just over a year ago, when I moved to the place where I live now.

Crossing A Line

So where in the world is Justine, a.k.a. the author of Midlife Cycling?

OK, here’s the the first clue:

The sky is overcast, but neither it nor the water are as murky as they appear: I took the photo through a not-so-clear window. We should see a sunrise tomorrow.

Now, here’s another clue:

Hot coffee in a canister.  I can’t find that in my local bodega.

And one doesn’t normally find these on arriving at an American hotel or B&B:

Finally, here’s one more tip-off that you’re definitely not in New York City—or anywhere in the United States:

Even if you couldn’t see the signs, or didn’t notice people’s faces, I think you could tell I wasn’t on the D train.

I am indeed in Tokyo.  After a 13 hour-plus flight, I need some sleep. But tomorrow I’ll be exploring—on bike, I hope.

Watch for this notice at your local post office:  

“WANTED:  Justine Valinotti (alias: the Midlife Cyclist Blogger). For crossing the International Date Line to ride a bicycle.”

A Huracan vs A Housewife

There are reasons why police departments all over the world have bicycle patrols.  The main one is that an officer pedaling two wheels can reach places, such as congested downtown streets and alleyways of campuses, inaccessible to the cop with his or her foot on a gas pedal.  And, the constable on two wheels can get to a scene more quickly than his or her counterpart in a motorized vehicle.

What most police department brass don't know, however, is that one of its officer's legs can generate 573 horsepower on a bicycle. 

All right.  That's just a slight exaggeration.  In this one instance, however, a Japanese cop on a bike was a match for 573 horsepower of Italian automotivery. (All right, I made up that last word.)  Or, at least, those 573 horses--costing more than a lovely Louisiana abode that wouldn't look out of place in Gone With The Wind--couldn't escape from justice delievered from the seat of "a housewife-style chari bike.

For years, I've heard that red cars are more frequently pulled over than vehicles of any other color.  It makes sense: If you're going to speed, make illegal turns or do almost anything else you shouldn't be doing while driving, you're more likely to be caught if you catch an officer's eye while doing it.  And, of course, you are more likely to get such unwanted attention if your car has a bright, eye-catching hue.   

Now, of course, if you're buying a Lamborghini, you're probably not trying to be inconspicuous. So, of course, you'll go for a color like the bright orange of the Huracan in the video.  But even if that car had been painted in primer gray, its driver wouldn't have escaped the cop on the "housewife" bike.  Why?  Well, that cop had the law on his side.  No, I'm not talking about Japanese traffic code:  I mean the law of gravity.  

So, if you are contemplating whether to treat yourself to a sports car or a bike, just read this post--and watch the video! 

What You Can't Leave Home Without

Seems that some people believe in carrying absolutely everything:

That image comes to you from a post on strange bicycles from Japan (where else?) in TechEBlog.

A Japanese Moulton from Bianchi?

Paint your bikes green, call them "whites" and they'll sell like hotcakes all over the world.


Believe it or not, a company has actually been doing what I've just described. 


I'm talking, of course, about Bianchi.  Time was when a Bianchi was a Bianchi, and you couldn't buy them everywhere.  They were available in a few countries outside Italy and in the US, a relatively small number of shops sold them.  The Bianchis available outside Italy were almost all mid- to high-range road bikes, and they were all made in Italy.


Things started to change during the 1980's when Bianchi had some of their bicycles manufactured for them in Japan.  As far as I know, those bikes were sold only in North America, and were--intentionally--much like the better Japanese bikes of that time from makers like Miyata, Panasonic and Bridgestone.  Bianchi's finest racing machines were still made in Italy, but they apparently realized that in the less-expensive road bikes (I'm talking about the real ones, not the ones that mimicked their paint schemes), Japanese frames were offering arguably better workmanship and clearly better components, particularly in the drivetrains, than the Europeans were, or could.


That was the beginning of a major shift for Bianchi.  Up to that time, you sought out a Bianchi if you were a racer or other high-mileage cyclist who cared at least somewhat about speed.  And you knew that getting a Bianchi meant getting a particular kind of Italian road bike.  If you weren't the type of cyclist I've just described, you had probably never heard about Bianchi at that time.  But, from the 1980's onward, Bianchi became, in essence, a number of different bike-makers in a number of different countries.  As an example, they marketed one of the first hybrid bikes in the US, where that type of bike first appeared.  They also offered mass-market versions of high-performance mountain bikes made by the pioneer mountain bike builders in the US. Later, they would make and sell one of the first mass-market fixed-gear bikes--and helped to spawn, if unintentionally, the "hipster fixie."  And they have sold various types of utility and recreational bicycles in other countries.  Those bikes are tailored to the needs and tastes of the local markets.


I've never been to Japan.  So, in all honesty, I couldn't tell you what cyclists ride there.  All I know about the Japanese cycling community and markets, I've read in bike magazines or heard from people familiar with Japanese cycling.  And, oh, yes, from seeing what the Japanese buy on e-Bay.


I never would have guessed that their tastes ran to bikes like these:

Martin, the owner of this bike, brought it and himself from Japan.  He says it's a kind of bike the Japanese call the "mini-sprinter":  a machine with a relatively tight wheelbase, straight fork and small wheels (on this bike,  20 X 1 1/8).  He tells me that when people see it, they ask him how to fold it.  I remarked that in some ways, the bike--which is called the Mini Velo 9 Drop--reminds me of the original Moultons.  


According to Martin, Moultons are sought by collectors in Japan, where they fetch even higher prices than they do here in the US.  And, he said, a lot of Japanese believe that it's possible to go faster with the smaller wheels.


I've always wanted to ride a Moulton just to experience it.  If I had money to burn, I might buy one even though I'm not a collector.  I'm sure that the ride of Martin's bike is different, however subtly.  If I had more time, I might want to try both a Moulton and Martin's bike.  I wonder which one I'd like better.  In any event, I'm sure that the shifting and braking are better on the Bianchi than they were on the Moulton.  My love of vintage (and vintage-style) bikes, bags and other accessories doesn't extend to components. 


However, Martin does have two things on his bike that, if they weren't standard equipment on Moultons, were almost certainly installed on many of them.  He has a nice brass Japanese bell like the ones Velo Orange sells.  More important, he has a nice brown Brooks B-17 on his Bianchi.