Biking Around Japan — Day 99: Kyoto Floods and Summer Clouds
7/7/2018 — Miyazu, Kyoto
It’s day 100 and it’s 1AM and my guesthouse owner is screaming something that I’m not yet awake enough to understand. Maybe I should wake up.
The rain is still pretty loud. That sound has been ringing in my ears for the past 3 days; through my helmet, through my jacket, and now through the ceiling.
I’ve ridden around 15000km since Tokyo, wrapping around Southwestern Japan (Kyushu & Okinawa), and am now heading North along the coast towards Hokkaido. A rider I met a few days ago was surprised my pace was so relaxed. I told him I had around 2 months to finish my trip. 15 prefectures left.
“Are you going to make it in time?”
“Of course.”
Day 99
7/6/2018, 23:31
Hachi House Guesthouse, Miyazu-shi, Kyoto Prefecture
24°C, Heavy Rain
66.4kg 15200kmI’m exhausted. I haven’t realized how tired I’ve been this past week — it’s all kind of coming down now with the rain. Started at around 7:30AM today. Got better at noon. Then worse. It's very worse now.Two nights ago I dreamt of a flood that blocked off everything around me. It started raining real bad ever since. People are calling me "Ame otoko" (Rain boy).- journals vol 3
Nobody really rides the rainy days — clothes, tent, and scenery all get soaked — but I usually move if I can. Unpleasant at first, bad weather isn’t so bad once you learn how to play along. If I had gas, I’d move. I’d wrap my boots in plastic bags. I’d find a roof or building to camp under. And I’d move again. The rain can be nice.
But not today. Riding in rain can be not so safe, and today was more not so safe than usual. It’s the third day of consecutive downpour, and exhaustion makes bad weather worse.
Between camping and a $40 guesthouse, I took the latter. A little expensive for this type of travel, but there are times where you have to shell out — this was one of them. Plus, it’d been a while since I slept in a bed. I’d get some rest tonight.
Nana, the guesthouse owner, is still yelling for me. Maybe I should wake up. That’s the second time I’ve said that.
I moved towards the living room. It was the same as when I arrived — a small Kotatsu table, a light couch, a TV, and a shelf stacked of Manga books. But something was different. My eyebrows scrunched at the window.
The ground outside looked like it had risen. I was sure I wasn’t dreaming — was it like that before? And then I realized — the ground was moving.
I looked for words to form a question, but didn’t need to. Nana said something in Japanese that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need to either.
“It’s flooding.”
It looked pretty bad. It sounded pretty bad. Like showering with earplugs in. The street had become a river; a pretty fast one. I imagined brown water rafting.
Gas tanks were knocked down, car wheels flooded, and random garbage was washing away. The old Japanese style houses looked like they would crumble against the current. Under the streetlights, the pouring rain seemed like it would wash even the light away too.
I’d parked my bike inside the entrance of the house. Good. But the entrance of the house had no door. Double good. Water was climbing up the tires and random sandals were nonchalantly floating around. One of those was mine.
I’ve watched enough Youtube videos to know how this works. People stranded on building tops, cars and houses washing away — I looked back to my bike. Maybe this would be the last time I’d ever see it. Or it’d ever see me, for that matter.
We’d have to find a way to the roof. We’d need helicopters to come and save us.
My inner movie director spent a few more seconds until my conscience kicked back in. All my luggage was still strapped onto the bike — I had to save what I could. And although hard to tell if the flooding would get worse, we’d have to find a way to block it from getting in.
Nana shouted to be careful as my knees sank into water. I pulled off my bags to the side and took out my valuables. If some things are lost, so be it; but the journals and pictures were my memories — I’d strap them in my underwear if I had to. Keeping important things close was a lesson I learned early in the trip.
With a fat board of wood and some bricks, we barricaded the front entrance and scooped out as much water as we could. The sandal was still there, lying on a pile of mud.
“What now?”
“Wait, I guess.”
We sat near the front, en garde for the worst. But luckily it didn’t come. At least not yet.
Nana called a bunch of people and looked for information on Twitter. She’d stick her head out the window and yell updates with the neighbour over the rain. I posted my could-be last moments on Instagram and sent my parents a picture. Dad replied, “You’re still not asleep yet??”
The clock turned to 2. And 3. And then at 4AM, things seemed to come around.
I turned to Nana, and then to the roof, “It’s quiet.” Quieter, I meant.
The rain had dimmed. And looking at the mark on my bike wheels, I realized the water level had lowered too. Both of us breathed out a bit of relief. Nobody knew how long the flood would last, but hopefully we’d avoided becoming Youtube videos for the time being.
“Probably still won’t be able to move for a while,” my eyes wandered out the door entrance, and then to my bike. I wondered if the engine would even start.
“Unlucky,” she sighed — the mood of the entire street.
I lay down and stared at the ceiling. At least we didn’t need helicopters.
Day 100
7/7/2018, 14:35
26°C, OvercastI slept from 4-12. I think Nana stayed awake for most of it.My bike is a little mangled up - tree branch in brake disc, gunk all over chain and sporks. I tried moving it back a little but IDK if I should've done that. I hope the engine is okay.The rain subsided this morning, but things are supposed to get worse tonight.I don't really know how I feel. I wish I could help somehow.- journals vol 3
7/7/2018
The rain had stopped for now, but had already done its damage. Flooding, landslides, sinkholes — the entire Kansai region had been hit. Road closures were everywhere. Looking at the worst-of-it on the news and Twitter, we were actually the lucky ones.
But nothing was open. Grocery stores closed, convenience stores cleaned out, nowhere to go and nothing we could really do—I didn’t know what to make of the situation.
Even if my bike was okay, I couldn’t move if I wanted to; everything was blocked off. I felt anxious. It wasn’t the waiting that bothered me; it was the helplessness.
Nana’s friend came to deliver some riceballs and eggs at noon. The riceballs tasted like… riceballs, but scarcity gave me a new appreciation for food. We had a laugh about my timing in this situation, and Nana went to hand out the rest of the food to our neighbours.
I decided to step out too. The river had calmed down; water was at shin level.
Turns out our street was the only one in the neighbourhood that flooded. A tree — or parts of it — had fallen and jammed the canal beside us. Some neighbours were filling up bags of mud to build a blockade, trying to stop the overflow from coming into the street.
I looked on, wondering if I could help, or do something — anything. In any usual circumstance, help is almost always a good thing, but for some reason I felt hideously out of place. Like I was… barging in?
Perhaps it was because I was a foreigner to the country and a stranger to the community. That I felt the language barrier would do more trouble than good. Maybe I had ironically assimilated into the very Japanese don’t-bother-others mentality. Or maybe I felt like I didn’t have a right to help.
I don’t really know what I felt. I just suddenly felt very alone. My legs stood in place. Murky water continued to brush against my shins the same way it brushed against the old houses left and right.
Progress was slow at first, but a backhoe truck came in quickly to finish the work. It was my first time seeing human and machine labour juxtaposed so clearly; a dozen adults breaking backs for hours couldn’t have done what the machine did in 10 minutes.
A wall of mud now lined across the street. The canal was still blocked, but water was no longer flowing into the neighbourhood. The street had finally come back to a street. Kind of.
Day 101
7.8.2018, 22:27
29°C, Clear Exhausted. And super full. Woke up at 9:30 and went to join the work team. Kubi (?) and Chabin were already here. I still don't know everyone's names.I think I ate too much.- journals vol 3
7/8/2018
Metal scrapes against gravel. Again, and again. And again. That sound of shovels had replaced the sound of rain. It had become our anthem.
The draining water had revealed a blanket of brown — not a single speck of ground could be seen. Mud and garbage were everywhere — on the streets, in the gutters (the worst), and even in peoples’ homes (the actual worst).
One of the houses had mud so deep in that it was literally unreachable; they’d have to call a guy to take apart the entire flooring. Until then, whatever was lying in those depths would bake in the summer heat. It was 33°C. I imagined the smell, and then stopped imagining the smell.
The next few days were spent on cleanup and recovery. Everybody in the community came together and helped in whatever way they could. Some would shovel, some would make food, some would bring drinks, and everybody would play their part.
Old men handed out ice cream, little kids scooped mud from gutters, and slowly but surely, the neighbourhood began looking like a neighbourhood again.
Breaks were filled with sweat wiping and funny conversation. The neighbour’s 12 year old son, Saho, would fight for my mud and challenge me.
“You’re from Canada??”
“That’s right.”
“But you speak Japanese.”
“ Maybe a little.”
“But you look Japanese.”
“Maybe a little.”
“But you’re from Canada??”
“That’s right.”
His amazement (or confusion) gave everybody a good laugh. Saho quickly convinced himself that he would come to Canada too. But he’d need to learn English for that, I told him. His face suddenly flashed with a lot of pain, but murmured that he’d try his best.
We laughed again.
At first, I shovelled head down like a monkey, trying to compensate for not doing anything before, but I soon realized that a part of this wasn’t just about doing as much work as possible.
I looked to the father loosening mud so that his son could shovel too, even though the father would have been faster by himself. The big machines would be coming again to wipe the floor, yet we were still doing all that we could with shovels and buckets. It wasn’t just about getting the job done. It was about community.
The end of each work day was marked by cheers and see-you-tomorrow’s. Red skies dyed the clouds, and Nana’s crew and I would head somewhere drink to celebrate a job well done.
Kubi and Chabin, two good friends who met on an online game and had moved here to start a motorcycle business; Saho, the 12 year old boy whose manliness and frankness completely surprised me, and who I later learned was actually a girl; Nagomi, the Izakaya across the street that we went to every night — by the end, the initial alienness I struggled with had become a warmth; this neighbourhood had become my neighbourhood too.
7/9/2018
It’s a little past noon and we’re done cleaning the streets and I’m sitting in the garage trying to clean my helmet. It was soaked in the rain and now smells like soggy butt. Nana tells me to spray some Febreeze on it, but to be honest I don’t know which smell I’d prefer.
The roof is protecting us from the sun, but the heat is unescapable. I don’t know if this afternoon lethargy is because I’m melting or because I had too much udon for lunch. But I’m relaxed — it feels nice to just sit around. The streets are looking good.
Kubi asks me if I know of Amanohashidate and I ask him if it tastes better than the udon. He laughs because my joke is funny, or maybe he thinks I’m stupid.
“Amanohashidate” (Heaven’s Bridge) is one of the “Three Views of Japan”, and why most people come to Miyazu city at all. I’d never been.
“Okay, then let’s go.” And we go.
Kubi stared at the rain-damaged gondola line and gave a should’ve-guessed laugh upon arrival. We couldn’t get up to the view point, but we could still see the coast wrapped around by bushy green mountains. The seaside was sparkling.
Instead, we just walked around in the sun, finding shade and enjoying the blue skies that had finally come out after a week of incomprehensible weather. The heat was pretty intense, but I’d take a few drops of sweat over rain right now. Now and for a while, probably. Cicadas sang with agreement.
Since the rainy season started mid-June, it was rare to have a picture perfect day like this. Sunlight glazed along the empty streets we strolled by. Warm humid air walked into my skin and lungs.
“Look, summer clouds,” Kubi pointed over the telephone lines. Short houses and buildings make for big and clear skies.
“Summer clouds?”
“Look! Big, fat — soft cream!”
7/9/2018
It’s already 11PM and we just got back from the Izakaya. Tonight’s the 4th night since I arrived. I can’t remember the last time I’d stopped for so long, but I don’t mind it.
But 4 nights and how many after? Nana mentioned that there would be events in coming days — pub crawls, local food tasting, and of course karaoke.
Having been alone and homeless for the past 100 days, being part of a neighbourhood was very wholesome. I haven’t had daily life in a long time, and daily life was kind of nice. I wanted to stay; I was just starting to get to know everyone. I was having fun.
But even so, I had a goal — I’m biking around Japan, I reminded myself. It’s important to take time to appreciate and enjoy the stops, but my bike’s waiting for me. The rest of this, whatever it is, is waiting for me.
The best time to leave is when you want to stay just a little longer. And right now, I want to stay just a little longer.
7/10/2018
Before I left, all the people that I’d met came to say goodbye. Nana’s friend brought me a small Japanese charm to take with me. “Stay safe. Don’t ride in rain too much.”
I wrapped it in a sheet of tissue and slid it into my tankbag.
It’d only been a few days, but I’d missed this feeling of being on the bike. Jacket, helmet, gloves — putting on gear felt like coming back home after a long day away.
I was ready. My bike was too. I’d been worried this entire time if it was okay, but luckily Nana’s family ran a bike shop. We only needed some minor fixes — couldn’t help but smile when I heard the engine start.
The sun was heading home by the time I was heading out — it was getting pretty late. Maybe it would’ve made more sense to leave the next morning, but my heart had already decided. It was time to go.
“Come back again sometime!” Nana yelled over the sound of my engine.
I smiled and waved back — I’d be back someday. Maybe to see how Nana’s guesthouse was doing. Or if Saho would learn English as promised. Or if we’d make it up the Amanohashidate gondola with Kubi and Chabin next time.
But right now I was only looking towards the next stop. Visor up, jacket unzipped, I felt the hot wind blow across my face and against my chest.
I was soaring across the sky. The clouds seemed to be whiter than usual. Big, fat, soft cream.
More later maybe
