A Year Without A Car

Having sold my Prelude and moved to Japan, being my stingy self, I attempted to live in a rural, mountainous village without a car. My trusty Cannondale mountain bike took me to the school board office and the surrounding schools. With saddle bags and a pack sack, I was able to carry my necessary teaching supplies and arrive at the schools invigorated, if a little sweaty. In the end, I survived three years of commuting on my bicycle to the disbelief of my supervisors who thought I could not handle the heat, the distance, the cold, the wet, or whatever else that could thwart a cyclist. Four years later, I am sure most residents remember me as the crazy foreigner who rode his bike everywhere.

While the bike proved perfect for work, it was less than perfect in many other respects. The local market, although reasonably well stocked for a town of 5000 people, was expensive and had rather inconvenient hours. Closing at 7 pm forced me into a shopping routine that I could never quite fit into. Furthermore, most of the other customers had some sort of connection to me; co-workers at the town hall, staff at the local schools, parents of students, and other community members that I had met through town events. Although I enjoyed meeting them, I was rather embarrassed when then peered into my basket to analyze my purchases.

"Ahhh, of course. Coca-Cola. Can you drink all of that by yourself?"

"You bought some cookies. All Americans love cookies, right?"

"Wow! You bought some yakisoba. Can you make it yourself? That's amazing!"

It is not unusual to have to fend off such questions when living in Japan. Even though I would remind myself that it is just honest curiosity combined with the need to make small talk, after a while, it became more and more difficult to answer the same questions in a diplomatic and civil manner. I found myself becoming more and more curt in my answers while doing my best to avoid entering into such conversations in the first place.

About half way through my first year, I discovered, without hyperbole, the cheapest supermarket in Japan. Trial had everything I needed at prices that were close to half of what the local Self Ono was charging. The only trouble was the 30 km round-trip required from my apartment. Although the trip there was easy enough, after loading the bike with 5 kg of rice and the other necessities, it was a much more labourious trip back up the valley.

My social life was also taking a hit. Although there were a number of people who offered to drive me places, I always felt like a bit of a user especially when dealing with other teachers. They had bought cars, why hadn't I? In addition, the bus service in the town was sporadic at best and the nearest train station was 18 km away. Bicycle security was always an issue. Although theft is rare it is not unheard of especially around stations when someone just needs a bike to get home. Most bikes have simple locks that place a bar through the spokes preventing movement. These are just a minor deterrent as they are easily broken. Although I had my solid u-lock that would prove more difficult, there were no structures to physically attach the bike to. Thus, even if they could not disengage the lock, it would be easy to simple pick my bicycle up and put it the back of a truck. If it was stolen, not only would I be out $1000, trying to find an equivalent bicycle in the correct size would prove difficult.

My bicycle continued to be my main source of transportation throughout my three years. In the end, I would put more than 10,000 km on it requiring a total rebuild of the drive train. It had taken me to work countless times, allowed me to explore small, mountainous rodes, and given me a lot of exercise. Despite all these benefits, I needed something more practical. I needed a car.

Is that you, Santa?

As usual, my wife and I are sitting on the living room floor around the coffee table having dinner while watching the latest Michael Jackson news, when a scuffling sound emerges from the fireplace. Yuriko looks at me. I look at her. We both cock our heads. We dismiss it. As we resume eating, we hear the noise again. "Police raided Michael Jackson's personal physician..." is muted while we listen intently again. Without doubt, there is a noise coming from the fireplace.

Being the logical, non-alarmist I say, "Must be the neighbour messing around outside." My wife looks at me skeptically but refrains from commenting. I get up and look outside. The suspected neighbour is not to be found.

I retake my seat and soon the noise reoccurs. This time I conjecture that it must be birds on top of the chimney picking at the moss. "Those woodpecker type birds are always looking for grubs under the moss. Remember how we couldn't figure out that hammering sound in the other room a year ago? Must be the same thing happening here. Sound gets amplified and distorted as it comes down the flue." When we first moved into the house, we could not understand the periodic rattling sound that interrupted us, usually during breakfast. At first we attributed it to neighbours doing construction, but soon discovered that a friendly woodpecker was periodically inspecting our other aluminum chimney.

As I head outside to confirm my theory, I find patches of dried moss. Ah hah! Proof. However, I don't see any of the birds around. I justify myself by recalling how flighty they are. Just walking outside was enough to get them to disappear into the surrounding trees and out of sight.

I come in again. As we try to resume our dinner, we hear the sound again. I stand very close to the fireplace. Definitely,it is coming from inside the fireplace. Now, what is it?

I figure it is one of two things; either a squirrel has found its way into the flue and fallen to the bottom or a bird has done the same. Fearing that if I open the baffle a squirrel will come running out and ransack our house, I close all the doors possible and try to block off were it might run. Perhaps I have watch A Christmas Vacation one too many times.

Slowly, cautiously, I open the baffle and peer in. Thankfully, it does not coming rushing out. Thankfully, it is not a rat, nor some really big spider, nor the feared hyperactive squirrel. The tail feathers are blue. It is a Stellar Jay that has somehow fallen to the bottom and has no way of getting out.

As he seems oblivious to my presence, I fear that he may have injured himself. Falling down the flue, he could have easily broken a wing or damaged his leg. After managing to get the baffle open, I reach in with my gloved hand. Again, very little response. Eventually, he does turn his head so that my flashlight catches the sparkle of his eye. This time, as I put my hand in, his beak opens in a defensive move. I ask my wife to get a peanut to see if we can improve his mood but he shows no reaction.

Deciding that he will not move on his own accord, I gently reach in with one hand and try to wrap my fingers around his body. Birds are not the easiest animals to grab hold of with their wings, spindly legs, sharp beaks, and my overriding if unwarranted concern about their delicateness. Ideally, I would use both hands but the construction of the fireplace limits me to just one.

As I gently increase my grip, I coax the bird towards me in an attempt to free him. At first he is resistant, then, as he sees a possible escape, he bolts toward me, bounces off my chest, flies to the ceiling, bounces off the wall, and then down the hallway where he lands on the ground. Quickly, I take a blanket and smother him as gently as possible. Miraculously, he appears to have escaped injury from landing inside the fireplace and I don't want him to be injured now. The blanket calms him enough so I am able to carry him outside. There, he flies immediately to the nearest tree looking no worse for having endured this ordeal.

Feeling relieved and satisfied, we go inside to inspect the damage. Apart from ash on my shirt and wing prints on the ceilings and walls, everything appears to be in order. The ash easily wipes off the paint and my shirt comes clean a day later.

We feel thankful that the bird was not injured and that we were home when this happened. Just a week earlier, we had been in Japan for two weeks. We care not to think how long the bird would have suffered without our intervention. We can only hope that he, nor any other bird, does not suffer a similar experience.