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.