KYOTO:
Despite the weather and my bike's feeble condition, I still managed to enjoy trawling through Kyoto's ancient eastern quarter, a living monument to traditional Japanese town-architecture and religious reverence, set upon the verdant hillside bordering the city. Lining the streets elaborate shop signs swung on their chains and large, globular, lamps swayed in the rain speckled gale outside art galleries, traditional artisan shops and warm, enticing Japanese style pubs and cafes. Half lost and wandering down the winding alleys in idle curiosity, I happened upon hidden walled gardens, secret shrines and an enormous secluded graveyard, the mass of stone monuments following the contours of the hillside like burnt tree stumps in the surrounding green.
Nara Temple
NARA: Japan's most ancient capital and forerunner to Kyoto (as well as only an hour's train journey away), Nara boasts an historical park crammed with extravagant temples and palaces, beautiful gardens and an interesting population of extremely inbred deer. Between strolling through the unique primeval forest of Nara trees, pondering the historical and religious significance of the architecture and watching an infuriated donut-seller chase after a group of thieving deer, Nara was a satisfying day's sightseeing.
STUMBLE AND FALL:
Considering the condition of the bike, I did ruminate on finding a mechanic in Kyoto or riding back to Tokyo via the quickest, most direct route (pretty much back the way I came). But, knowing that the bike’s problems were engine based and could take a long time to fix (Kyoto has no cheap accommodation), as well as knowing the difficulties in finding a mechanic and communicating the bike's problems to him in Japanese, I decided against staying in Kyoto. With comforting advice from my Tokyo mechanic on the email to simply take it easy, I decided to take a roundabout route back to Tokyo, anxious not to miss my one opportunity of seeing a bit more of Japan before it was time to go to Russia. Taking plenty of extra oil with me to keep the engine topped up (although the morning ride to Kyoto had made me doubt my theory about a lack of oil causing the noise) I struck north, round lake Biwa and into the mountains of Central Honshu, towards Takayama and Matsumoto. Leaving Kyoto in the afternoon, I enjoyed a wonderful ride sailing and swerving through the hills - the bike was sounding as smooth as ever and I was in my element.
Sadly, it didn't last and after a quick break a few hours down the road, I was alarmed to find a large puddle of oil lying under the engine and, upon riding (despite topping the oil up), the return of that familiar crunching and grinding. As I lay in my hammock that night in another picturesque spot, listening to the crashing of a distant waterfall, I was overcome with a desperate urge to just get back to Tokyo and sort this problem out so I could once again concentrate on simply enjoying what I was doing. The next morning, anxious as ever, I topped up the oil (another litre) and rode out, wincing at my engine's noisy complaints. A few minutes down the road I was surprised to run into a dead end. On closer inspection of my map, I discovered that I was on an incomplete road, making it necessary to backtrack and take a smaller road to get over a high mountain ridge. As I was forming these conclusions my heart sank when I glanced round at my bike - oil was literally gushing out of it. Rushing to inspect the leak I discovered a disconnected pipe, certain it wasn't disconnected before, I reconnected it and hoped that might somehow do the trick. However, the terrible engine noises continued and with every mile I had the sickening feeling I might be damaging my bike further. But, with no other feasible option, I continued towards Tokyo, praying to reach it before any serious damage was done. My irritations were heightened when the small mountain pass I was riding on as a supposed short-cut, turned into a remote muddy track. Positive that I must have taken the wrong road, I decided to backtrack to the nearest village to work out where I could have made my mistake. Foolishly, I attempted a U-turn on a steep narrow incline and lost my balance, dropping my bike on the slope and trapping my leg underneath it. After a minute's struggling to free my leg while I got thoroughly soaked by petrol leaking out of the cap of my recently filled, upturned tank, I finally got free and began the futile task of trying to right my bike. Despite having detached all my luggage, I still couldn't lift the thing, the steep uphill slope not helping matters. With petrol still bubbling out of the cap and frantically trying to think of a new plan of action, I heard the faint rumble of a distant truck and a minute later the driver was helping me lift the bike, looking extremely worried that he was standing next to someone covered in gasoline. With the bike finally upright and the information from the kind driver that I was actually on the right road after all, I continued up the mountain while he pulled off into a very fortuitously placed chemicals plant. Up above cloud level, after a straining climb, I stopped to give myself and my bike a rest. As I took a few photos of the quiet, surrounding wilderness, I spent a minute gazing at my enduring old bike, set upon such a glorious Japanese backdrop, reflecting upon its faithful traverse through miles and miles of countless different landscapes. With so many miles still to go, however, the vast expanses of Russia still to cross, I never could have guessed that this would be my very last ride on my trusty old machine. As the road opened up, back on the flat, I opened my throttle and pushed up to fifth gear. But my bike did not respond. I opened up again, trying to accelerate above 40mph, but nothing happened until a sudden choking came from my engine and it cut-out. Restarting the engine and going back into fourth, a new dread clouded over me and I cruised along at 35, afraid to push it again. A few miles down the road however, a familiar spluttering noise and loss of power came again forcing me to restart and go into 3rd, hoping to limp into some sort of garage despite the remoteness of the road. Third gear held for longer and I reached a village where I pulled up first to get something to eat and drink. Remounting my bike a few minutes later, I discovered I wasn't even able to break out of 1st. Miraculously, there was sign in the distance which looked as though it might represent something vaguely mechanical, so I wheeled my lame bike towards it. It was some sort of truck depot but a few mechanical-looking people were wandering around. I took the bike up to the office and looked about hopefully to find someone who might speak English. A couple of truck mechanics came over to take a look but besides checking the petrol and seeming to find my situation quite amusing, they were unable to offer any further help. After a few seconds of wondering whether I would still be in this exact position this time next week, I decided to make myself this place's problem, and entered the office to announce my predicament in the hope that someone would understand English. 'Need pick-up, Tokyo' was understood by one obliging gentleman who very kindly took it upon himself to see me sorted out. Trailing the phone book he found a relatively local express freight service.
Despite having objections to not being able to ride in the truck with my bike, it not being able to be dropped off at my mechanic's in Tokyo and the quite prodigious cost, I relented as I had little choice and was nevertheless relieved to be given a way out of my stranded situation. We hastily fastened the bike down to one of the place’s own pick-ups and headed out for the express service depot. While collecting my thoughts about my current disaster and feeling little else could go wrong at that moment, my bike suddenly toppled over as we turned a corner too fast (it was clearly not fastened securely enough), very narrowly missing falling off the pick-up altogether and right into the path of a passing truck, causing what would have been a very serious crash. With the bike picked up and more securely fastened, we arrived a while later at the express depot, relieved to have avoided a bad accident. I reluctantly handed over 60,000 yen (it sounds a lot because it is a lot) for my bike to be taken to Tokyo, but not without stuffing my pockets with almost their entire bowl of complimentary sweets - ha! And so, I made my long and tiresome journey back to Tokyo (three different buses to Gifu, then a train to Nagoya followed by an overnight bus to Tokyo), bike-less, exhausted, with my brain in turmoil and my cherished dreams of riding through Russia hanging in the balance. All I could do was wait for my mechanic's diagnosis of the damage and plan accordingly. TOKYO:
Back in Tokyo the verdict was not good. The oil pump had broken and so oil had simply settled on the bottom of the engine and not reached the upper piston or registered on my dipper. The damage of too much oil in the lower engine and none in the upper had devastated the machine - piston, camchain, crankshaft, o-ring were among the necessary replacements, basically constituting a whole new engine. On examining the bike my able mechanic identified the root cause of the engine's capitulation to be the false configuration of various parts within it - Bangkok Motors had to rush putting my engine back together so I could catch the cargo ship to Japan. This was an intensely frustrating conclusion for me but one that I had suspected. I learnt a very expensive lesson that if there are no immediate problems its best not to let people meddle with something as complicated and essential as an engine. With the estimated costs of repairs and replacements reaching up to 300,000 yen (about $3000), I had little choice but to give up the bike for scrap. My mechanic did suggest perhaps fitting a Yamaha SRX 250 engine in as a replacement (cheaper and more common than an XT660 engine), but, when he conceded that it would take a lot of time (a luxury that I'd finally run out of) and may not even work, I decided to cut my losses and begin negotiating with Japanese customs for the clearance of my carnet, pinning my hopes on finding some two-wheeler in Russia. FUGI:
Thankfully, I did have some distraction from these depressing affairs. William had decided, for his final night in Japan before he left for England via a month at a Korean university (Charlotte had already left some days before), to climb Mt. Fuji with his friend Pat. Being a perfect enterprise to take my mind off the pitiful state of my bike, I was very keen to join them and we set off together in Pat's car for 'base camp', aiming to climb the mountain through the night and reach the summit for sunrise. As we neared the mountain the weather rapidly worsened with driving rain and such thick fog that we were having to navigate the hair-pin bends with the car's in-built GPS system rather than our eyes. Having safely reached basecamp we did share a moments temptation to pass the night sleeping and eating our climbing supplies in the warm, dry safety of the car, but soon came to our senses and, banishing such weak thoughts, we set bravely forth, pitting ourselves against the forces of nature. Within a few minutes it was clear, however, that nature already had the upper hand. Pat's fancy all-weather jacket, which he'd earlier been boasting was 100% waterproof, proved, in a short space of time, to be nearer the 20-25% mark, while William's ingeniously contrived doubled plastic raincoats (for double protection) not only somehow let water in, but brought on such a sweat that his clothes were soaking wet from the inside anyway. I, on the other hand, was relatively comfortable, trusting in a single layered 100 yen plastic raincoat - nothing too fancy, but practical. Soon though, the discomforting weather was almost forgotten behind the strain of the climb. Going on bogus intelligence provided by one of Williams friends who'd already made the climb (who must have either been a prize athlete or deranged from altitude sickness) we were of the impression that this was going to be a gentle uphill stroll, a virtual outdoor escalator with warm teabreaks and mini picnics. In reality we had launched ourselves into something more comparable to Scott's attempt on the South Pole (at least that’s what it felt like at the time). But, with parallel determination, between William's announcements that 'this was a mistake' and Pat's cries of 'I'm going to vomit', we soldiered on, plodding, stumbling, heads down, tackling the mountain one step at a time. Finally, with my hands numb and swollen from the cold, William's sweat drenched clothes turned to ice and Pat being very grown-up and not complaining at all (he'd secretly been doing altitude training) we made the summit. As the sun rose with all its glory above the celestial blanket of clouds, all our effort and labour seemed worthwhile for such a prize. This was a sight only the likes of aeroplane passengers and superman could usually enjoy and we hadn't cheated by flying, we had toiled all night which made it all the better. Lost in our euphoric sense of achievement, the idea of the journey down seemed positively delightful. Three hours later, our eyes itching for sleep and our legs feeling as though they'd suffered a stoning, we collapsed into Pat's car, exhausted (or me and William collapsed - Pat still had to drive us back to Tokyo).
R.I.P. 'BIKE' J847 GAL:
Back in Tokyo, after William had gone, I finally resigned myself to the fact that I simply did not have the money to repair my bike and had to have it destroyed to clear my carnet, thus enabling myself to leave Japan without it. Getting this done wasn't easy as my case was unprecedented to everyone who worked in customs and JAF (Japanese RAC).
William & Charlotte in Tokyo
Going back and forth to different offices right across town, I finally discovered the correct procedure and had my poor old bike destroyed, securing a certificate for proof. In dismal spirits, I returned to customs to present the certificate and have my carnet and passport cleared. Once there they had the nerve to suddenly tell me that they wouldn't allow me to be refunded for my carnet deposit. Outraged by this suggestion, I listed the extensive costs I'd had to bear over the last week (to rub salt in the wound, the bike's destruction cost me an absolute fortune) and asked them how I could be expected to export a motorcycle out of Japan if it no longer even existed. They finally relented, letting me off 'just this once...' and I went away to pick up my Russian visa and buy a ticket for the next available passage on 'MV Rus' from Fushiki to Vladivostok. My stressful day only continued with finding every bus for Fushiki booked up and managing to leave my credit card in a telephone booth. Things did finally start going my way, however; I eventually found a bus, fifth time lucky, some honest person kindly handed my card in to the subway station and, heading back to Andy's flat (a friend of William's who I was staying with), I found out that his American mate Michael was insisting on 4th of July celebrations. So my final night (not on a bus) in Japan was spent celebrating an English defeat with fireworks, playing 'beer pong' and listening to Michael recount every minor American 'hero' who did something to piss off the British. A double defeat as he also beat me and Andy at beer pong. Japan has been a series of ups and downs for me, but, despite it being the final resting place for my bike, it is somewhere I've formed a real attachment to (perhaps because my bike is now probably part of Tokyo's very foundations as landfill!). Next time I visit I'll make sure I give myself the time to bike round the whole of Japan (hopefully William and Charlotte will be here again too so I can impose myself on them once more!) At the port of Fushiki, waiting for my ship to depart for Vladivostok, I remembered how many times I'd thought about this part of my trip and never once considered that, if I got here, it would be without my bike. But alas! This was an adventure I was on - unpredictable in essence!
Comforting myself with these thoughts and all my fond memories of my bike, knowing that they, at least, were to be everlasting, I turned my thoughts to Mother Russia and all she must have to offer!