Q: What do Arlington, San Francisco, and Kitakami have in common?
A: They all have lovely bridges. Also, I've gotten lost there.
Whatever changes living abroad will bring, being able to orient myself geographically is unlikely to be one of them. Doesn't matter whether I have a map, doesn't matter whether there are recognizable landmarks. As anyone who's ever depended on me for directions knows, I can't find my way out of a paper bag. I blame my brother, who apparently got all the navigation genes.
With this knowledge, I optimistically set out on my bike for a nice long workout ride. I crossed the Waga River via the New Kunenbashi Bridge to check out more of the other side of Kitakami. I rode up hills, past pachinko parlors, gardening stores, and rice paddy upon rice paddy, whizzing by green mountains and Buddhist shrines. As the sun began its descent behind the peaks to the west, I turned for home. Because I was returning via a bridge that Matthew and I had crossed in reverse earlier in the week, I felt comfortable that I knew my way home. After passing a recognizable landmark, I decided that I would turn earlier and explore a new, but parallel, route home.
Oh, if only.
Pleased with my expeditionary streak, I pedaled past more rice paddies, small houses, and convenience stores until I came to...the shinkansen tracks.
Huh? I shouldn't reach the tracks before I reach home. Actually, I shouldn't reach them at all. Confused, I turned in the direction that I thought would lead home, which turned out to be a small farm road between rice paddies. However, the elevation of the road allowed me to see the Hotel City Plaza Kitakami and the neon kanji of the cement plant beyond the shinkansen tracks. Ah! Home was that way. I just needed to get to the other side of the tracks.
I rode back out to the main road, turned right under the tracks, and down a major road with almost no shoulder. It was late enough in the afternoon that rush hour was well underway, and even though Japanese drivers are respectful of cyclists, I was still pretty uncomfortable riding on this road. At the earliest possible time, I turned, hoping to find a less busy road home.
Instead, I was soon surrounded by rice paddies, which were bordered by what appeared to be a high embankment. Yes! If this were the embankment of the Waga River, I could simply follow the road home. Because it was not the embankment of the Waga River, I could simply follow the road between the two vast expanses of rice paddies and greet the chatty neighborhood rice farmers with a fast bow and a reasonably controlled "konnichiwa." Until it ended, at which point I would have to go back to the busy road and back under the tracks.
Up to this point, I had managed to keep my innate skepticism in check by reasoning that I knew where the sun was, which at that point in the day marked west. Also, I had managed to orient to the shinkansen tracks, so if I could just guide from them, I could get home. I would solve this problem.
Assistance came in the form of the first sign I saw. The sign, in Japanese, pointed the way to the Sakurano shopping center in Central Kitakami. Ahh...direction. Home was not far. I could live with the cars flying by on my right as I rode with traffic, watching the tall pink top of the Sakurano draw nearer. The shoulder narrowed further, the road wound through a more populated area, and a bridge loomed ahead (?), marked by a slightly rusty, faded sign announcing its name.
Kunenbashi.
As I stood with my bike in the five-foot-tall weeds growing along the side of the road waiting for the rush hour traffic to clear enough for me to cross to the side of the bridge with the clank-clanky deathtrap bike path, I realized that I had never crossed back over the river. I incorrectly remembered the location of the landmark. And now, my contentedness at successfully bringing my inadvertent adventure to a close was tarnished by two things: the realization that although I'd achieved my goal of finding a "parallel way home", I'd had no effing clue where I was; and the specter of Kunenbashi ahead.
Damn you, Kunenbashi.
A: They all have lovely bridges. Also, I've gotten lost there.
Whatever changes living abroad will bring, being able to orient myself geographically is unlikely to be one of them. Doesn't matter whether I have a map, doesn't matter whether there are recognizable landmarks. As anyone who's ever depended on me for directions knows, I can't find my way out of a paper bag. I blame my brother, who apparently got all the navigation genes.
With this knowledge, I optimistically set out on my bike for a nice long workout ride. I crossed the Waga River via the New Kunenbashi Bridge to check out more of the other side of Kitakami. I rode up hills, past pachinko parlors, gardening stores, and rice paddy upon rice paddy, whizzing by green mountains and Buddhist shrines. As the sun began its descent behind the peaks to the west, I turned for home. Because I was returning via a bridge that Matthew and I had crossed in reverse earlier in the week, I felt comfortable that I knew my way home. After passing a recognizable landmark, I decided that I would turn earlier and explore a new, but parallel, route home.
Oh, if only.
Pleased with my expeditionary streak, I pedaled past more rice paddies, small houses, and convenience stores until I came to...the shinkansen tracks.
Huh? I shouldn't reach the tracks before I reach home. Actually, I shouldn't reach them at all. Confused, I turned in the direction that I thought would lead home, which turned out to be a small farm road between rice paddies. However, the elevation of the road allowed me to see the Hotel City Plaza Kitakami and the neon kanji of the cement plant beyond the shinkansen tracks. Ah! Home was that way. I just needed to get to the other side of the tracks.
I rode back out to the main road, turned right under the tracks, and down a major road with almost no shoulder. It was late enough in the afternoon that rush hour was well underway, and even though Japanese drivers are respectful of cyclists, I was still pretty uncomfortable riding on this road. At the earliest possible time, I turned, hoping to find a less busy road home.
Instead, I was soon surrounded by rice paddies, which were bordered by what appeared to be a high embankment. Yes! If this were the embankment of the Waga River, I could simply follow the road home. Because it was not the embankment of the Waga River, I could simply follow the road between the two vast expanses of rice paddies and greet the chatty neighborhood rice farmers with a fast bow and a reasonably controlled "konnichiwa." Until it ended, at which point I would have to go back to the busy road and back under the tracks.
Up to this point, I had managed to keep my innate skepticism in check by reasoning that I knew where the sun was, which at that point in the day marked west. Also, I had managed to orient to the shinkansen tracks, so if I could just guide from them, I could get home. I would solve this problem.
Assistance came in the form of the first sign I saw. The sign, in Japanese, pointed the way to the Sakurano shopping center in Central Kitakami. Ahh...direction. Home was not far. I could live with the cars flying by on my right as I rode with traffic, watching the tall pink top of the Sakurano draw nearer. The shoulder narrowed further, the road wound through a more populated area, and a bridge loomed ahead (?), marked by a slightly rusty, faded sign announcing its name.
Kunenbashi.
As I stood with my bike in the five-foot-tall weeds growing along the side of the road waiting for the rush hour traffic to clear enough for me to cross to the side of the bridge with the clank-clanky deathtrap bike path, I realized that I had never crossed back over the river. I incorrectly remembered the location of the landmark. And now, my contentedness at successfully bringing my inadvertent adventure to a close was tarnished by two things: the realization that although I'd achieved my goal of finding a "parallel way home", I'd had no effing clue where I was; and the specter of Kunenbashi ahead.
Damn you, Kunenbashi.