No Gas, No Bike, No Service

Two transportation calamities struck at once this week, leaving me cold and alone on a Saturday morning, walking my bicycle from the downtown police station in the snow and ice while juggling a steel, 10-liter container full of gasoline and a 15-liter, plastic container full of nothing.

First, the bike. Last Friday, I went to one of my school's bonenkais, which translates to a forget-the-year party, which is done, apparently, by drinking a lot of beer and eating little to no food. Each school has one of these, and they can be outrageously expensive -- a couple of mine topped out at the equivalent of $100. I skipped those. But this one was only $30, a genuine bargain by comparison, so I happily went. Plus, two of my favorite teachers work at this school. I soon discovered why it was so cheap. There was no food. Each person got four pieces of sashimi, a bowl of mushroom soup, and that was that. There was, however, Bingo, with the grand prize being a mini-refrigerator, and lots and lots of beer. I wish we could have traded that fridge in for some more food. And honestly, it was a bizarre choice for a grand prize. The medium age at that school is probably 45; I don't think any of them are going to need a fridge for their dorm room anytime soon.

So there was little food, but the beer flowed freely, and not surprisingly, there were a number of very drunk Japanese and one tipsy American at the end of the party. Technically, it is illegal to ride your bicycle having consumed alcohol in Japan, but there were plenty of bicycles parked next to the restaurant, so I know I wasn't alone. And it was a really long walk. So I hopped on my bike and started pedaling for home when, about five minutes later, the chain popped off. These bikes are about 50 years old and were built to last. They were also built with a metal casing completely surrounding the chain and crank, meaning there was no way to fix it on the fly. So I did what anyone would do in my situation. I ditched the bike and walked home, which wasn't the smartest idea in the world, because the next day, I wasn't entirely sure where I left the bike (this mostly had to do with me being in an unfamiliar area, and that there being no street signs, whatsoever, in Japan and that every street in Akita City pretty much looks like the next one, and that I'd had a few too many beers and not nearly enough food -- look, you'd be confused, too).

Not my actual bike.

I figured when I found the time, I'd find the bike. Which I was not able to do at all that week. Then on Friday, Tricia drove to school, where she got a call from the police. They found my bike, and said I needed to come pick it up Saturday morning. Tricia then drove home, making it all the way to our apartment, where she ran out of gas. Convenient for her. Not so convenient for me, as I was the one who now had to walk all the way downtown to get my bike.

Which is just what I did. And on the way home, I passed a hardware store, and decided to get the bike and the gas all in one trip. So I bought a cheap, plastic fuel container and walked over to the gas station. The attendant greeted me, pointed at the container and asked me in Japanese if I wanted kerosene. I told her, no, gasoline. She said, in English, "No. Very dangerous," then pointing a the container, "Boom!" Another attendant ran into the station and emerged with a bulky metal canister, indicating that this is what I needed. I asked where. They said HomeCenter, which is not remotely reachable by foot. After much standing around, they finally agreed that I could borrow their canister, but under no condition, could I fill mine with gasoline.

I later learned that it is illegal to put gasoline in a plastic container. I'm not sure, but this probably has something to do with the fact that central heating doesn't exist here, and everyone uses kerosene to heat their homes, and if their was a mix-up between kerosene and gasoline, then, as the nice girl at the station told me, "Boom!"