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Notes From Distant Roads

Notes from distant roads Vancouver BCI step on the board and leave the town of Aomori, located in the northernmost region of Japan’s main island, Honshu. I’m eager to skate on deserted country roads that will lead me deep into the hilly heartland, famous for its dense forests and many rivers.

This is Tohoku, a mostly rural part of an otherwise highly urbanized or inaccessibly mountainous country. What bliss it will be to skate from one farm town to another, with nothing to worry about except perhaps where I will set up my tent for the night.

Oh, yes, what bliss. But what the heck? I follow the recommendation of the ladies in the tourist office to take a safe road to the next town, as any other route would probably kill me. I could handle the steep and curvy mountain roads, but the thought of narrow roads with barely enough space to evade approaching cars while circumnavigating potholes and isles of gravel makes me uneasy. Getting killed on my first day would be a bit of a bummer. I have been looking forward to visiting Japan for about 15 years. So I think, “All right, let’s play it safe for now,” and choose the quiet road.

The “quiet road” ungraciously turns out to be a highway. Trucks rush past only inches away as I push forward in a breakdown lane that’s so tight, it’s only good for breakdowns of the mental kind. For the next 30 miles I find numerous reasons to follow my own nose from now on. With me being the only culprit of my misfortune, at least I know whose nose to punch.

The town I am aiming for turns out to be quite the city: Hirosaki. Cities reach far into Japan, as there’s only so much space for urbanization. Heading east for the moderately mountainous heartland, I find myself skating a road with never-ending used-car dealerships and other enterprises with similar visual charm. Bliss, where art thou?

Ah, there you are. Gradually, the settlements thin out and wildlife kicks in. Hills become higher as the towns get smaller. I’m soon surrounded by woods on roads with little or no traffic, while the autumn sun shines through maple leaves so brightly red and yellow you’d think they would glow in the dark. The sound of wheels on the asphalt mixes with chirping birds and splashing water from nearby rivers. Could there be anything better?

Hold on, I forgot something: The uphill slopes get steeper with my every push until I’m death-rattling for air. I could have brought a light and low drop-down deck instead of a massive hybrid cruiser. But then again, I’d have no kicktail to mount some curbs while cruising at high speed through the cities – whenever that will happen.

I’m far from residential comforts as I freeze into sleep at night in the tent. But what can you do? After 15 minutes on the board, my muscles relax and the pain in my back gives way to new experiences of awe.

Nevertheless, as the pleasure rises, the challenges become more Notes from distant roads Vancouverdemanding. It’s one thing to climb hills on foot with a 15-kilo backpack on your shoulders, a camera bag dangling from your neck and a 1.5-kilo homebuilt oversized camera rig constantly in the grip of your right hand. It’s quite another to skate downhill with all that stuff onboard, especially when you find yourself on the very roads the ladies from the tourist office warned you about.

Sliding in order to reduce speed becomes somewhat suicidal under those circumstances. What’s the next best thing that will be less likely to get you killed? Pushing your foot against the asphalt. It works, but it has two downsides: It looks stupid, especially at high speeds when you are also trying to keep your balance by fluttering your arms madly like a high-wire circus artist caught in a wind tunnel; it also leaves you hobbling by the end of the ride as you grease the mountain with the better part of your braking sole. In fairness to your shoes, you plan to skate the next downhill switchstance.

After traveling for almost a week, I finally reach the town of Tono, famous for its folklore. I arrive late at night after riding the last 20 miles in icy rain (with winds to match), only to find there’s no room available in this isolated town on a random cold autumn night. As I rest in a hotel lobby, one young clerk approaches me and expresses interest in my skateboard. This is no surprise, as anyone I’ve come into contact with has been eager to find out exactly what I’m up to with this thing. My Japanese is clumsy at best, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that everyone is flabbergasted about my long-distance endeavors – to the point where people have been clapping and giving me the thumbs-up when I pass by on the street. But this time I’m in for a surprise, as it turns out this lobby boy has been skating for about five years. I realize that there’s no town too remote to shelter a skateboarder. I can relate, having grown up in a lonely farm town with the first skate obstacle being cow droppings I had to ollie over. Naturally, this renders one an ollie expert.

I am stunned days later in the city of Sendai, in a night of busy Halloween action, when a young guy approaches me, asks for my board and manages to ollie impressively high with it. It’s even more impressive when you consider that my board is nothing but a clumsy cruiser with no grip tape, as it has been polished off by the heaps of wet mud I’ve ground into it while skating dirty roads through the rain. It’s a slippery, nerve-wracking experience when practiced on roads with challenges of their own.

For the next stage, I opt for some calm and take the train to Kanazawa, a town located in central Japan on the western coast facing the Sea of Japan. From there, it’s 90 miles of mild coastline skating fun until I turn left and head inland for another 90 miles to reach the city of Kyoto.

For someone like me living in Berlin, the cleanliness of Kyoto is a shock. However, as good as Kyoto looks, it lacks the signs of a colorful society. In other words, it doesn’t have many people who don’t give a shit. I speak with a Japanese man who reluctantly had to return there after taking two years off in Australia.

“People are becoming robots here,” he says. “It’s all too stiff, like living in a museum. Everyone blindly follows the order.”

“What about skateboarders?” I ask, “A comprehensible disregard of the establishment is essential for street skating. Waxing, grinding and eventually breaking don’t go very well with these surroundings.”

“Skateboarders there are,” he says with a wry smile. “They wax and they grind. They are not giving in.”

The entire conversation leaves me wondering. Throughout my trip I’ve been Notes From distant roads Vancouvergreeted with utmost joy and respect absolutely everywhere, especially by the elderly. Still, the religious and cultural life in Japan is based on cleanliness, outside and inside. As far as the outside goes, a skateboarder must be viewed as an absolute renegade, a social outlaw. Are the people I’ve encountered just amazed to see a handsome tourist (kakkoii, I keep hearing all the time), or is it more than that? Can it be that a breath of fresh air is desperately needed in this aging society? There is much stress on the youth as the country strives to uphold social norms to a point where it leads to severe and widespread depression and anxiety.

When the Japanese see me stand and roll, do they view it as a sign of progression?

I’d like to think so. I’m certainly treated differently as a tourist, but then again, the people are not exactly welcoming outsiders, as we can potentially be a source of unrest. By starting every conversation in Japanese, I’m often mistaken for a resident, as it happened in northern Honshu and southern Shikoku. When I take myself out of the picture, I’m still unsure whether the politeness is heartfelt or just a formal excuse not to mind each other.

Attempts to make sense of Japanese culture and all its contradictions often fail. But then again, as the concept of recurring failure is a matter to which every skateboarder has to grow accustomed and eventually overcome, there’s enough energy and self-confidence (not to mention just plain stubbornness) that’s freed up to face some bone-breaking challenges for a change, such as questioning and overcoming the excuses of society.

Cruising through Hiroshima later one night, I accidentally find myself amidst a group of skateboarders pulling their last tricks of the day. How awesome! There’s nothing like the atmosphere of a relaxed night skate session, being welcomed and handed a proper board to join in on the fun. We skate a good curb spot near Memorial Park, a place where it’s unheard of to even ride a bike. Embracing this scenario with the words of the fellow in Kyoto still echoing in my head, I find a way to tackle that sociological puzzle.

Skateboarding does, in fact, have a long-lasting effect on your life, your persona and your perspective; I think everyone having grown up or grown old with the sport will agree. With skateboarding philosophy hard-wired into your soul, one’s racial, ethnic or monetary background becomes insignificant; you are respected for the things you do with the board and your passion, and there’s no room for charades.

Recently, skateboarding has even become a means to bring young people of different colors and creeds together in war-torn territories. It’s also enabled girls to engage in a sporting activity, as in certain cultures skateboarding is not regarded as one. Yet even in the most stable and peaceful developed countries, it’s not far-fetched to think that skateboarding also has the power to gradually eradicate outdated norms and build a more diverse and progressive society built on a common sense of respect. Afghanistan, Israel, Japan – what’s the difference? In terms of skateboarding: none. And the best thing is, while continuing my journey through remote valleys and villages, I know that everyone can be a part of it and make a statement.

Whether on a longboard cruising exotic countries or ollieing over cow droppings … just keep on skateboarding.

To find out more about this trip, write to hello@thenout.net or visit skate.thenout.net.

Thankyou to Michael Brooke and Concrete Wave Magazine

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