I had little patience for cyclists. Most people have mamachari – the ladies bikes with baskets on the front – just for getting to the station or shops and back. So cyclists have all the rights of pedestrians as well as the rights of vehicles, but most people stick to the footpaths. I’d been hit stepping out of a shop one day, and gained only mild satisfaction at the fact that the culprit fell off his bike and then had to bow an apology to me in the middle of town. Worse were the mama who rode their chari through crowded shoutengai, arrogantly ringing their bells in a command to let them past. I tried to lead by example and ride on the streets, but the drivers don’t expect it and I was nearly run down on a number of occasions – once by a large truck.
I retreated from the cities and decided to only ride my bike up the mountain for exercise, but Japanese mountains aren’t for the unfit. Even after doing that climb three times a week for a few years, I was still in granny gear and had to stop every five minutes to rest. That didn’t leave many places for a fun ride.