Part 2: The Sequel. II

J78 Monday, June 11th 2007

Okay, I really need to do this more often.

To continue from my last post about last Sunday (a week ago):

I saw a small torii, shinto gate, at the top of a tiny mountain. More like a huge hill with steep sides. There was a switchback carved into the rock face, and coated with concrete in a cool warped grid pattern. These sorts of earthworks are everywhere here in Japan, but I'd never seen one so up close.

I parked and locked up my bike at the foot of the mini mountain and started my ascent. I found the torii lead to a pair of small shrines on a tiny plateau. I left some offerings at both and looked out across the valley. Nestled between the spurs of the mountains were the little neighborhood I had biked through. I could see the martial arts gym and the massive factories behind it, their machines singing deep in the baritone registry of industrial machinery.

I noticed a path leading up the mountain, beyond the plateau I was on. I decided to see where it went. Up I walked, though somewhat dense underbrush. Tall grass and shrubs, bowing trees, and everywhere young bamboo grew. The path was overgrown, but still visible, and I had no trouble following my way up the mountain. After about 10 minutes of navigating the undergrowth, I found myself at a curious sight. Exiting the lush, green forest, I discovered that the mountain continued in an expanse of fine black sand. Large pipes snaked their way through the air before me, a low and constant rasp speaking of their rushing contents. The occasional hiss of loosed gas would crescendo from the various junctions and valves that the pipes twisted through.

I had found my way into a quarry. I'd seen it before, during Golden Week, from the valley below. I ducked beneath the piping, eager to see what else was there, when I heard voices. Guards? Miners? I found a paved road and crept up it, quick and quiet. To my shock, just around a wide bend, I found a baseball field. Here, halfway up the mountains, wedged between a highway an a rock quarry, was a baseball field. On it, a team was practicing. I nodded a greeting to those who saw me, and they smiled back. I rested in the shade, the first chance to do so after visiting the dojo nearly an hour previous. I watched them practice, and I have to say they were good.

Their uniforms were blue and white. One team, but the players alternated home and away colors, so as to have two virtual teams with which to practice. They had a pitcher, but he didn't throw the ball. Instead, he mimed the action, and right next to him another player would push a ball into a batting machine, hurling a perfect pitch to the batter. It was funny to watch the pitcher put his all into a phantom throw, but I guess it was good practice for his gross body movements.

I watched for the better part of an hour, resting and wishing I had a drink. The teams hit a lot of deep shots. Their teamwork was good, but like all things in the sports world they had room to improve. After my rest I stood up again to explore the quarry.

It was like being on another planet. I walked down a gentle hill of equipment-packed black sand into the main pit. All around me were towering hills of the stuff. Refuse littered the ground, but all finely pulverized. Bottles, spare bits of equipment, even printed circuit boards were present, but all shattered by some unknown force and distributed across a large area. Huge tracks of heavy equipment flanked me as I descended, but not a soul was present. Over this alien landscape was another factory, probably a refinery or processing plant. No one noticed my presence, though, or if they did they didn't bother me. I was quite alone; not even the shouts of the ball game reached me, despite the relative proximity of the playing field.

I noticed lots of animal tracks. Small ones and big ones. Something told me it was probably foxes and wolves. I found them pretty, and a little reassuring. I hadn't seen any wild animals aside from birds, and I had begun to wonder if they had been driven off due to the heavy industry that peppers Japan's landscape. These tracks were fresh, though, no more than two weeks old, if that. As an amusing aside, when I told this part to some of my friends here, a few of those gathered got a little freaked out. They said that had they have seen wolf tracks, they would have left immediately. Just kind of funny, 'cause I never felt any discomfort of unease.

The sand soon gave way to hard, dry dirt, which in turn gave way to the green of the mountain. I decided to turn around, figuring it was probably about time to head back. The heat wasn't bad, but it was constant, and without a drink I knew I would get dehydrated if I stayed out much longer. I was already beginning to feel the fatigue set in from my day's exertions. I ascended the long sand ramp, kicking up a smoky black dust with every step. I took a short detour to the other side of the quarry, having seen a few interesting objects on my initial descent. I found an old, abandoned civilian bus. The keys were still in it, but no signs of habitation were present. A bucket of brown water was filled with cigarette butts, and there was a baseball on the console. The doors were unlocked, too. I had a brief temptation to have a joyride, but I then realized the size of the book they'd throw at me, and thought better of it.

The side of the quarry I found myself on was very flat, aside from the land that had been chewed up by equipment below me. I was on top of a cliff of black sand. More prints, foxes on this side I think, and even less vegetation. I felt exhaustion's inexorable tug again, somewhat more urgently. I trudged back to the lip of the black sand mountain and began a (gravity assisted) descent down the mountain. I passed the shrines, and left another offering at both of them in thanks for a safe trip up and down their mountain path. It was another quick minute, and I was back at my bike at the foot of the mountain. Over 2 hours had passed.

I made my way back along a familiar road. Atop another ridge I saw something that reminded me of something E.J. had said. He talked about exploring on his own, finding a huge graveyard on the side of a hill and a large temple complex that accompanied it. I pulled my bike up a steep flight of stairs (they have ramps on either side for bikes to be pulled, luckily) and found myself face to face with the temple E.J. had found almost a month ago.

A large temple greeted me, friendly and old, it's once-black roof tiles stained a sky blue after years of rain and exposure. My bike left at the foot of a small set of stairs, I trudged up to the temple, in awe at the beauty that surrounded me but still exhausted. I left an offering, said a prayer, and continued to look around. This complex was very active, as temples in Japan go. Most temples and shrines that I've been to don't have active caretakers. Bigger ones can, sometimes, but most of them are so small or remote that the few monks and priests that exist can't stay at them all the time. Most are left to their own devices. Popular or easily accessed ones are cleaned semi-annually by roaming caretakers. But this one, thanks to its massive, popular graveyard and close proximity to Hitachi, was staffed by no less than 2 priests that I saw, with evidence to suggest more.

As I wandered one said hi. He spoke a little English, and we had a short conversation. He was a young man, maybe a few years older than my 24. He was really friendly, with a big smile that came out often. He wanted to know the standard battery of questions: where was I from, what did I do for a living, how old I was. When I told him I was a teacher here in Hitachi I swear his ears perked up. It's somewhat rare to see a foreigner living in an area as rural as Hitachi, and he was positively delighted.

He left me to attend his duties, and I strolled around the graveyard for a little while. Still, my strength was fading fast, and I knew I needed to get back home. So, with a parting bow to the temple, I hopped on my bike and raced home. I took a detour, hoping to find a Recycle shop nearby. Recycle shops are used goods stores that sell a variety of previously-owned merchandise, much like a thrift store, but things tend to be in better condition. Since space is such a premium, people in Japan tend to resell their old media, books, comics, music, DVDs, instead of boxing it up or throwing it away. It nets them some cash, clears up space at home, and (yay for me!) lets poor or cheap people buy stuff at low prices.

Alas, after half an hour of going up and down massive foothills along side a busy highway, I decided to call it a day. Finally, after hours of walking and hiking and taking pictures I headed home. Down massive hills. On a bike. Cue the Dukes of Hazzard music. I was doing 40 mph, easy, dodging pedestrians (of which there were few) and the obstacle course that is the sidewalk as I streaked downhill and back toward home.

When I finally got back, in one piece, I cooked dinner and collapsed in my office chair, soaking up the internet, before falling into a blissful slumber.