Sushi in Tokyo
After leaving the airport, Shinya brought The Dangler and me to meet two more Champsys hosts, Chiharu and Ryoji, at a local Sushi eatery, not far from our hotel.
Bear with me on these next photos because, like I mentioned, I would prefer to not have to think at all when using a camera and it stresses me out having to do so. As a result, Todd edited these remotely and did what he could to fix them for me. I promise, though, they’re getting better.
Our host, Chiharu.
Host Ryoji.
Outside most of the restaurants near the hotel they display all the menu items in the windows.
We let our hosts order our dinner and while it was similar to sushi you might find in America, there were subtle differences. There was no pile of wasabi that many Americans use to pollute their soy sauce and prove their tolerance for spice.
Many of the items were familiar, but some were more intimidating, like the large eel seen in the forefront of this photo.
The chu toro (fatty tuna) was the best I’ve ever had and the Salmon roe was less salty and less potent than what I’m used to.
#Japandler
A few months ago, I got an email from Tim Johnson saying he had two options for after the World Championships in Koksijde; A race in Costa Rica or a race in Tokyo, Japan.
My response to him was something along the lines of, “Is it even a question?” While I’m sure Costa Rica is beautiful, Japan has always seemed, well, like JAPAN.
Shortly after the email exchange, Tim asked in passing, “Want to go to Japan?”
I laughed and shrugged it off. Not an option, really.
A few months later, Tim sent me a text message from Europe asking again, “Want to go to Japan?”
Up yours, Tim. Up yours. I get it, you’re going to Japan. I should have told you to go to Costa Rica. I wouldn’t have cared.
“We need a mechanic. The flight and expenses are covered.”
Up mine.
Japan was one of those trips my wife and I had reserved ourselves to making when we were old and retired. The cost and length of the flights has always been a deterrent, so the idea was put in the back of our minds, on temporary leave, so to speak. Who was I kidding, I’ll probably never retire.
“Yes, I want to go to Japan.”
Three days before the scheduled departure, I booked my flight. I spent roughly three hours comparing aircraft options, available seats, and flight paths. Did you know it only takes one more hour to fly from Toronto to Tokyo than from San Francisco to Tokyo? Arctic Circle #FTW.
#.
Final decision was Air Canada’s 777 in seats 12F, 18K, 31K, and 12F. Windows. Bulkheads. Empty rows. Total flight time: 16 hours.
Now, I have never been on one plane for more than 8 hours. I start to crack at hour 6. This was starting to stress me out.
Then I remembered something. I drove 21 hours from Wisconsin. Straight. Alone. It’s hard to admit one’s own stupidity, but in five less hours, I could be in Tokyo, Japan. And I wouldn’t be going through Pennsylvania.
I was over it.
I cleaned the house for my wife. Bonus points.
Todd loaned me a Canon 20D and told me to read the manual to learn how to use it.
Manual? For that camera? Looks pretty easy, and from all I could tell, Todd just pointed the thing at people, held his breath, made weird noises and magic appeared in the viewfinder. No manual. No way.
Wednesday arrived, at it was time to depart the country.
Travel from Boston to Toronto was uneventful.
In Toronto, I told the manual Todd have given me to shove it and I did what anyone in this Golden Age does, I googled how to set that camera up. Isn’t the Internet wild, guys? It has EVERYTHING.
If there’s one thing I don’t care about, it’s “Metering.” Or aperture. Or exposure. Or shutter speed. I just push the effing button, and it is supposed to look good. Why else would someone spend so much money on a camera?
They have moving sidewalks in Toronto that tell you where to hold on for safety.
As I made the journey down that moving sidewalk, I realized with every lurch and lunge it made I was getting closer to my sealed fate of 13 hours in a thing that is, for all intents and purposes, made and operated by people. And people make mistakes. Example: My Life. Just kidding.
I bought a big bottle of water. I put two Airborne tablets in it. I had a mini-nervous breakdown.
13 hours.
You know when there’s a plane crash and there’s always this one person who didn’t get on the flight because “I just had a bad feeling about it?” I didn’t have that feeling. But how could I be sure.
I should have flown Qantas. #Wopner.
I felt pretty good knowing I had an empty row to myself with all the leg room I would need, but Air Canada reminded me one last time that I was, much to my dismay, one of the sheeple.
There were a few fellow Americans chomping at the bit before take off. The cause of the hullabaloo:
Yup. Look at that oasis. I had no qualms, as I had my own mini-oasis.
Have you ever heard the phrase, “Unlucky Lottery?” I first heard this term on an old radio show that was in Boston, then wasn’t, then was again. Opie and Anthony. Good stuff.
They used to do a bit where they talked about people who have the wrong kind of luck. One example was a guy who was cruising on a lake on his brand new jet ski and a duck flew in his path and took his head clean off.
Well, I like to think that I win the “Unlucky Lottery” every time I fly.
Here I am, all alone in the next best seat to Business Class and I smell something reminiscent of cat urine. The culprit?
Yep. It smelled like cat piss. And it was a culprit.
Halfway into the flight, one of the Flight Attendants stopped to speak with the cat piss foot culprit’s daughter who had, apparently vomited on herself.
Flight attendant (FA): Are you taking any medication?
Cat Piss Culprit’s Daughter (CPCD): Yes, Antibiotics.
FA: For what?
CPCD: Infection.
My ears started ringing. I tried to sit perfectly centered on my seat as to block any potential germ penetration.
Naturally, the Flight Attendant then asked, “Would you like some chicken soup?”
CPCD: Yes.
No.
No you do not want chicken soup.
But I do.
In case you’re wondering what someone looks like when they fly for 13 hours, here it is, condensed to a little more than a minute.
Riveting.
For the last 55 minutes, I stared at this, while I wondered if my tail bone would ever be the same:
The approach to Tokyo looks like this:
Once you pass through immigration, you are welcomed by a sign that says, “If you were ill during your travels, come to this area.” I probably should have stopped, preemptively.
I was intimidated by the health specialist, so I balked at a photo. I did grab this photo, though, once I passed him.
Shortly thereafter, I passed through baggage collection and then customs. Upon exiting the terminal, I was greeted by one of the Champsys hosts, Shinya.
We had some time to kill while we waited for Jamey “The Dangler” Driscoll, so we did what anyone would do upon arriving in Tokyo.
Having recently spent a month in Brooklyn, Shinya had no problem sharing a Starbucks with me.
I had no idea what time it was.
The Dangler was late, though, I did know that.
I used the airport bathroom and when I came back, Shinya had Jamey in his possession.
We hopped in a minivan from the future and headed to meet Chiharu, Ryoji, and Christian Heule for dinner, but that’s for another time.
Wait up, Sven Nys
Here’s your chance to ride behind Sven Nys.
This is 3:28 of the Worlds course in Koksijde. Some of the sand dunes seem more rideable than in the past.
Thanks, again, to Christian Heule:
UCI, Eat Your Heart Out.
More GoPro goodness from Christian Heule. This time, it’s from the World Cup at Hoogerheide, NED.
I was going to accuse Christian of playing this video slightly sped up, but then I would be an idiot.
Congratulations, Christian, your “Exclusive Access” footage has won you the Twitter battle. Send me Swiss Chocolate.
I Will Smash You Down For Ever.
Cannondale p/b CyclocrossWorld rider, Christian Heule, snuck a GoPro into the World Cup at Lievin this weekend.
The course looks surprisingly greasy in Christian’s footage. Many referred to this race as a “grass crit,” but this footage indicates it was a little more complicated than that…
As much as I hate to promote the Twitter account of Christian Heule (we have been in a heated battle for followers, until he posted this stupid video and has since run away in the race), my “love of the sport” leaves me no choice.
That, and he says things like this to me:
