I Liked the Bikes.

My first day in Nagoya, after my very first walk down the street, I liked the bikes. I liked that there were 50 000 bikes everywhere. Loved it. I took roughly two dozen photos of bikes. Parked bikes. Moving bikes. Broken bikes. Signs about bikes. Mostly just the parked bikes; it turns out that photographing people riding bikes is weird and not entirely appreciated. 

Now, a month in, I realize that consequence of there being bikes parked absolutely everywhere is that at any given moment there is a bike ready to cross my path and get in my fucking way. It turns out that I don't like the bikes at all, I merely like the idea of the bikes.  Bikes in Japan have become to me what scooters in Korea were, except much slower and far less likely to viciously run me over. In short, I'm over bikes. Even the ones that look like they popped over for a visit from 1970, complete with chipped lime green paint, a gigantic basket and bell.

In spite of being totally over the bikes, I'd kind of like my own bike. I'd like a bike with chipped lime green paint, a massive white basket, and the loudest bell in the neighborhood. Were I not contractually forbidden from riding a bike to work (yes, really), I could be worst cyclist Nagoya had ever seen! Shaking my fist at other cyclists, ringing my obnoxiously loud bell at unsuspecting pedestrians for no good reason at all, cutting people off left and right, I could even get a special jacket just for cycling! 

Having written all that, I now see that it's just as well that my contract bars me from being that big of a tool.