Jam-Packed Road Trip

Japanese mass transit is predictable to the minute, and its workers don’t have pension issues (right, New York?). However, cattle cars are a predictably boring and hectic means of movement. I was eager to trade darkened tunnels with unpleasant odors for the freedom of an automobile with fresh air on the open road.

Shuichi, the English student of my American friend Michelle, would chauffeur with his own wheels. Would our getaway vehicle be one of the 10 I cited as having head-scratching names? The side door automatically rolled opened on the white 2003 Honda Stepwgn, which might hve mde my tp 20.

Michelle packed typical Japanese road trip fare: squid jerky, octopus bits, and sweet potato soft chew sticks. I had the foresight to bring two “international-style” CD mixes of top 40 hits. Otherwise, Michelle and I were poised to commit double suicide in the back seat as O-zone’s hit single “Ma Ya Hi” was stuck on repeat during the 45 minutes were circled around trying to find the Shuto expressway out of Tokyo.

The confusion was in spite of a GPS system onboard, an indispensable gadget for anyone daring to drive to an address in this city. While such systems in American cars display the nearest Six Flags or Burger King, Japanese GPS pinpoints soba noodle shops and ubiquitous convenience stores.

I quickly grew nostalgic for being pressed up against dark-suited strangers. Monday was a holiday, so you’d think that by Sunday morning people would have already headed for the hills. Not the case in a country where 7pm is early to leave work, even on a Saturday. I learned a new word on this trip: jutai. It means traffic, of which we faced 24 kilometers (15 miles) worth.

Not even purple Etc. toll lanes (think E-ZPass) could speed up the trip. Two mixes proved insufficient, and O-zone came back on with a vengeance. I love Romanian dancepop just as much as the next guy, but it’s best in small doses. Really, really, really small doses.

Traffic snarled again at the gateway to the Izu Peninsula, a popular getaway for its onsen, or thermal hot springs. Route 135’s one-lane roads hugging the coast were illuminated with red brake lights.

After a sumptuous feast (click right for a yummy close-up) and relaxing night on futons in a traditional ryokan inn and scenic sightseeing the next day, I anticipated a long haul back to Tokyo Monday night.

Night fell on the Shuto expressway, but all was not dark. Brake lights shined 40 kilometers (25 miles) towards Tokyo.