My Mama-Chari

When I was taken to my apartment, I was told there would be a bicycle waiting for me. Needless to say, I was delighted. I was also told that it needed some work. No problem, I thought, when it comes to bikes, I’ve seen it all. I guess I forgot that I was in Japan…

I was shown the bicycle parking area at the bottom of the apartment complex. It was more like a pile of bicycle shaped garbage, next to 4 or 5 bikes that people actually used. Mine, of course, was not one of the 4-5. I thanked them gratefully and went back up to my apartment.

After 2-3 days of walking to work and getting rained on (in a suit, I might add) every single night, I thought it might be a good idea to get working on the bike pile. I woke up early one day and went downstairs to untangle the mess. The first thing I noticed was that all the bikes were locked…great, I thought, they were nice enough to give me a locked bike without a key. Locking a bike is a much different affair in Japan, as compared to the States. In America, when I locked my bike, I had at least a u-lock to secure the back wheel and the frame to a solid implement, and a cable to secure the front wheel. In Japan, you can simply attach a mechanism to the frame that interferes with the wheel turning. You don’t even have to lock it to a pole. Honestly, you could probably put a twig in the wheel, or turn the bike upside down, or put some trash on it, and it will not get stolen. Finding a suitable pole would be nearly impossible as well. There are millions of bikes sitting around everywhere, if someone were to steal a bike, the chances alone that it would be YOUR bike are slim.

So, how did I find my bike? When I moved into my apartment, there was some type of metal device hanging on the door with a battered keychain attached to it. I didn’t know what it was, but made a mental note that it was important, and that I would need it in the future. I decided it was worth a shot and took it down stairs. Like a good male, I went around trying to jam this key of sorts into every key hole I could find. Finally, it went into a slot and clicked. The lock retracted with a rusty hesitation only years of rain and neglect could provide. Eureka! I had my bike. It even had one tire with air in it! The rear tire needed air, but I was all over it. I brought my awesome and portable bike pump from home…that’s right, I packed a bike pump in my checked luggage. I was prepared for this situation, or so I thought. One look at the valve on the tube and my pump was reduced to baton with a hose. It was some crazy fitting I had never seen before (this happens a lot in this country: something so familiar yet insanely foreign at the same time). Luckily, there was a pump in the pile too. But of course, it didn’t work. I dragged the bike to a suitable area and inspected it. It seemed sound. The brakes worked, it had a generator light, fenders, a basket and all the other requirements to deem it a mama-chari.

Japanese lesson for the day: a mama-chari is a bike designed for a house wife to use. It usually has all the aforementioned components, and sometimes a child seat or two. Yes, I have seen bikes with 2 child seats on them here. A mama-chari also must weigh at least 50 pounds, have a low top tube to accommodate a dress, and a massive, yet still uncomfortable seat. It’s a bike designed to take the kids to school, get some groceries and stay somewhat dry on, all while only going about 10 miles per hour. Perfect for a mama.

I decided that I need some help. I took my mama-chari to the local dealership, pointed at the flat tire and grunted. The man working there was about 130 years old, and asked me about 500 questions, all of which I answered with a resounding “hai” or yes. He eventually started to work on the bike. He removed the tire and inspected the tube. It had already been patched about 15 times, no surprise there. He found the whole, which was on a patch, and placed another patch over it. I asked him his name. He looked surprised and said “Hori”. I thanked with a very low bow, and 1000 yen. $10 to patch a bike tube, highway robbery. I would’ve given him 2000 yen, because after that, I hopped on the seat and rode off into the sunrise with the biggest smile I have had so far on this trip. If you are reading this, Hori-san, thank you very much. My bike is a “Best Cycle Freak fashion cycle”. At least that is what the top tube stickers reads. I don’t think I could’ve named it better myself.