TOURING WITH IMANISHI MACHINE TECHNO

by Mick Gronert

A roughly hacked up snapper, still gasping for air and staring at me through its plastic wrapping was the first thing I saw upon arrival at our destination. Maybe I don't really want to be here, I was thinking to myself, but I snapped out of my trance when Kuroda-san asked if I had the cash.

I checked my wallet. Nope -- nothing. Well, definitely not enough to cover my share anyway. "I better go to an ATM, be back in five," I said and politely snuck off, leaving everyone else to do the deal.

For some personal reasons the day before had been a nightmare, and now things were shaping up to get worse. It was Sunday in the middle of a long weekend and I'd somehow forgotten to withdraw enough cash to see me through the three days. Due to the strange Japanese banking custom of turning off ATMs over random holiday periods, I was currently a long way from home, with very little cash, no hope of getting any more, and I'd stupidly gotten myself into a position I needed to pay my way out of. Shit, I was quite plainly stuck. Lucky I'd filled the tank before I set off. I could always make a run for it.

It was a rough weekend from the beginning, no doubt about that. I'd been having trouble sleeping Saturday night, so I'd decided to leave for my bike shop, Imanishi Machine Techno, a little earlier than planned. A phone call the day before explained that the initial meet-up was arranged for six-thirty a.m., but I left home at three and ended up in the car park, saturated, with burning red eyes just before five. I tried to sneak in some shut-eye stretched out on the ground next to my bike, but it was damp as the sun made its way over the hills, and the zeds just would not come.

By 6:45 the Imanishi two-wheeled horde was looking quite impressive. Close to thirty bikes, their riders bustling about catching up with one another, smoking and doing what bike-folk do. There was a good vibe in the air. The young Kuroda and Ushida-sans respectively were handing out slips of paper with group allocations and destinations clarified. The day was starting to take shape.

The day was starting to take shape.

Regional delicacies have a special place in the Japanese heart. Locations are notably proud of their particular produce and people will either travel long and far to get them or pay top dollar for the convenience. We, it had been decided, were about to travel long and far. Three groups, three locations (Kyoto, Gero in Gifu Pref. and Chita Peninsula Aichi Pref.) and six hours to get there and back. According to the sheet I'd received it looked like I was headed for Chita, which worked out good 'cos it was the only place of the three I hadn't been to yet.

Three hasty cans (yes, cans) of coffee before we set off failed to polish up my drowsiness, but I was with a good bunch of people and the weather could not have been better. The rain I'd ridden through at dawn had cleared off and temperatures were heading toward the thirties quickly. Straddling the green beast I heard a voice over my shoulder. "Michael, we're travelling in a group today, so are you okay with running red lights if you have to? Just so we don't get split up." "Yeah, no worries," I replied. Such a nice day to die. Depending on the prefecture you're in though, you have between five and three seconds before the lights change. Not the best practice to get into, but if you get your timing right?

And so the adventure began. The traffic situation was light and we seemed to be making good time, but as I didn't know where we were going, nor how long it would take, I have no idea if we actually were. The ride to Chita was a pretty straightforward 90km/h trip down a national highway, then onto a bigger four-lane road where the fun buttons were pushed a little. Kuroda was behind me on a Kawasaki Sherpa with an esky half the size of the bike lashed on the back, either for use at our destination or for storing the pieces of anyone unlucky enough to crash on the way there, I guessed. After an hour and a half, and finally hitting the peninsula, the roads get a little curvier and the ocean views are gorgeous. Short lived, though. The small beachside town was on us soon enough and the speeds shrunk along with the width of the roads leading us to the rusting hulk of a warehouse that looked to be our goal.

After an hour and a half, and finally hitting the peninsula, the roads get a little curvier...

The putrid stench of fish is what hit me first, only slightly sweeter than the filth that had been leaking out of my own mouth and rolling around in my helmet for the past couple of hours, but nonetheless, not something I enjoy. But things were clearing up. We had arrived at a fish market, and entering same had led to the situation described earlier. Cash strapped and embarrassed I spent most of the group's shopping time by myself at the water's edge watching million-year-old men steer their boats into the harbour. Then I found out my bike needed to be moved, and then I found out it was time to go home.

"The putrid stench of fish is what hit me first..."

Kuroda had booted off with his esky-load of crustacea and piscatorial mysteries a short while before us and the rest of the group snaked their way home in a leisurely manner. The temperature was now easily in the high thirties, the sun blinding and with the humidity I was feeling wrecked. We pulled over for some petrol. It was decided that we should probably try and get home as fast as possible, so the group should break up if needed and just meet up at the end. I found myself having trouble keeping up and not knowing the way home so a couple of the guys stuck with me. I openly admit that I am not greatly skilled at speeding through traffic and after a bus pulled out in front of me, I had a terrible feeling that maybe I wasn't going to make it home that day. But I believe everyone did arrive unscathed until... The Barbecue.

Imanishi Machine Techno is a family run business specializing in all things Kawasaki. They're currently celebrating their 60th year in the game and in my humble opinion are the best bike shop I have ever had the pleasure of dealing with. Great people who live and love bikes, and evidently fond of their customers, too. This was made clear to me when I made my purchase as Takashi Imanishi explained that they are more interested in repeat service rather than quantity of sales. Such comforting words after some of the garbage I'd been through shopping over here. And he wasn't lying, they've since taken care of me and my bike, going above and beyond the duty one would expect of a bike shop -- and I feel greatly indebted to them for this. And I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Obligatory group shot

IMT hold touring events at least once a month, and though this one had been planned a while previously, the BBQ finale was held secret from all but precious few -- and a most welcoming sight to come home to. While we'd been gone, brothers Takashi and Wataru had been busy setting up marquees, barbecues and ice boxes full of cold liquid replenishments for their wearied crusaders. It was a scene of much beauty and worthy of praise. All of the fresh produce we'd brought home from the various locations was divided, offered up to the gods in sacrifice, then devoured over the next few hours and well into the night.

The depravity that ensued would be easier to describe if I could remember it. It is Japanese custom to open a few cans between friends, then sit around with a cup and keep filling up your mate's glass after each mouthful. The afternoon was a write-off before it had even begun. Before I knew it, my bike had been securely stowed inside the shop, and my keys and helmet confiscated. There was nothing further I could do to resist the temptations, nor attempt to go home. And I had no reason to either. A gorgeous afternoon enjoying the day's harvest with copious amounts of alcohol was, combined with the wonderful company, a perfect remedy to an awful weekend.

The diversity in personalities at IMT is as broad as the range of bikes that show up and I think that is what makes it such a special experience to ride with them. I spoke with Takashi at length about IMT and their approach to touring, mentioning the attitudes I've encountered in my bike travels over here. Whilst acknowledging that many riders and groups tend to alienate themselves through their own faux exclusivity, IMT pursues something here in Japan they call 'Bike Life', which I guess could be roughly translated as 'Live to Ride' approach to everything, without any outlaw connotations. No matter what you ride, who you are, nor how good you are, show up and you're always welcome. I believe the number of attendees speaks for itself. Even those who for various reasons couldn't come for the ride came to the after party, and many of those, like me were eventually carted home in the shop van.