Via This Isn’t Happiness.

The L.A. bike scene is alive and very well. More fun videos at the Midnight Ridazz.

Ah, many fond memories! Thanks to bringababe for the tip!

And I’ve lost a wheel.

It’s a Puch, and once it was yellow, with electric blue mud guards. That was before it was stolen. I bought it from a bike messenger at the old, and now demolished, West Balkan for about $90 (diesel lock included), which is still on the expensive side for a used bike in these parts. It had a bent back fork from when he got hit by a car and was pretty banged up in terms of paint and handlebar tape, but it was light and still worked fine and had some “history”, so I took it. While the brand name is Puch, the previous owner had added an “i” to the end, making it “Puchi”. My bike has a name, and that name is the same as Garfield’s teddy bear (different spelling).

I began to think it was a bad luck bike when I got hit by a car too – sideswiped by an idiot making an illegal turn and not even having the gall to signal. I was ok, and Puchi made it through fine, though I was more than shaken up. This was all in the summer of 2006.

While usually we would bring our bikes into the stairwell of our apartment and lock them there, which is out of sight from the street and relatively safe, we occasionally got lazy and left them locked to the lamp post outside. I was confident that my 2cm-thick cable lock would be enough of a deterrent.

I was wrong. I walked out one morning, a bit late and needing to jump on the yellow streak that Puchi was in order to get to work fast, and was shocked and appalled that it had disappeared without a trace. I was crushed. We tried reporting it to the police, with little confidence that they’d do much of anything about it, and listed it on a stolen bike forum. This is the description I wrote:

The bike is an old, bananna yellow Puch, 10-speed, with electric blue mud guards, narrow street tires, an old and cracked black seat, with half handlebars (I don’t know how to explain these) and a Shimano gearshifter. The bike looks old and beat-up, with many scratches and marks all over the frame. The Puch logo has been modified to say “Puchi”, and the same thing is engraved on the vertical seat support strut. There is also a bit of hose or tire attached to the top horizontal support, held in place with plastic ties. The right rear wheel strut is bent inwards slightly from a car accident by the previous owner, who is a bike messenger named Tonja. He also did all the other modifications.

About a week later I was getting pretty sure it was gone for good. We had called several shops to see if it had turned up anywhere, and even gone to an awesome flea market to look for parts. I kind of felt like that part in one of the Star Wars flicks when they find C3-PO all blasted apart, except I didn’t find Puchi.

Then my co-worker Anna’s bike got stolen. She had left it locked up in the courtyard at the office over the weekend (exactly where E’s bike would get stolen, many months later, in broad daylight, which is another story), which is easily accessible and less-savory types are known to come and go as they please. We commiserated.

A few days later, Anna went to the bike shop just a few doors down from the office to look for a new bike. I had been there a couple times to get miscellaneous repairs done on Puchi, and Anna had accompanied me there to ask about where to look for stolen bikes the day after mine disappeared. This time when she arrived, it was there being repaired, and the repair guy recognized it, despite the fact that the mud guards were gone and it had been hastily spray-painted black. The thieves must have screwed up the brakes while tearing off the guards. She called me, I went down, and sure enough it was Puchi, looked abused. A few minutes later the chump who brought it in returned, saying that he had paid 3,000 forints (about $14) for it, which I was hesitant to reimburse but I felt was a small price to pay for such amazing luck.

I was mad as hell that I got my bike stolen and desecrated, only to be sold for a mere 3,000 forints, but I was amazed and happy that things had taken such a fantastic turn. My coworker’s bad luck was my own fortune – if she had not gone to the bike shop during those few minutes in which it was there being repaired, it would have ridden off under the chump’s ass never to be seen again.

I still ride to work every day, but this time it’s on Puchi II.

We recently took a bicycle trip around Hungary’s Lake Balaton, the so-called “Hungarian Sea”, which I feel ashamed to even propagate here, as it is so far from being a “sea” that it’s not even funny. Nevertheless there is a great deal of lore and legend about the temperament of the lake, which, at an average depth of about 2.5 meters, is pretty much a puddle for the Jolly Green Giant.The pictures from the trip are HERE.

So, we started by taking a Thursday evening train from Budapest’s Déli train station to Siófok, on the south-eastern end of the lake and stayed at the Camping Ifjúság, rated at two stars (who even knew campsites got starred ratings?) but really deserving of none, as it was a) not really close to the water, but really close to some amusement park rides, b) infested by noisy brats and obnoxious German-speaking tourists, and c) located exactly between a railroad line (on which endless freights clacked and clanged all night long) and a busy roadway (on which endless motorized vehicles, apparently ignorant of a concept called “common decency” rode up and down all night long). We had packed:

1 tent, too big (sleeps 3 comfortably, 4 un-)
2 sleeping pads (pretty thin – one was actually an exercise mat)
1.5 blankets, which was about 1 blanket too few
1 towel
2 sets of clothing, one for riding, one for “kickin it”, plus bathing suits
necessary toiletries (I pre-filled three contact lens cases to avoid the weight of a whole bottle of solution)
1 headlamp
4 packages G.O.R.P., which went uneaten
bike lamps and reflective vests, the latter of which despite my scoffing actually came in handy, as some sections of the route were dark
reading materials (I’ve just finished Midnight’s Children, it’s excellent.) and sudoku
1 bandanna, red
1 pair biking gloves
2 plastic spoons
1 plastic straw, from a juice box, which remarkably came in handy as I managed to buy juice boxes with no straws attached
1 pair each flip-flops
1 Leatherman multi-tool (thanks Lynn and Pete!)
1 bicycle pump
1 tire repair kit
1 spare tire, for my bike only (we couldn’t find a proper one for E’s bike, and we had the repair kit, so…)

Our first night was spent rather sleeplessly, as the one blanket we’d brought was not enough to counter the dramatic drop in temperature we’d experienced, first between the city and the lake and also between day and night. There were also the aforementioned cars, trains and Germans to keep us company. We rose at 6:30, packed up and set off on the first leg of the trip, a 55km beeline down the southern coast of Lake Balaton to Fonyód. There is a bike route that circles the lake, made up of a combination of dedicated bike path (about 40% I’d say) and low-traffic roadway, mostly for residential traffic. This first section was mostly the latter, which was fine but a bit mundane, as we basically cruised past one vacation home after another, thankfully none so ostentatious as the ones my grandparents have watched spring up around them in Falmouth.

Perhaps due to the excitement of the first day and the perfectly level terrain, we made the trip in about 3 hours, with a half-hour break for breakfast at a supermarket. We ate bread rolls, processed cheese and coffee. We arrived at Napsugár Kemping és Üdülőfalu, this one rated 3 stars, set up our tent and went to lunch at a nearby family restaurant. I had a trout and a beer. We then promptly passed out on the “beach”, which in these parts means a grassy area by the water. For dinner we went into “town”, which is pretty trashy and touristy. A lot of the more major settlements and campgrounds around the lake a set up entirely to cater to the German-speaking tourists, and there were a lot of corny amusement parks and trinket stands, which I wanted to avoid as much as possible. Nevertheless we had dinner at one of the tourist places. At least they had Szalon Barna, which is a tasty brown beer from Pécs.

The weather was not as cold the second night, Friday, and we slept fine, arising at the same time but moving a little slower, as we began to feel the effects of being “in the saddle” for longer than we’re used to. This day turned out to be the longest stretch but the most pleasant, riding about 65-70km in 4.5 hours to Balatontomaj on the north-western end, near Badacsony. The 15-20km on each side of Keszthely were particularly pleasant, as the bike path was recently built and wound through some nice green and foresty areas generally away from the roads. Sometimes we were near train tracks, which was fine as well. At one point we noticed that there must have been a race along this section, as some loyal boyfriends, obviously attempted to out-do one another, had spray painted slogans on the path such as “tempo!” and “I love you Zsuzsi!” and “beer, wine, palinka, 100m!”

The campground at Tomaj was the best of the three, as it was not part of the larger BalatonTourist chain and was quieter, right on the water and had sufficient, but not excessive facilities. We came to get some exercise and be outside, not to ride bumper cars. We were pretty tired after this section, not only because it was longer than we had thought and the heat had gotten pretty strong by half-past noon, but also because we’d started into the hilly northern section of the lake.  The area is known for its vineyards, and in the nearby town of Badacsony there was a wine festival going on, which we stopped in at on the way to dinner, at another touristy place where we had a huge fish platter for two. The best part was the catfish fried in an almond-batter. During dinner the winds came up and were gusting quite hard. We made our way back to the tent, which we had to rescue a bit as it had nearly taken off in the wind (and we’d neglected to stake it properly), just in time, as it began to pour almost as soon as we’d zipped up the hatch. The tent pulled through fine and we slept like babies.

The final day was a challenge in several ways. First were the hills, which always seemed to go up and not so much down. Actually there were a few really nice spots to coast, and being up high gave us nice views of the sailboats out on the lake. We had to ride quite a ways before we found a convenience store from which to buy breakfast, today consisting of more bread rolls, cheese, chocolate milk from a bag, pepper and tomato. However, we were tired, and it was another long-ish day, about 60km. Also annoying was the fact that this was the most heavily developed part of the lake, which meant we had to slow down a lot to avoid people walking among the shops and restaurants and souvenir shops and so on. Some local entrepreneur had come up with the idiotic idea to rent pedal cars to kids, which undoubtedly made him or her lots of money but cost us lots of time avoiding the swerving and shrieking brats trying their first three point turns

There was a bit of drama in one of the larger settlements, as after stopping at a gas station to get more water, E realized she’d lost her hip pack. Luckily it was picked up by a very friendly German tourist (I guess they’re not ALL bad) who had waited patiently for 45 minutes until we arrived to claim it. We finished up the trip in Balatonalmádi, at the north western end of the lake, and spent the afternoon at a pay-beach until our 6:30 train back to Budapest.

Overall it was a great trip – a challenge but nothing beyond our abilities, and if we’d really pushed we probably could have done the whole thing in two days. But we wanted to enjoy the lakeside and get some relaxation with our activity, so we spent three. Maybe we’ll come back again in September when the weather cools down a bit (did I mention there was a record-setting heatwave right before we left?), but now we’re planning our next trip: a much more vacation-like 10 days in the Greek Islands.

Once again, the photo gallery for this trip is HERE.

If you’ve come to Hungary as a traveler or as an expatriate, you could probably chalk up some of your impetus to “wanting to see the world.” Meeting the local peoples, sampling local cuisine – these are the things that we revel in. The jet-set hops from place to place by plane, students take the slow route by train, poets hop freights or hitchhike, and those on a mission might ride in a plastic car.

Keiichi Iwasaki, however, is doing something else entirely. He’s going around the world – by bicycle. Currently 6 years and more than 30,000km into an estimated 10-year trek, this air conditioning repairman left his native Gunma-ken, Japanin 2001 with 160 yen (USD 1.25 / HUF 235) in his pocket and a vague notion to yes, see the world. Since then he’s traveled through more than 25 countries and reached unimaginable highs and lows.

Logical first question starts something like: “What kind of crazy…” He laughs, knowing this one was coming. With an easy smile and a glint in his eye he recounts how “life” in Japan wasn’t exactly inspiring. “Most people are just working and sleeping. If they ever do travel, they go by plane, which is fast and easy, but you can’t see anything. I want to meet people, see the land, and help spread peace.”

Starting off hitching, Keiichi soon realized that he was still waiting around, asking for a ride. Independence became paramount, and a bicycle offered both the freedom he wanted and the low cost that was necessary. And “low-cost” is no understatement – his rickety one-speed mamachari, a Japanese slang term for “granny bike” covered with customized luggage racks, looks like it’s held together with no more than love and a whole lot of packing tape. But this mimics his entire approach to the adventure, which, with some very notable exceptions, has been funded by the charity of others and the money he earns busking. His skill? Magic tricks.

“There are cyclist networks, and hospitality clubs, so I couch-surf,” he explains, while making an old receipt turn into a bank note. “Money is important, but it’s not all” -one red plush toy becomes five in my closed fist- “If you don’t have any, you just work” -a set of chopsticks emerges from his nose- “I never eat at restaurants, and mostly cook for myself on the road” -a folded handkerchief comes alive as a mouse- “If you’re hungry, you can eat anything.”

What about equipment? Keiichi says he carries a small stove but no tent or camping gear, using just a tarp and taking shelter wherever he can find it. Bizarrely, he carries a laptop computer and a camera. “It’s heavy, but so useful,” he explains. He prefers his donated bike, which he has learned to repair himself, to something more efficient, to prove that anything is possible, even on about 2 euros a day.

That attitude fueled his most significant achievement so far. After riding throughout southeast Asia and Nepal, he decided to go from sea level to the top of the world, with no money and no gas. Locking away savings he would need for equipment later on, he started at the southern tip of India, then rode the height of the subcontinent, earning enough through his tricks to make it to Mount Everest base camp. There he joined a 17-person international expedition and spent 10 months training to become one of just three people from the expedition to summit on May 31, 2005. Once the mission was completed, he rowed his way 1,300 km in a boat on the Ganges River, and biked back to Calcutta.

On the road Keiichi has faced many challenges apart from the physical enormity of traveling so far with so little. He’s been robbed multiple times, bitten by dogs, battled loneliness and beset by constant cultural differences and communication problems. By coincidence, he met a childhood friend traveling in Nepal. Convinced it was fate, the two decided to get married. While Keiichi’s parents were supportive (and have been through the entirety of the trip), hers, alas, were not. He has not heard from her since she returned to Japan.

Despite the challenges, he remains firmly positive, even after six years on the road, communicating with friends and family by e-mail and Skype and posting photos and updates on his website. “If I wanted to, I could just get on a plane and be home in a few hours,” he says. “Every day is interesting, and I’ve never wanted to quit. The world is not so big – I’m not on the moon.” As people go, he explains, differences are not so great. “Human emotions are the same everywhere – only culture and language are different. So I’m not afraid.”

There is a long road ahead for Keiichi Iwasaki. After riding through Europe, he’ll cross into Morocco and bike to South Africa. There his dream is another ultimate undertaking: to row across the Atlantic Ocean, a three-month voyage to rival the years he’s already spent at nature’s whims. This he acknowledges, like the Everest climb, will have to be sponsored. Once in the Americas, his final destination will be Alaska, but as of now the route remains undecided.

What would a post-circumnavigation future look like for such a limitless adventurer? Keiichi plans to begin writing a book while still on the road, and thinks he’ll probably undertake other far-flung challenges, such as seeing the north and south poles and climbing the tallest peak on each continent. For now he’s happy to be living a life that few could even dream of. Asked if he missed anything, he responded in the negative. Smiling, he corrected himself: “Wait, there’s one thing – sushi.”

To learn more about Keiichi Iwasaki’s Around the World Adventure, go to his website (Japanese only): www.geocities.jp/keinoryokouki or see his photo galleries: http://photo.svobodno.com