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Wheeling out an epic

By on April 4, 2008

In May 2005, Leigh Norrie left his house and went on a bike ride… to the rest of Japan.  After a lonely and grueling six months, he’d pedaled 10,000 kilometers through every prefecture, all 41, north to south. On the way he kept a diary of his remarkable odyssey, now published as his first book, Japan—6,000 Miles on a Bicycle; and dedicated the proceeds to his chosen charity: the Chi-ki Children’s Foundation.

Norrie’s mesmeric account of the people and places he encounters uses two classic themes: the diary and the road trip. Unlike many modern travel memoirs there are no tales of gunfights, car-chases, life-or-death poker games, or elicit encounters. His book is more reminiscent of Steinbeck’s adorable Travels with Charley, with everyday folk as the cast, and customariness fused with Japan’s singular idiosyncrasies making for an exceptionally enticing script. Never snobby, often judgmental, but always frank, Norrie peppers Japan with a brutal insight that meanders between outrage and kindness. Not since Alan Boothe’s Roads To Saga has Japan been scoured with such objectivity, anger and affection.

Diaries have made a comeback of late, yet their value has always been priceless. The pivotal events of mid-1600s London were encapsulated in the jottings of one man: Samuel Pepys. Reading Che Guevara’s last diary, you scream at the annals of history, “Get rid of those amateurs!” And studying the French Revolution would be oh-so-boring without Restif De La Bretonne’s reports on Paris after dark. About 400 years from now and Norrie’s writings will most certainly evoke a kaleidoscope of reaction and retort. The keen observations of a peripatetic gaijin, part L’Ingenu, part veteran, is a message in a bottle floating toward the historians of the future. Read it, write what you will, and bury your copy.

Norrie also unintentionally takes his passengers, the reader, on the journey—eventually pedaling with him, you can’t help but egg him on, hoping he can tough it out to Naha. While the book highlights the paradoxes inherent in Nippon, its everyday nature leaves you with another—you feel closer than ever to the Japanese, but equally just as alienated, just as exasperated, depressingly unable to unlock what makes this place tick—and what with the puncture just before the finish line, you, like Norrie are always so close, but yet so very, very far…

TFM caught up with the cyclist, writer, poet, Welshman, fundraiser and role model, in his location of choice – a grotty British pub.

Norrie cuts a great protagonist with his Revolver haircut, tweed jacket and smoldering ‘bine. He could have just walked off any number of film sets: young college professor, some Beatnik from the Village, the counter-revolutionary about to plunge off the Left Bank. Is this arty type really the heroic man of steel who risked life and limb and endured six months of gluteal anguish to raise money for Laotian orphans?

Can I just check your gaijin card to make sure you are in fact the real Leigh Norrie? (Confusion…  Followed by wallet… Back to confusion)

Usually only people under orders of Imperial edict go to the compass points and report back, so where did the idea come from? Drinking with the musician, Bob Arnold. He brought up Alan Booth’s walk from Hokkaido to Saga in Kyushu. My heart started pounding—I had to do it. From then, it evolved into two wheels and more mileage. Have never liked walking, or camping… or cycling…  but always adventure.

What is your connection to Chi-ki? I’ve known Sylvia since 2001. I always admired what she did in 2003: threw herself into the unknown for a few weeks and returned with 3,000 kids to look after. That takes a lot of guts. Here are children who have the absolute bare minimum, and get on with life the best they can. We truly are blessed.

Did you come to any general conclusion on Japanese families? I stayed with a few families. Politeness and unsurpassed hospitality would be the two most striking attributes. I felt part of the family, totally unforced and totally natural. Comparing them to western families is a tough one. In Japan, I certainly haven’t been served breakfast by a guy in his underwear, smoking a cigarette.

Any striking divide between inaka and Tokyo? For sure. There are a lot of rundown places that were obviously not invited to the economic miracle party. Ishinomaki near Sendai is one place that will stick with me: faded posters of bygone events, rotting fishing boats and wood. It was like riding through the fifties. In the sticks though, the most surprising and disappointing thing was being turned away from ryokan and minshuku. I guess they were all fully booked.

In the book you mention one family you stayed with as the most genuine people you’d ever met? Can you elaborate on this? Near Shakotan in Hokkaido, I’d spent six or seven hours in the rain after hardly any sleep. I stopped at a minshuku, just dying to get my head down. The welcome was incredible, like I’d arrived at an old friend’s house. When I sat down in the tatami room for dinner, the children sat down with me. The father came in and started showing me photos of his family and antiques that he collected. Being stuck with only my music and my thoughts for so long, it was easy to be selfish. I was rude. I ordered a beer and left the food until much later. It took me a full ten minutes to appreciate that they were just being themselves. The kids went to get their schoolbooks. I helped them with their homework. Out came photos of the family on the beach; a fishing rod; a hundred year old vase; and a lot of toys for me to play with. Wonderful people.

What were the kids in the boonies like? Just great. I got lost in Okayama. Dark moments ensued, threats of tonsillitis. Four months on the road was beginning to take its toll: the loneliness, the weather and the sheer frustration. I cycled past a procession of kids smiling, pulling a float, playing flutes and generally having a ball. They turned to me, beaming and waving. I returned the gesture. Everyone responded and I was blessed to be the only audience. These lovely people gave me the energy and resolve to carry on.

What are the benefits of cycling as a means of travel? In a car you don’t see much and you certainly don’t smell or feel the change in the weather. Being open to the elements has its advantages. You absorb the whole lot. In a car you miss the hornets drowned in the rain, you miss the announcements telling everyone it’s six o’clock, you miss the smell of the damp wood and pine needles, you don’t get wet, you don’t feel the trip. The experiences are worlds apart.

Would you do it again? Absolutely not. Doing it again would be detrimental. The next project is all of Europe in 2011.

Would you advise any readers out there to try it? Absolutely, but be aware, there are many dangers attached. Tunnels for a start. Bears. Cycling at night. Cheap equipment… you’ll have to read the book!

Japan—6000 Miles on a Bicycle, published by Printed Matter Press will be out in May. Email Leigh or PMP at: info@printedmatterpress.com for news on book-signings, book launch events and other information on the Chi-ki Foundation Awareness Tour. 

About Kevin Gray