His bike was an off-road model. It had a sturdy frame like a motocross cycle, with sidebags hanging from both sides. It looked exactly like the professional gear of a mountain photographer. It looked like it could conquer logging roads without breaking a sweat. On the other hand, mine was just a regular city bike. Its only redeeming feature was its 4-stroke single-cylinder 400cc engine, but it lacked any special equipment. I had simply stuffed my things into a Boston bag and strapped it to the rear seat.
We wound our way up a twisting road that cut through a dense forest planted with either cedar or cypress. We didn’t encounter a single oncoming vehicle or pedestrian. The GPS was useless because the margin of error was too wide, and even Google Maps couldn’t pinpoint where I was. In short, this path wasn’t a national route or a prefectural road; it was just a logging road cut right through the middle of the forest for green space conservation.
After reaching the summit, the descent turned into a thicket of diverse trees, leading us into a narrow, cramped valley. Only a small sliver of the sky was visible. The sun climbed high into the sky.
“Let’s get some grub,” the man said, and he started fishing in a mountain stream. Since I didn’t have much else to do, I flipped over some rocks and gathered some Japanese freshwater crabs (sawagani). With his survival knife, the man slit the bellies of his small catch one by one, removing the innards. The pitiful fish, with their hollow eyes, dripped blood as they expired.
The man shaved a piece of deadwood with his knife to make tinder, then rubbed a metal rod—like a file—against it to spark a fire.
“Wow, amazing. Just like I saw on TV.” I actually started to feel a bit thrilled. It felt like the trip was finally paying off.
After that, the man sprinkled salt on the fish, skewered them, and roasted them over the campfire. The freshwater crabs scrambled around noisily inside the mess tin for a while, but fell silent once they were cooked. Inside the lid, the crabs had turned bright red. The two of us devoured our catch, munched on some bread as a side, and drank instant coffee. Proceeding further along the logging road after that, we came out into a flat area where the view opened up slightly.
“Is this it?”
“Yeah, it should be here.” There was a bus stop covered in reddish-brown rust, its letters faded and unreadable. Next to it stood what was probably once a post office. A red mailbox stood in front of the building. A wooden utility pole had rotted and tilted, its wires cut and dangling down.
“It looks like an abandoned village no matter how you look at it. Though it seems like people lived here until the Showa era.” A single gravel road branched off from the asphalt logging road, extending deeper into the surroundings. It looked like it led to a settlement inside the forest.
“This is absolutely perfect. Abandoned village, ruins—whatever it is, it’s got a great, captivating look, doesn’t it? Ruin enthusiasts would drool over this.” The man immediately pulled out his DSLR camera and started snapping pictures.
“I guess people these days call this ‘Instagrammable’.”
“Who knows? Will photos like this actually sell?”
“Oh, yeah. If you put them in a magazine or a blog, people suddenly flock to the place, and it gets lively.”
“A place like this?”
“And I, the guy who introduced it, get my name out there. But you see, if it causes too much of a fuss, the landowners will just put up a gate and block it off.” He revved the engine of his off-road bike.
“Are you going all the way in? Come on, give me a break. There’s no way I can ride on an unpaved road with my bike.”
“Then can you wait for me here? Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”
“How long is ‘right back’?”
“Just a matter of minutes. I’m just going to see what’s in there.”
“Good grief.”
Without thinking much of it, I let the man go. He rode down the gravel road and disappeared into the forest. Ten minutes passed, twenty minutes passed, thirty minutes passed—but the man didn’t return. I was starting to get irritated. Just as I was thinking about turning back without waiting for him any longer, a single young boy came walking out from the depths of the gravel road toward me.