The 2,000 Kilometer Trek Across Japan For Tohoku

For those not used to the metric system, 2,000 kilometers is around 1,200 miles.  That's how far my husband and I drove in a 1956 Ford F-100 last week.  Cart before the horse--again.  Let me back way up.

When I first came back to Japan in late March 2011 to volunteer with post-disaster relief work I didn't know of this man who would play such an important role in my life.  Fast forward six months, an ex-boyfriend living in Tokyo tells me, "Got someone I want you to meet."  I'm not thrilled by these meetings he springs on me, mostly because my ex and I are just learning to get along again after a 20 year "we're not speaking to each other" phase and I'm not convinced I can read him.  Born gambler that I am, I agree to go meet mystery man and my life is forever changed.

It's September 2011 and I need a visa sponsor in order to stay in Japan to continue my work.  It's not supposed to be this hard to find a sponsor, is it?  Offers fall through, people who swore they would move mountains for me don't, and I'm annoyed and angry and confused.  Mostly angry, though.  When my ex tells me "this is the guy" I mentally roll my eyes.  But, (exhale) I'm desperate.  So, on this fateful day I plunk myself down in front of this man and start talking.

I'm not six sentences into my request and he says it.  "You need a visa sponsor?  You want to keep working up in Tohoku?  Sure.  No problem."

That's it?  Yes.  That's it.  We became fast friends.  I think the world of this man.  Truly.

And, it's precisely because I think so highly of this man that when he tells me he's loaning me his 1956 Ford F-100 for me to continue my PR work in Rikuzentakata I don't dare say no.  We go over details, me making sure, twice and three times, "You're really okay giving up this truck?" and getting the same answer every time.  "You won't blend up there in this thing.  Not that you do now," and here he guffaws.  "The truck itself is PR.  People will know it's you, and people will know what you're doing, and this thing alone will get reporters up there."  He's right about the part this truck will not blend.  Reporters?  I'm not convinced.  "I'll put a giant sticker on the doors with a saying....something about Rikuzentakata.  That should make it doubly hard to miss."

At the end of this conversation, I have agreed to drive this truck from Kyushu, the southern island of Japan, all the way up to Rikuzentakata, some 2,000 kilometers away.  By myself.

Which doesn't happen.  I don't dare drive this thing alone.  Too many men cried foul, or more specifically, "You're a girl!  You can't drive that thing all by yourself!" not mincing words.  I want to spat, "Don't be an ass" but don't because I've just been told by my visa sponsor that this truck should "probably not be driven over 80 kilometers (50 miles) per hour."  You've got to be kidding me.  "And, don't break down on the road because we don't have any spare parts."  Right.  This is going to be a very long drive.

So, I recruit my husband to make the drive with me.  He's up for these types of adventures--one of the many reasons I married him, and we embark on this trip, our second honeymoon.  With one remaining request to my sponsor.  "Does the truck have a GPS?" I ask him.  "No.  Why?"  Here, I ponder how forthcoming my answer should be, but decide he will find humor in my honesty decide to come out with it.  "My husband doesn't like the way I give directions."  It's true I have this tendency to say things like, "Oh, you wanted to turn .... there," pointing to the road on the left as we whiz by.  (My husband hates this.)  "I'll get you a GPS," my sponsor is spot on.  "Otherwise you'll fight."  I didn't actually say that we'd fight but I choose to compliment him on his keen skills of observation and graciously accept the free GPS.

And so we drive.
And he's right.  This truck does not blend.  Cars that blitz past us slow down, gawk at the truck, read the sign and wave.  And take photos.  And roll down their windows yelling, "Hang in there!" and "Good luck!" and "We're still thinking of you!"  A guy on a Harley passes us and gives us a thumbs up.  This happened all the time.

At rest stops every hour and a half (because this thing was a beast to drive) we'd inevitably come back to the truck with people snapping photos, looking in the windows.  When we'd walk up, there would be silence at first, and then some brave soul would ask if either of us spoke Japanese.  I had this terrible cold that week so I sounded horrid but covering my mouth squawked out answers to all of their questions.  And listened to their stories.  This too happened over and over.

It took us four whole days to drive from Kyushu to Rikuzentakata.  We didn't fight.  We made it.  I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.  My sponsor is right about how much press this truck will get, and in turn the city I work in.  I'm grateful all over again.