Everybody has a list of certain things they want to see in their lives.  This list exists deep within our subconscious, and is rarely identified, much less considered, until the moment when we see something on the list.  Experience has taught me that when these moments occur unexpectedly, the mind goes through three distinct stages: confusion, disbelief, and finally, extreme content.

Let me give you an example.  I was riding my bike to the bakery one day to buy a pie, because sometimes I just want to eat some pie and I’ll be damned if anything is going to stop me.  My bicycle is a red single speed street bike with a basket on the front end.  That part is important, so remember it.

I was riding said bike through the town of Kawashiri (which translates in to River Ass, but that is irrelevant) when I happened to notice a happy little bird flying along with me, not unlike a dolphin playing in the wakes of a ship.  My eyes were fixed on this bird, because it’s not very often that I see one so unconcerned with it’s proximity to me.  The bird flew with me for a few seconds, then swooped up ahead.  This is where it got interesting.  The bird suddenly decided to pull an awkward mid-air stop right in the path of my bicycle.  With a squawk and a few loosed feathers, it bounced off my basket, hung dazed in the air for a split second, and then peeled off to flee the scene of it’s embarrassment.

First stage:  Confusion.  I distinctly remember thinking, “What the fuck?”

Second stage:  Disbelief.  Did that really just happen?  I looked around desperately for somebody to confirm that they had also just seen me hit this bird on my one speed bicycle.  Alas, nobody was there to share the moment with me.

Third stage:  Extreme content.  I actually laughed out loud in glee.  To have such a bizarre event happen to me, I felt like the luckiest guy in River Ass.  I mean, who has ever heard of something like that?  I couldn’t help but think that there exists only an elite few worldwide who can claim to have the bicycling skill to chase down and strike a bird.  If anybody else has heard of something like this, I’d like to hear about it.

Anyway, that’s not the story I brought you all here for.

When I disembarked from my ferry on Iriomote Island, an island far closer to Taiwan than to its prefectural capital in Naha, Okinawa, my plan was simple.  I would find the main road, and walk until I found a hotel.  Two hours later I found myself at the Pineapple hostel, eating a Peach-Pine (local delicasy, smaller and sweeter than your average pineapple) and talking with the island’s car mechanic/tour guide.  My little stroll offered me an amazing view of the island’s local life and geography, with which I am still enchanted.  On noticing that the hostel rented out bicycles to it’s guests, I decided that I would devote the next day to taking Iriomote by storm, one pedal at a time.  It would be my Tour de Iriomote.

With no road crew, it was a little troublesome dealing with two flat tires, but by sunset I had conquered the island and ridden about 80 kilometers, or nearly 50 miles.

When I returned to Pineapple-kan that night, I talked with my mechanic/guide buddy and arranged to join a group that would kayak and hike to a fall the next day.  Iriomote, it turns out, is one of those places I had on my list.  What a discovery.