12 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...'s with a view

Isogashii-ne?

Last weekend I headed out to the hills with the aim of going further than e'er before. I just about got further north than I had thus far been when I was distracted by all the magestical beauty surrounding me. Of course as I was having that nice moment I cycled over a series of three large metal breakers the Japanese use occasionally at the side of roads. I was jerked from my saddle but remained on the bicycle, looking down as my wheels went over each in turn. After that sudden jolt I thought I'd better check that the bike was ok. I slowed down to check if the wheel was still straight, seemed ok. But I thought, no that was a pretty hard knock I'll check everything. So I discmounted and watched my back tyre go 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...' nuts.
But daijoubu, I got a puncture repair kit and a spare inner tube. So I flip the bike and go to remove the back wheel. Hmmm... hang on the front wheel's looking a little flat too 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...' nuts. But still, I have a spare and a repair kit, no problem.
So I decide to try and fix the punctures in the front wheel, as that took slightly longer to go flat. So off it comes. It's a little tricky to locate the puncture at first as it goes down very quickly. But it's pretty chilly so I focus and after a few false starts I locate the problem. A pinch puncture as predicted, so I open up the repair kit... I only have two patches. But that shouldn't be a problem right? I mean I only have to repair one tyre! So I stick one patch and it looks good. I cross my fingers and pump it up again... 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...' no beans. Ok, so I locate a second double puncture. This ones a little trickier, the holes are further apart and it won't be so easy to fit the patch ove both holes. I try once. Pump it. 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...' hmmm, try again. 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...'. Ok, it's not really cold... I'm having fun. There can't possibly be any more punctures in this tyre so this is all I need to do. 'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...' For 30 minutes I struggled with that puncture until finally it stuck. So I pump it up one last time...
'ppphhhhhhhhhhht...'

nuts.

So I'm two hours cycle from home, in my racing shoes (not designed for walking), maybe 30 miles or so. I don't have any real clue about where I am, or where the nearest train station is (I headed away from civilisation, not alongside it) and I don't have any money with me...

nuts.

So I start walking.
Surprisingly, or perhaps because I was being a little slow, I hadn't really felt too upset or put out by this turn of events. And in this easy-come-easy-go manner I wandered about a kilometre back down the road until I came upon a soba shop. I'm getting hungry now too; must have been about 1pm. But the cheapest soba is 400 yen and I only have 210. nuts. So I ask if I can use the loo, and a mini-Oba-san (Japanese grand-mother) tells me I certainly may, it's out back. So I attend to my business and then look about myself. I'm on the side of a lake surrounded on all sides by hills carpeted in foliage, pretty nice. But these thoughts don't help my stomach so I go back inside to try and figure out how far away the nearest train station is. The appearance of a tall, bearded, cycle-apparelled gaijiin has caused something approaching a commotion among the six clientel present. The Oba-san is trying to speak to me, but rather quickly and I can't understand a word; I get the impression she's trying to be helpful though so I wait as she fetches her co-worker from the kitchen to join the struggle. Despite my protestations of having no money, she insists on ringing a taxi (at least to get a price). But after talking to someone on the phone for 30 seconds she hangs up and mutters a string of what I'm sure was intended to be internal-dialogue.
Throughout this interchange I'm being smiled at by a pleasant looking young couple with a small boy eating their lunch. At this point the entire contents of the soba-shop rush outside to inspect my bicycle. They all insist on trying to pump it up until they're satisfied that that's definitely not going to help. Then back inside we go, and I'm asked where I am living. On hearing Terajima-cho, Hamamatsu, the young couple look puzzled and make sure I said it right a few times before revealing that they live two minutes from me and they'd be happy to give me a lift back if I was happy enough to wait around until 3.
I sat down with a grin.
Then, impressed by this couples kindness the Oba-san asked if I was hungry. Well, I cannot tell a lie; I was hungry. So she asks me if I want soba or ramen. But I don't have any money I protest. But she insists, after such a show of generosity thhat she would have to step up and give me a free lunch. Soba it was, and delicious too!
So who's a lucky gaijin?
I sat and talked to the family for a couple of hours and played with Sota, their 3 year-old son. When 3 arrived there was movement but not out the front. I was puzzled. Out the back everyone was heading and looking skywards. So I followed and saw a large congregation of what looked like eagles of some kind circling above us. A bowl of bread and dry fish bits was thrust into my hands and the contents aimed to the heavens. As each item was thrown up, a series of eagles would swoop down and catch it before it hit the water below, which was filled with koi-carp. Quite fantastical.
After that my bicycle was gently placed in the back of the couple's car and I was driven home. Felt pretty good.

Later that evening I was out again for Alexis' birthday celebrations. It was the first time I'd seen a bunch of people in a while as they congregated in Hamamatsu for the fun to begin.
Particular favourite images of the evening are these. I guess I had a little nervous energy left.

Kevin with his masterpiece, 'well you might be pretty good, but I can draw a french waiter!'

Busting a move in between drinking establishments.

3 guesses for the song. Answers on a postcard. First five entries picked by our one-eyed mouse win a trip to Heswall.