It seems to be the God given right of young men everywhere to be as ridiculous and annoying as possible. Or at least they act like it is.
As C and I get down to the last few days of living in Japan, we are waxing a bit nostalgic about what we will miss after we leave.
One thing that we absolutely will not miss at all are mini-bikes. They are not something I ever really recall seeing in the states, and the riders of these circus-reject contraptions manage to be about as annoying as humanly possible without inciting mass murder. (I did, however spend more then a few minutes fantasizing about it.)
A mini-bike is well, a miniature motorcycle, and they are almost exclusively ridden by men under the age of twenty-five. Now what makes these damnable contraptions so infuriating is pretty simple. Mini-bike riders, in their quest to be as annoying as possible, remove the machine’s muffler, or use one that seems to be basically useless in actually muffling the engine noise. (Apparently there are no nuisance laws here.) Mini-bike riders then choose to express their individuality by riding in large packs of five to fifteen bikes, all of whom comply with safety regulations by wearing their helmets hanging off the back of their heads, strap around their throat. (Another well-written ordinance here in Japan.)
Finally, in what seems to be a bid to make sixty second trimester abortions legal, the bike riders spend most of their time coasting in neutral, while constantly revving their engine.
So you have a pack of five mini-bikes, no mufflers, coasting slowly down the street, all of whom are constantly racing their engine. Thus ensuring that wherever they go, good times are had by none.
Outside of cruising down residential streets, they also like to go to the beach on nice, peaceful days and ride around in circles in the parking lot. This way they can share the sound of their bikes engine with hundreds of people at a time. They also like to put in an appearance at the spring time cherry-blossom viewing.
I think that the only way that I could ever live in Japan long-term again is if there was an open hunting season on these fine young gentlemen at least three months out of the year. My only consolation thus far has been imagining a massive mini-bike pile-up, with their mis-worn helmets popping off heads like champagne corks.
But I am not passive aggressive at all.
Repatriate 