Saturday in the Park (as in the title of the Chicago song)

The moist, sandy dirt smushed and smeared like rich cake icing as I dug my toes in. The clean, dry November air is still warm, and the trees green. Still primed from the ride, my muscles are ready to begin repairing. I listen to the sound of my breath and stretch my palms to the ground on the exhale. No more are the kids playing on the slide, the parents conversing nearby, or the traffic buzzing a block away. For a few moments, I'm on the side of a mountain, listening to the breeze and silence, the engulfing scope of my surroundings more than a camera could capture. I imagine sitting atop Mt. Massive that one fine morning in August, feeling and being atop my world, and so immensely joyous for the occasion to experience the shortness of breath a Kentucky boy does atop a 14er.

A child screams in playful excitation. I'm back in Japan and I smile, happy to have had my vacation, and feeling calm and content releasing that last breath on my way back to standing. The day grows slightly colder, and I lay on the ground. The rituals of my injury prevention are cathartic but painful. Releasing all other muscles requires control, and I transition to my next stretch. Left knee up, right ankle over left knee like I'm sitting down, but I'm lying on my back. Pull the knee in towards my chest, feel the predictable relief while slowing the breath. A few more stretches come and go without a thought to their form. I know these moves. They were my saviors last year and this, and like a good friend, they're always there.

After last night, today was supposed to be easy, but easy rarely begets adventure. After one hour of sleep, I am ready to attack the day, not just face it. A scheduled short run falls through at 9:30, and as I sat outside waiting for my running buddy, the sun made a surprisingly-warm appearance. I was inspired to enjoy the gift more than by sitting outside my apartment, and so I thought of who I might like to share my time with. A few friends were contacted, but the one who responded immediately was Hara-San, the man I've been tutoring.

Not busy until 4:00, he suggested we visit Inuyama Castle, perhaps an hour by bicycle from his home. So, within 15 minutes of making contact, I was on my bike towards his abode. Thus far, the only time we've hung out during daylight hours has been during lessons, so today was both a milestone in our friendship and an exciting time. This was one cause to be joyous, and the other was that I had the opportunity to go somewhere new on a great day off.

The roads were smooth and mostly flat, making for an easy, if not fast, pace. It reminded me of Bike & Build and Colorado. The beautiful weather magnified my enjoyment of the open road, the mountains in the distance, and the freedom brought by cycling. Camera ready, Camel Bak filled, and spirits high, I didn't give one moment of care to the distance, which turned out not to be that far. I had everything I needed on my back, a sensation I so greatly enjoy.

We made our way to the city, a town really, reaching the castle to find it up a short, but rather steep hill. With so little sleep, I expected to be tired and find the hill a challenge. But with the filter of excitement, fatigue disappeared. Atop the mound, I found the entrance to the castle surrounded by festival booths, which hit both visual and olfactory senses, and I smiled to their existence. To myself I said, "I'm coming back for some of that food!" If you ever have the occasion to enjoy some of the festival foods in Japan, please do so.

We made our way to towards the castle, up yet another short, but very steep (maybe 12 to 14 % grade) hill, the path of which was wet cobblestone like you might see in the Tour de France. Any normal person would have taken one look and gotten off their bicycle. Hara-San took to walking his, but I took only the safety of unclipping and purposely slowing my climb, then made my way up. My back tire slipped a few times, my feet accidentally clipped in here and there as they slipped on the pedals from bumps, all the while I had to dodge the walking people who littered the path just enough to make it fun. They looked at me as if I were nuts. "Yup, I'm goin' for it," I said aloud. I was grinning from ear to ear.

At the top of the top and after getting an admission ticket, we walked inside the castle walls and then the castle, well preserved and still boasting steps with risers the size of two modern ones. Low-hanging beams in the stairwells added to the adventure of climbing the slippery-smooth, well-worn wooden stairs in socks. There were a few original samurai armor suits accompanied by historical displays. I was more amused by the stairs.

When finally at the third floor, the watch deck of this small castle, the view was a quaint one. I took note of the roof, which looked original, and snapped a few photos, including a side profile of Hara-San. We had spent the past 10 minutes in the kind of silence that requires no reason, but allows one to appreciate the experience. He took a few photos of me, and then a few more when I went to take my camera back. We both laughed. This floor had a walk-around deck just less than a meter wide (about 2.5 feet), and there was a direction of travel to observe, as well as a confidence-inspiring rule: don't lean on the rails.

We made our way back down, and then out to the festival at the bottom of the first hill. It had been about 45 minutes since I had laid eyes on the cheap, tasty, and relatively (relative to the US) healthy festival foods. Pictures of what I enjoyed can be found on Flickr here. I had a beer with this food, a drink I'm growing to like a little. That's socially important for me, because of the frequency with which friendships are enjoyed and made with moderate amounts of alcohol.

There passed a rickshaw with a young man pulling it quite enthusiastically, and a set of historically-dressed men as samurai parading nearby. Two people stepped up to microphones to play traditional Japanese music on both the Shamisen and an instrument similar to a recorder (but sounded more like a flute). November 3rd was Culture Day, but today was November 12th. Maybe it was an associated event. At any rate, sitting with my food and drink, my back in the warm sun, I observed these displays with a boyish, curious grin, camera in hand. We sat there for over an hour. I watched an older man give his dog table scraps... with his chopsticks. I was amused at this, and thought about what would happen if the same event took place with a fork.

I looked back at Hara-San to find him taking a nap. I giggled and got up quietly to get more food. A few minutes later, he awoke, and we headed back towards our bicycles. There was not a better way for me to spend my Saturday, and the ride back was almost as enjoyable as the ride out. After arriving home, I ran the distance on a map, and then headed out to the park a block away from my apartment. The moist, sandy dirt smushed and smeared like rich cake icing as I dug my toes in.