It’s hot… No—it’s scorching. I finally understand how a lobster must feel being put alive into an oven. I won’t eat you anymore, I swear.
My face is completely two‑toned. Everywhere I go, people worry about me. “Are you using sunscreen?” they ask. The upper half of my face is protected by my sunglasses and helmet, but from the eyes down, I’m pitch black.
Every day the sun is brutal. Right now, I’m riding along Route 10 toward El Paso, Texas. For now, El Paso is the destination. As always, I haven’t decided where I’m going. I just let my partner run wherever I feel like going. Wake up, eat, ride, rest at a café or gas station, get back on the freeway, and when evening comes, look for a motel and check in. That’s my daily routine.
Lately, I’ve been into steak and light beer. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I feel like my body is getting bigger. My heart and body are becoming American‑sized. This might be bad…
Oh yeah— I found a western‑wear shop earlier. As expected from Texas, the selection was amazing, and the staff were dressed perfectly from head to toe. I used to love western boots and western shirts. I used to dress completely western. But after breaking up with the person I loved most… I don’t know why, but I couldn’t wear them anymore. Someone tell me why… When your heart is shattered, even your tastes change. Since then, I’ve worn only black. Nothing but black. Strange, isn’t it?
But there’s a positive side. Clothes get dirty when you ride, but black doesn’t show it. And I heard that black has the meaning of “protection.” Maybe I was unconsciously protecting my heart.
One day, I went to a western‑wear shop in Yokohama Motomachi. I casually tried on a black leather jacket and pants. Together they cost about 300,000 yen. But I was completely messed up then, so I bought them on the spot. Totally crazy. Just like this trip— I came here on pure impulse.
And in the end, I couldn’t buy anything at this wonderful western shop here in Texas. Before, I would’ve gone wild and bought everything. It’s kind of sad…
I talked with the staff a lot. “Do Japanese women like western fashion?” “Can you rent motorcycles in Japan?” “You must have French blood, right? You look French. Are you sure your family is all Japanese?” We talked about all sorts of things.
Americans are really friendly. They talk to anyone and listen earnestly. Well… maybe I’ve just been lucky with the people I’ve met.
After enjoying the conversation, I left the store without buying anything, just took a commemorative photo.
Tonight’s motel costs $32 plus tax, breakfast included. It’s cheap, but it feels so luxurious that I’m almost intimidated. The room is pretty big. And right next to it are a pizza place, a burger shop, a convenience store, and a gas station. I took a long shower (twice!), then went to the laundry room to wash my clothes. After traveling this long, I’ve realized something: motels owned by white Americans have strong water pressure. Motels owned by Indian owners have very weak water pressure. Probably saving on water bills, haha.
But seriously, it’s hot. Even while riding, heat rises from the asphalt. It’s incredibly hot. I need to let my partner rest too. I don’t want an overheating situation. Being stranded alone in the scorching wilderness— no thanks…
To be continued…
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