It seemed I was in terrible danger.

Whatever happens, I thought, as Death trotted towards me, I won’t regret trying.

Such is the attitude of any kind of exercise.  On some t-shirt I once read “‘Boy, I really regret that workout,’ SAID NO ONE EVER.”  To me, physical recreation has a purifying effect on the soul.

And as I faced mortal peril deep in the mountains outside Kyoto, I experienced a moment of clarity, remembering the very physically active day I had so far experienced.

A couple of weeks earlier, I had hiked a small mountain with a decent view of Kyoto.  On this day, wanting to do better, I sought more.  Like a romanticized pirate looking for a score, I set out along the outskirts of Kyoto three hours earlier, at full speed and full of hope.

At the base of the first mountain, over a tiny stream, I had uncovered an ancient, moss-covered stone pathway lined with small shrines, perhaps leading to summit where a lone monk could give me spiritual guidance coupled with reflection in a scenic mountaintop religious compound and help me find peace. Bounding forth into the narrow passageway, I was already reflecting how great a decision I had made when I saw it: the eyes of a sleeping guard dog popping open as he sprung to his feet, growling ferociously.

In retrospect, I was never in danger, but in this moment more than two hours earlier, I was briefly paralyzed with fear.  Relief overwhelmed me when I saw that the dog was mercifully chained, allowing me to slouch/sprint away defeatedly. But it wouldn’t stop barking for as long as I could hear it. Not wanting to test if the man whose front walkway was on a river was also the kind of guy who would gladly release upon trespassers his vicious dog to its wildest desires of death and destruction, I immediately hopped back across the stream separating the property from the streets and scaled a wall out of danger.

Scratching my chin thoughtfully after this briefly terrifying encounter, I made the absurdly incalculable conclusion that following a path was a bad idea, since, of course, paths always led into private properties.

Next finding a steep mountain almost pouring over the street. I was irresistibly reminded of a similar looking area in my hometown of Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, where, safely and discreetly tucked in the woods, my friends and I would make campfires and drink beers.  We aptly named the area the “Bloomingdales Rocks,” owing to these being huge lumps of exposed bedrock near a Bloomingdale’s Department Store.  That’s how most things are named, anyway.

What I found was not my many friends or a raucous old time, but instead a difficult climb and, for the first time this day, the face of death. Or second, depending on how you look at it.

Remembering how I plowed forth up the brush strewn, impossibly steep mountain, through countless spider webs, I pinpointed the mentality that dictated my perseverance: to quit was to ignite a cycle of apathy and failure which would stultify my manhood for years.

All that changed when I spotted a hornet the size of a human thumb buzzing around about 10 feet away.

In retrospect, it was hard not to equate it to a classic example of nature over nurture. Common knowledge, of course, dictates that in the presence of such a creature, simply staying still suffices to placate the foraging soldier and send him on his merry way. But subconsciously I never bought that about bees. I had only just spotted him. How could I have known I hadn’t already trodden into his path? Where was his nest, and how certain could I have been that it wasn’t right on top of me? Indeed, I calculated that only just seeing this monster obviously meant I had infuriated his entire army.

Add all that to the fact that the Japanese Giant Hornet kills 30-40 Japanese per year, a people who, when in doubt, stand still and bow, and I had the information I needed. Instinct took command, and gravity took over. I was halfway down the mountain in about five seconds, banging into every tree and ripping clothes and skin on the way out. I didn’t stop until I had reached my bike 100 feet down the street. Some time later I would read up on the Japanese Giant Hornet, and see that it can fly faster than a human sprints. One can read that two ways: either I was in greater danger for running, or I was never in any danger at all.

After all that, two hours later, I was at last in indisputable peril.

How did I return to such a terrible predicament?

By finding yet another mountain, this time with a reassuringly paved road, and following it two hours into the wilderness.

It wasn’t that bad an idea.  There was, after all, plenty of good on this journey.

Like that part where the trees opened up to a massive gorge. Something, perhaps a landslide, had knocked down every tree on a huge slope. At the bottom, a van had just stopped, as if we had both walked there to meet each other and arrived at the same time. I waved.

The van reversed out of sight. Ten seconds later it reemerged, and the driver waved to me. I don’t get why he had to wait.

On the frightening side was the forest of darkness.  Though it was still the early afternoon, this thick clump of trees allowed no light to escape.

There was that pivotal moment when a couple of signs appeared at the mouth of a path off the street into the mountains. Not knowing what they said, I journeyed into them. The path was laid with natural marble rocks and a fine mist, and it seemed to flatten out over time, yet a clearly defined summit remained elusive.

The paramount feeling in my flash memory, for it had continued until I reached the summit, was the incessant battle of fears. Fear of the unknown had urged me to stop walking this great path to nowhere and go home. A more rational yet mitigated fear was the sound of thunder behind me, suggesting Kyoto was swallowed in storms and I, with my albeit waterproofed cellphone, had only the path forward to avoid them.  So I continued.

Finally, the path had begun to slope down. Pausing, I wondered then: was the completely unmarked location where I was standing the summit of a huge mountain? Continuing with concern for this strange change, I hardly noticed the curving, and received a shock when the setting sun shined through the trees on my right – somehow my position had become reversed, and, though miles north of Kyoto, I was walking south. My alarm was disrupted by the arrival of a full clearing.

There, suddenly, at last, was what I had toiled for. White and beautiful Kyoto lay before me. China’s smog had been cleared by the passing storms. Victory!

Then I found the storms (OC):

I would soon wonder how the rain even remotely concerned me, for the real danger was still ahead.

The flash memory was fading, skipping over the brief, joyous trek halfway back down the rain-soaked mountain, listening to my headphones, through which Thriller lodged itself into my head.

You’re out of time

Reality finally snapped back into focus. In a small straightaway with a house and two sheds, a large dog, perhaps a shepherd/husky mix, young, beige, and angry, had popped out of a driveway, staring and trotting towards me with his tail up and his face contorted.

Darkness falls across the land

The midnight hour is close at hand

I hadn’t even time to curse when he was already growling, and already within ten feet of me.  There was no mistaking who he was coming for.

Creatures crawl in search of blood

This was no suburb.  I was in the rural hills, with possibly no other human for miles.  To this dog, I was at the heart of his territory. This is it I thought. It seemed as though I’d have to fight for my life, but I had nothing to fight with.

To terrorize your neighborhood

As a shroud of darkness surrounded us, the dog came even closer.

And whosoever shall be found

Fear was overwhelmed by adrenaline.  As my muscles tightened, my eyes widened their range, scanning for any weapons for which I could scramble. The dog’s dripping saliva was visible, his low growling audible.

Without the soul for getting down

He slowed to a pause before me, as if to guard from me all of Kyoto behind him.

Must stand and face the hounds of hell

And rot inside a corpse’s shell

Then something unexpected happened. With the dejected, frustrated look of someone ordered down from a desirable task by a respected superior, the snarling dog looped a perfect circle around me, maintaining a still-threatening five foot radius, and not taking his eyes off of me. He broke off the circle to trot up into a driveway and out of sight, taking with him everything I ever understood about dogs and their tempers.

Grabbing a large, thin log, carrying it with me, not understanding what had happened, and still mortally frightened that a dog, a Japanese Giant Hornet, a bear, or Yakuza member would descend from the trees and finish the job their comrades had begun, I hurried off the mountain of my initiation.

It wasn’t until long after I reached civilization, mounted my rain-soaked bike and power-pedaled home that I realized the danger had passed for good. Kyoto had accepted me. I earned my stay here.

At least, that’s what I tell myself, because I can’t resist a thrilling hike.

Me climbing:

–

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