So last Wednesday I taught at this Japanese middle school. And as I was riding home on my midget little scooter, I caught a glimpse of a Japanese motorcycle cop off to my left. I was cresting a small hill, and he was just kind of sitting there when I cruised past. I thought for a moment: Is this cause for concern? and then concluded, No, Ken Seeroi, you are a most excellent driver.
Sure, everyone says that, but I really am. I know this based upon the large number of cars, trucks, and bikes I’ve demolished. Well, maybe “demolished” is a bit strong. Let’s just say “crashed,” or “rendered unusable.” That sounds a bit better. But I mean, let’s say you’re going into battle—who’re you gonna want beside you in the trenches?—a pie-faced file clerk who’s driven a desk the whole war, or some William Dafoe-looking dude who’s all scarred and gnarly from scores of battles? That’s the guy you’d want to ride with, right? Yet somehow when I explain this to women I meet in bars, they never get it. It’s just simple logic, really. Anyway, I’m a good driver, is my point. Continue reading “On the Run from the Japanese Police”