Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ From Beta To Sigma ❯ Camping ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

FIVE

 

When school started back up I was determined to find a part time job and get either a scooter or motorcycle. I passed the written exam for my license, and wanted to schedule the school portion in the next few months, but it’s not free. I needed the money. I ended up taking a job as an assistant librarian at the city branch, shelving books and checking out books and movies to patrons. They aren’t called customers. No, I don’t care what someone told you. Library visitors are patrons.

I worked three hours a day after service club ended, making me late for dinner every night. Komachi understood, at least, and was probably well distracted by her boyfriend, ironically watched over by Saki so they weren’t getting up to any nonsense that would shame either of our families. I eventually earned the money to pay for motorcycle school and a helmet and riding jacket and armored pants. These were not cheap, but they are totally necessary.

It was spring, and there were blooming cherry trees everywhere and new motorcycles were all very expensive, and used ones were up for sale. I tracked down an old Honda being sold by a widow. The bike had been well cared for and had lots of paperwork in a file detailing everything.

“Maburou died at his desk, the poor dear. Accounting is a rough job,” she explained, filling out the paperwork. I’d performed a cold start and short ride around the neighborhood confirmed the gearbox and engine were okay. Shifting gears with a lever clutch is still new to me. So is a twist throttle. I could have gone for a scooter, but they’re kinda expensive for how slow they are, and many of the places I want to go will require use of the freeways part of the time. Every biker loves the side roads, however, and I’d been fantasizing for months. For a 1980’s CB500 Twin, it was a good bike with appropriate power for my needs. Not as smooth as one of the 750-Fours, but also a lot less effort to balance all those carburetors so it would rev high enough to climb a hill. I’d been studying a lot about motorcycle maintenance. I will need to do many things and test ride the bike so its reliable and safe and will handle properly.

School demanded homework assignments, which I did. I almost casually beat Yukinoshita in the spring exams, something she was somewhat outraged about.

“I’m sure all your personal improvements and cultural knowledge is going to be a great help when you are attending family functions, or for your recommendation letters to one of the ladder schools,” I pointed out. This did not please her. If anything she looked more angry.

I am considering mechanical engineering for my college, if I go, possibly automotive with an internship at one of the big car companies. They weren’t super reliable for employment these days, but having the background offered some options. It was better than getting educated in entertainment, since that’s a luxury and one of the things people prefer not to pay for. It’s not like publishing books in Japan is a real job. Its barely supplementary income. Vehicle mods for domestic and export use is income too, and there’s a lot of interest in the eventual sunset law affecting early fuel injected vehicles going off the mandatory smog requirements, meaning they can FINALLY get their fuel injection systems to perform at full power rather than minimal emissions. My readings found that motorcycles made in Nigeria for the Triumph Company of England were critically underpowered due to very low quality fuel injection programming, losing better than half their power and actually increasing emissions as a result. Not all could pass from the factory. A fair amount of tuning was done in international markets to return power, often doubling both power and torque by replacing the EFI system. Similar work was being done for scooters and the Royal Enfield bikes, famous for poor fit and high weight combined with very low power. Someday someone would find a fix for them so India wasn’t a massive joke in the international motorcycle marketplace, but Japan still lead the world for power and reliability, followed by Italy and Germany.

A total maintenance overhaul found some issues on my new motorcycle that were probably unknown by the sellar’s widow. Bearings on the frame needing cleaning and replacement. The chain and sprocket, of course. The tires were okay, but starting to crack, and the inner tubes were leaking. I replaced the parts I needed to and got new rubber on the wheels. The wheels were spoked, and were slightly out of true. This wasn’t as hard to fix as I expected it to be, since there’s a procedure to fix that with minimal tools.

“Huh. Is that it?” I asked out loud. My sister and her boyfriend Taishi, who I was gradually coming to accept as an okay kid to date my little sister, asked me what I was talking about. They’d been watching a movie together, Mobile Suit Gundam 00: The Wakening of the Trailblazer. I am not a Gundam fan. There’s 20 episodes of fairly boring buildup and then 5 episodes of awesome fight scenes and some kind of warcrime committed by one side against the other, preventing true victory. This is how that formula worked, and it annoyed me. The kids liked it, though. Gundam was a 40 year old franchise, and my parents had watched it. Guh. No thank you.

“I just learned how to make my wheels straight with this jig. It is super easy. See?” I pointed to it and gently spun the wheel. No wiggle, no in and out of the rim. Just smooth equal turning.

“That’s nice, niisan. Now can you take your motorcycle parts out of the living room? That smell is gross,” she complained. Vulcanized rubber and various oils were part of my daily smell now. They were hard to remove from your skin. I sighed. I took things apart and back out to the back yard, where my motorcycle lived under a cheap tent. The compression on one of the cylinders was bad so I’d had to tear apart the engine and found the rings had worn on the right side. Much like my bad knee, it had been overworked somehow. Further examination of the other cylinder found that one’s rings needed replacement too, so a kit from a local auto parts store, these being Hondas the parts were both cheap and available, and I spent the last two days installing them. Compression restored. I was easily learning as much fixing up this motorcycle as I was doing school assignments. I was not paying much attention to the service club, other than showing up. My part time job at the library was critical to pay for parts and camping supplies I was gradually accumulating. I even got a cheap welder and created some pannier boxes for the bike, to carry my camping stuff. Some guys like to use canvas, but it rains a lot here, and lighting canvas on fire is not something I want to do while riding a long lonely road.

I went for a camping trip, taking a weekend off from the library job. Off to a place near the coast. It was windy, warm, and there were other people there. Lots of older folks, a few couples, a lot of solo guys who nodded to me. Some had small vans. One old guy had a big motorcycle and a single pole lean-to canvas tent. Very old school. He nodded to me and went back to his fire building. I learned a lot on that trip. Having a good way to carry water from a spigot to your campsite is important. That a small aluminum kettle is a great way to heat water compared to an open nesting pan, since that is tippy. That a firm base for the stove that’s level is super important. That a way to keep from burning your fingers is critical, and that leather motorcycle gloves will do this while nylon ones won’t. It was educational. And I liked it. Staring at the sky with a hot cup of broth, way too late for coffee, and seeing the stars come out was very nice. The sound of the waves crashing on the nearby shoreline was nice. There were few loud giggling women to disrupt this peace, so I was happy.

The first motorcycle pannier boxes I made got replaced with lighter and thinner metal ones at half the weight. My camping ride found the handling was terrible with such bulky and heavy boxes. The new ones went further back, were removeable with bolts, and were closer to the centerline of the bike. This helped a lot. I also replaced the rear springs and preload setup so the balance would be right under the weight of camping gear and I could switch it back by hand with a few minutes work.

Then I had to do similar adjustment with the front forks, rebuilding them with new springs and a different weight fork oil. This revealed that the front brackets between the frame and the forks had loose bearings and I found many of the ball bearings were missing, lost at some point. So those were purchased, lubed, installed, tightened correctly, and dramatic improvement in the handling was discovered. I am learning so much.

We neared the end of the school year, taking exams. I again beat Yukinoshita and became our Valedictorian to everyone’s astonishment. She’d solved three more service club issues over me, meaning I had to do what she said.

“Take me camping, overnight. Three days, two nights. I want a romantic trip,” she insisted. I blinked. Romance? Really? Yui seemed encouraging, with an approving grin.

“Well, my tent is big enough for two. And my cooking setup should work for us. I was planning to head towards a campground near Fuji, with views of the mountain. The snow has melted and I’ve already made a reservation, so guess you can ride on my bike if I put the second seat back on. I might need to see about the panniers. Come to my house after school today and we’ll get you fitted for a riding suit. Can you afford one?” I asked her.

“Of course,” she assented. Well, she was wealthy. “Do you have a sleeping bag and pad?” I asked her. She shook her head no. Camping store too, then.

We went shopping. We got her a blue and white power range suit and a high end Arai helmet with a visor and she braided her hair. I was right about the pannier. They wouldn’t work with her riding on the rear seat. I moved things around and welded on some brackets to move them twenty centimeters back, then reinstalled the rear foot pegs. She sat and wriggled her behind, enticingly, and I climbed on. She put her arms around my waist and we considered.

“We should ride around the neighborhood so you can learn to lean the right way.” This she quickly learned was up, rather than into a corner. We aren’t racing here. It didn’t take long. Yukinoshita was very intelligent and only her stamina and arrogance were true flaws. Also, I think she was finally impressed by my high test scores.

“So are you going to wear the suit home or do you want to store it here for the big trip?” I asked her. It was the latter, of course. This would be a secret vacation, not an opportunity to offend family or cause a scandal. I knew she wasn’t about to do anything truly romantic. Just getting out of Chiba with a boy and staying overnight with me would be a huge move for her. I’m not exactly being a beta male here either. I’m not validating her life choices, I just don’t care that much about her family situation or need to encourage or discourage her.

The day of the trip she arrived at my house by taxi, her sleeping bag and pad waiting here, already on the bike with my own stuff. I was ready to go. We headed through Chiba and into Tokyo, early on a Saturday, and used the freeways, with minimal traffic thankfully, before climbing over some passes and approached Mount Fuji and the various parks and recreation areas on its north side. There were many campgrounds, and I was headed for a specific one. We stopped briefly to buy groceries, and then went to our campground, an enormous meadow with a huge view of Fujisan dominating. I rented one of the lawn-saver fire holders and bought a bundle of firewood. We setup the tent together, working quietly, and enjoyed the late morning air as the mountain breeze flowed down. There was snow up there, even now. Fuji is tall. I setup two chairs and heated water. Yukino prepared tea and we sipped, looking at the view. She went into the tent and rustled around, changing out of her suit and emerged in a summer skirt and fluttering shirt, a folding hat on her head and hair unbound. She combed it out and just enjoyed the scenery.

“I liked sharing the club room with you,” she said. That surprised me.

“Really? Even for all the fun you with trading barbs?” I asked.

“Especially that. I didn’t mind the silences either. You don’t seem to mind silence. That is odd to me. Not many boys know how to be quiet and just Be in the room without saying nonsense.”

“Hmm,” I murmured.

“Yes, like that. Father’s friends and associates were often trying to impress, or being extra polite to the fragile little girl, or laughing at my sister’s jokes. Who am I to all that? And you get it about politics,” she also admitted. Her effort to throw a prom had met with enough success that her mother’s approval had been granted. I wasn’t involved, doing engine rings at the time. I seemed like a huge hassle to me.

“Did you like the prom project?” I asked her.

“No. It wasn’t fun or rewarding, even if it turned out well. You might have made it more fun if you’d cared to get involved, but mother would have demanded commitment out of you, and frankly she can be very strict. She would never have allowed me to go with you on this trip, if she knew.”

“So are you going to bow out of the political scene and find your own path? I think that’s what Haruno kept hinting at,” I asked her.

“She was more than hinting. Hammering on, more likely. My sister does not like politics. At all. She’s good at it from lots of training, but she holds it all in contempt. I would not be shocked if she ran off to become a world traveler for YouTube, riding a motorcycle everywhere.”

“If you suggest it to her I want to see her expression.” I would too. Haruno with a new idea is probably a rare thing. “I can give her advice what to look for, and books by other people who have done it.”

“How do you like being a librarian?” she asked me.

“It’s a job. I do it to pay for the bike and so I can go camping. This is my fourth trip. After I blew out my knee bicycling, I wanted to find a way to keep travelling. Our country is pretty big, you know. It doesn’t seem that way when you just see Chiba City or visit Tokyo. Those are city, and they have their delights, but the mountains and forest and fields… they’re huge. I want to see the volcanos to the west and motor around Hokkaido one summer. I want to cruise the coast roads and eat at cafes and camp where I can hear the bugs or the waves or both. Life should have more meaning than your profit margin or bribes or favors owed,” I explained. Yukino appeared to ponder this.

“Can we close up the tent and go for a walk?” she asked. I agreed and crawled into change clothes and put some hiking boots on. Motorcycle boots are special made to be protective, and not good for walking. I zipped up the tent and we went for a walk. I took pictures, both of the area and Fujisan but also Yukino, who looked carefree and happy. It was rare for her, and while I cannot entirely trust her or any woman, she seems okay. Perhaps more honest that many women. She rubbed on some sunscreen and passed it to me. I did likewise, knowing I was already getting burned. We walked, enjoying the thin air at altitude, looking at blooming wildflowers and listening to birds call, bugs chirp and fly around, other couples enjoying the place.

We wandered all afternoon, through the meadows and up to a rocky ridge that overlooked the campground. There were a lot of tents now, laid out in a semi random grid. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too loud. As the sun began to descend to visit the restroom trailer and I made use of the facilities and rinsed my face, clearing off the sunscreen and sweat. I was a bit pink. Exiting I found some interesting barns, the camp store, and checked on my motorcycle in the parking lot. There were a lot more cars now, almost full. It was fine.

I returned and found Yukino photographing a dog happily wagging its tail the end of its rope. Another similar dog ran at her, pulling the rope and impacted, knocking her down with an oof. I helped her up, laughing. We washed our hands again. Dog fur is not a good flavor for the evening meal.

I escorted her to our tent and prepared the cooking area, then took my spare inflatable water bag to fill at the camp spigot, like many other people were doing, and returned, starting water to boil. The meal was vegetables, simmered meat, broth, and pasta noodles with some seasonings and a gravy packet. It would make cleanup harder, but it would taste good, and the temperature was dropping as soon as the sun was down. I used hot water to start the washing process and then carried our dirty dishes to an area specifically for cleanup, similar to the camp kitchen at Chiba Mountain Village. It was fine, and the tiny squirt bottle of eco-safe detergent did its job, even with cold water. Not ideal, but this place is huge. At least I wasn’t trying to cook with cheese sauce. That would be a nightmare to cleanup on a cold night. Imagine if some veteran camper tried that on a mountain top above Lake Biwa? They’d be a laughingstock if anyone found out.

The stars were out and a full moon rose as I returned to our tent. It was that weekend. Yukino has already pulled on a long sleeve shirt and jackets and a warm hat. I setup the fire stand, getting that going, then added some layers myself. I watch a lot of camping videos. I also bought a tinder stick at the camp store. 25 yen is a good deal for a sure-fire starter. We got a nice low fire going and radiated heat to our folding chairs. We enjoyed the peace and quiet, other campers keeping down the noise for the most part, even kids quieting down after a while. So many stars.

“So this is what you really wanted?” she asked.

“Yep. Maybe a little quieter place, but look at that sky. How can you limit your life to cities when there’s all this to see?” I asked her. She hummed agreement.

“The Americans say they don’t like Las Vegas or New York City. They say the people there are awful. But they say they are glad they exist, because they give the people who want to be in those two cities somewhere to go, leaving the rest of the country for the good people to live. I think they have the right idea. So much of our nation loves the intense city life of Tokyo, but they’ve left places like this for the rest of us.”

“You know, Hachiman, if you could elaborate on that kind of thinking, maybe in a prettier way, you might be able to sell that as a book. There are probably a lot of people looking for an excuse to leave Tokyo and move back to the country,” Yukino suggested. She might have a point.

We drifted into silence and I eventually noticed Yukino was asleep. I spread out the coals and let the fire die, then opened the tent and carried the girl inside. She was groggy and managed to strip down in front of me without thinking about it, sliding into the sleeping bag. I poured some water on the last coals of the fire, extinguishing it, and tucked the food into the corner of the tent so some raccoon wouldn’t carry it off. Japan had common raccoons, not just tanuki. I stripped and called it a night as well, out like a light when my head went down.

“Morning,” said a sleepy Yukino to me. The inside of the tent was bright. The sun was up. We’d slept in. There were lots of noises of people moving around and cooking their breakfast. She sat up and her breath misted in the chill air. She extracted her clothes and dug around in her overnight bag, glancing at me and then pulling them inside the warm bag to change. I did likewise, contorting into fresh boxers and my damp jeans from the prior day. When camping, expect to get dirty. My clothes smell like wood smoke, naturally. If you build a fire and sit near it, the smoke goes to you, no matter what. I finished dressing, while Yukino stared and crawled out of the tent, tying my shoelaces out the door before standing up in fresh socks and ready for a new day. I visited the bathrooms and felt relieved, and filled the water container again. I returned to the tent, then setup the stove and poured water into the kettle, getting it hot. I also prepared my morning coffee in the small percolator. It wasn’t as good as other options, but it was light and portable. Yukino emerged in her clothes, shivering in the morning chill. She headed towards the bathrooms for some personal relief. I poured myself some coffee. Yukino returned, face damp and freshly scrubbed. I offered her a taste of my coffee and she sipped it, making a face and handed it back to me. She made herself tea. I enjoyed my coffee, watching her. She blushed. I smiled. This is probably about the right level of romance for a sweet virginal high school girl.

We made breakfast, the standby classic oatmeal. Yukino made a face, then made a different face as she realized it was sweet and enjoyed it instead.

“What are our plans for today?” she asked.

“We pack up our tent and things and ride around the lakes, then camp at a spot there. It should be very pretty this time of year. There are restaurants and markets so we can get something a bit more complex for dinner. The campground has grills available.” We cleaned up the dishes and began packing up my cooking gear. Yukino changed in the tent, emerging in her riding suit and carrying her sleeping bag and pad and her helmet. I used it then, doing likewise. We carried loads of stuff to bike and returned the fire stand to the office to get my deposit back, selling back the remainder of the unused firewood. I packed my bike carefully and backed it out of the space, getting it started. Yukino returned from the bathroom ready for travel and I quickly visited myself before washing and preparing for the road. The engine was idling nicely, and we quietly rolled out. I am not a fan of “loud pipes”. Those are for man children who want attention. I am a Sigma Male. I don’t need attention. Yukino held me tightly as I gradually accelerated up the road, heading towards the lakes and further around Mount Fuji. We stopped frequently for pictures, taking in waterfalls, forests, stopping for very short walks in our hiking boots and her shoes. Back aboard and properly armored we went on.

Lunch was a roadside café with quiet jazz music and a good selection of both travel books and novels for the bored housewife. Yukino bought one for herself, and I bought a travel book that looked interesting, on campgrounds of Honshu. Someday I’d visit the other islands. I hoped it would be sooner than later. For all my comments, Japan isn’t small. It is about the size of all the eastern states of America, with similar weather, from Florida to Maine, Alabama to Ohio. Not really that small. And most of it was pretty empty. If you like the peace and quiet, most of Japan has that to offer. The actual food of the café was crepes in sauce. I chose one with chicken with a spicy red sauce. Yukino opted for pork and apples. We tried each other’s food. It was good. I snapped a picture.

“Why are you making the gesture, Hikigaya?” asked Yukino regarding my one finger salute.

“It’s a motorcycle thing.”

We rode onwards around the lakes near Fuji. It dominated half the sky, so to speak. There were many upscale and family restaurants, and we opted for one of those before buying some beverage packets and sweets at a grocery store, then went to the campground I’d reserved a spot. We setup the tent as it got dark, struggling not to hit fingers as I pounded in stakes. It was quick work and my bike was parked beside the tent, this being a car camping site with spaces for each camper. The wind over the water was slightly chilly, and very damp. I suspect there will be a lot of mist tonight. The moon rose, huge and full and I put a small fire in the grill, getting coals. I offered Yukino a bamboo skewer and a marshmallow. She got the idea quickly and we roasted one each, eating the candy once it puffed. This is harder than you think and I suggest trying to get this browned without burning it black. I stuck my next marshmallow between graham crackers and chocolate, passing it to Yukino. She ate it and made happy noises. I made one for myself and ate the junk food. I remembered to fill up my water bag before bed and we brushed our teeth before slipping into bed, Yukino first out of modesty.

As expected the next morning was a sea of damp fog, and the inside of the tent was dripping. It was also cold, and I opted to wear my motorcycle clothes and hiking boots. I visited the bathroom, washing my face and hands and shaving in the hot water there, thankfully. I returned to the tent and found Yukino making breakfast, a touch of chocolate on the corner of her mouth. I smirked, and drank my coffee after it finished percolating. This warmed up my insides. I ate a packet of hot oatmeal and then went into the tent and packed up my things, less this time. I carefully loaded them onto the bike. Yukino finished cleanup of the dishes and then went into the tent to put on her own suit and emerged as I finished putting things on the bike. We packed up the damp tent wet. It couldn’t be helped. I would air it out when I got home. This is normal. We said our goodbyes to the campground manager and left early, as the sun burned away the fog and revealed Fuji. A good photo, again. I rode us past the turnoff for the JSDF training base and down the mountain and over a pass towards Tokyo. Some freeways on a Monday morning meant terrible traffic, and it was pretty miserable before that reduced around noon, briefly, then I got past the worst of the city and around to the Chiba side. It wasn’t long before I’d gotten home and pushed my bike around the house to its home sweet tent. Yukino emerged from my house, holding her riding suit and wrinkling her nose.

“Is there anything you can do about the smell?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got some powder. Febreeze works well too, if you spray it inside. Have you called a taxi?” I asked her. She nodded.

“Was it everything you hoped?” I asked her. She smiled a genuine smile then.

“I was expecting you to attack me like a wild beast. I wouldn’t have minded,” she teased. I honestly do not know what to say.

“So did you have a nice time?” I asked her finally.

“You are sweet. Thank you,” she said, and left. I wonder how to decode that. It sounds like a rejection. I expanded out the sleeping bags and setup the tent to dry out properly in the summer sun of Chiba. My motorcycle ticked, cooling down. It had run like a champ, so my work tuning it was time well spent.

I took a shower and put on some light weight shorts and a workout tee. I flipped over the sleeping bags to dry them out completely. I made dinner. My sister came home and got in my face to examine me closely, then humphed.

“So you failed, then,” she complained.

“It was a nice trip. I was a perfect gentleman,” I said. Komachi sighed in disgust.

“What did she say?” she asked me.

“She said I was sweet,” I answered. Komachi sighed deeply.

“Well, that’s a shame. I guess she didn’t want you after all. It is better to find out now than a messy divorce a couple years from now,” she said, her inner bitch making its appearance. Sigh. I knew this was inevitable that my sister would become this way. She was going to start at Soubu next year, having passed the entrance exams, and her relationship with Taishi was steady.

I sighed at this news, and went out back to pack up the dried out tent, sleeping bags in their storage sacks (much larger than the travel sacks) and put things away. We ate dinner and I retreated to my room to think about things.

I thought she’d had a nice time, but women, as I’ve read, are bad at communicating. They think they’re communicating, but if the other person doesn’t get the message, it is not the receiving party at fault, it is the sender. Duh. Women being circumspect and cowardly about their intentions are doomed to confusion and ending up alone. I can’t make much more sense of this otherwise. I’ve kept my promise and fulfilled my duty here.