My first was a yellow Isuzu 117 Coupe, a sporty little car with the 1800cc SOHC engine and cool exhaust note. The interior was black vinyl. And no air conditioning. Those hot humid Osaka summers were hell at stoplights. The rest of the time was palatable if you kept the windows open. Pretty sure I paid 300,000 yen for it.
I had a lot of fun driving that car between Osaka and Kobe and up to Rokko-san where all the hot rodders raced around on the curvy roads. I couldn't keep up, of course, and would always let them by, for which they would thank you by flipping on and off their emergency flashers. Hot rodders have the best road manners in Japan.
That car took me to Tokyo and Kyushu. In Kyushu it stopped dead one day. Out in the countryside, of course. Turned the ignition, and nothing happened. My friend and I rolled it down a hill, hoping to start it by popping the clutch. But nothing. We finally gave up, found a phone somewhere, and called a road service called JAF. An hour or so later the guy arrived in his clean truck and neat uniform, opened the hood, and after a quick look said "Oh, what's this?" pointing to a loose wire. What a relief that that was all it was. Unbelievable nowadays, that a car could so easily be repaired.
I stayed at this same friend's house in Kita Kyushu. Upon arriving, because of the narrow road and garage door, he insisted on putting my car in their garage for me and scratched up the rear fender. I still remember his sheepish look. He, of course, insisted also on paying for the body work, but because he was a college student with little money, I didn't have the heart for it and told him we could take care of later. He got out of it, as we shall soon see.
While driving on the expressway on a trip to Tokyo, probably to show off my new 117 Coupe to a friend, a car cut me off just so the young driver and his girlfriend could stare and point at me in their rearview mirror. Fortunately that doesn't happen anymore. But in the Kansai area in those days, I was an oddity.
Well, that car got totaled by a Volkswagen Bug that ran a stop sign, taking out my front end. The driver was in some kind of hurry and missed the sign. Not inconceivable considering how well some of them are hidden. He was also getting married soon, so not wanting any trouble, was compliant about taking the blame. Which, in Japan, also fell on me, as I was informed by the cops when I tried to make my case at the Koban that the fault was his. My crime? Zenpofuchui （前方不注意）, or inadequate attention to what was going on ahead of me, a catchall cause attributed to just about anyone in an accident, it seems, except maybe the passengers. Anyway, the fender scratches didn't need repairing anymore. I enjoyed calling my friend to tell him that.
It was a fun little car, and I was sad to lose it. But this other friend who had helped me buy it at his cousin's repair yard also helped get a maximum settlement (of 250,000 yen, was it?) that would set me up for my next car. Yes, another car in Japan. You could go nearly anywhere by train, but not everywhere. In addition, bombing around in the Osaka area was fun. It was said that if you could handle driving in Osaka, you could drive anywhere.
I remember in some of my first outings how nervous I was. When I tried to merge onto a busy road, I could not find an opening and wound up having to stop. Instead of waiting for his turn, the truck behind me went ahead and merged, barreling into the racing traffic that was intimidating me. I knew then I was doing something wrong. After some experience, I finally learned that if an Osaka driver backs off from tailgating the car in front of him for an instant, that's considered being given an opening to merge. Quick reaction is required or else your chance is gone.
Other first experiences included getting hopelessly lost on the expressways, all of which are toll ways, by the way. In one case I was invited to my friend's homestay family's birthday party for one of the daughters. They lived in Moriguchi, about an hour away. I left at around 4:00 pm and arrived at midnight, missing all of the festivities. On my way there, I had somehow entered an expressway. I decided to get off the expressway and ask for directions when I saw the signs for Kyoto soon ahead. I found a fire station by the exit and went in. I asked how to get to Moriguchi from there. Puzzled looks. "Moriguchi? Where?" I was disheartened. They directed me back to Osaka and suggested I ask again when I got close. I no longer remember the order of my endless follies that night, but I circled around so much that I had to get off the expressway and get gas. Finally I gave up and went home, something I was always able to do from no matter where I was. There I called my friend and arranged to meet up with the homestay son-in-law at a location known to both of us, took off, and was there an hour later.
As I write this, I keep remembering other stories. Another time I was to follow a friend's car to Nara. At a key fork in the expressway, they got so far ahead of me in this brand new Nissan 280Z that I lost sight of them. They went on to Nara. I went to Sakai. Again I asked directions, this time at a toll gate after getting off the expressway and turning around. After the repressed laughter, and laudable directions in broken English, I got back home, called somebody, arranged something, but wasn't sure what, and started off again on my own. It was pure luck that the first rest area I happened to stop at had them there waiting for me, to all of our surprise. When we arrived at my friend's brother's place in the hills around Nara, I was told to park down the street in front of their business's office. Trying to show off, I zoomed over there, misjudged braking distance and rammed the office front window, which apparently was strong glass. It didn't shatter, but I was later told that it bowed way in. The look of terror on the brother's wife sitting at the desk behind the window is hard to forget.
But after a while, I did master the roads and the driving. I was addicted.
