The richest person

The Richest Person      Author: Lin Chong-ru

 

On the afternoon of June 3rd, I cycled to the Teslin Tlingit Heritage Centre. The museum is located by Teslin Lake. There were two female employees inside, and the entry fee was 5 Canadian dollars, which I didn't feel was worth it.

So, after filling up some hot water, I left and continued cycling toward Teslin. Less than three kilometers in, I reached Teslin and encountered a fellow bicycle traveler coming from the opposite direction. He had an East Asian face, wasn't tall, and had long, messy hair. His clothes looked too big for him, his pants were long enough to drag on the ground, and he was towing his luggage with a trailer behind his bike. He waved at me happily, I waved back, and he rode toward me.

"Are you Japanese?" he asked.

"No, I'm Taiwanese. My name is Chung. How about you?"

"I'm from Japan. My name is Yamada."

"So, where did you start?"

"I rode from Calgary."

I looked at his bike and gear; they were all very worn, so it definitely couldn't have just started in Calgary, so I asked him where he began at the very start. He said Shanghai. He had already been cycling for two years and planned to ride for four more. It was awkward talking while standing on the side of the road, so I invited him to find a place to sit. There happened to be a small bank nearby with steps outside. We parked our bikes and sat on the steps to chat.

"So, where have you been since you started in Shanghai?" I asked.

"I started in Shanghai, then went to Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, then to Malaysia, Indonesia, then to India. I stayed in India for six months, then went to Tajikistan, Armenia, Kyrgyzstan, and then I was going to Turkey, but it was winter by then, so I didn't go."

"Oh! Right! Turkey is very cold in winter," I thought to myself.

"I went to Russia," he continued.

"You went to Russia!!?" I widened my eyes at him.

"Yes! I went to Russia," he laughed loudly.

"You went to Russia in the winter?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes! I went to Russia, then to Finland, Sweden, and Norway. Minus thirty degrees," he laughed even louder. His smile was brilliant.

"When I was in Russia, I met many bicycle travelers riding south, and I was the only one riding north," he continued laughing. I looked at this man in astonishment.

"Can I see your photos?" I asked.

"I don't have a mobile phone."

"A camera?"

"No."

"A computer?"

"No, the only electronic device I have is this." He showed me his watch, a very ordinary electronic watch that looked like it could be bought for a hundred dollars at a night market.

"FREE," he laughed.

I was stunned; I couldn't believe someone nowadays would travel without any electronic devices.

"So, where are you going next?" I asked.

"Whitehorse, then I'm going canoeing."

"I just finished canoeing," I said.

"You just finished?"

"Yes!"

"So are you going to rent a canoe?" I asked.

"No! I don't spend money."

"If you aren't renting, where will you find a canoe?"

"I'll make one." He made a chopping motion and laughed at me.

"I don't spend money when I travel," he added.

"How can you not spend money? Where do you get your food?"

"I ask restaurants if they have any food they are going to throw away, and if they can give it to me," he laughed.

"Do you get food every time?" I asked.

"In my experience, it's about half and half," he said.

"What about your fuel? How do you get fuel for cooking?" I followed up.

"I go to gas stations and see people filling up. I take my fuel bottle and ask if they are willing to pay for me to fill it. They ask how much, I say about 50 cents, and they are usually willing to pay." I was speechless...

What an incredible way to travel. I had to take a photo with him, so I pulled out my camera.
"Do you want me to stand next to my bike?" he asked.

Yamada with his bike and luggage

I said, of course. That was when I noticed the tent tied to his bike was a Hilleberg tent, a tent I had dreamed of owning.

I pointed excitedly at the tent and said, "You use a Hilleberg tent?"

"Yes! One thousand dollars each. But it was FREE."

"What the fuck? How did you manage to get a Hilleberg tent for free?"

"I called their company and asked for one. I was in Sweden at the time. I called their company and said, it's going to be winter, and I'm cycling to Finland. I don't have a good tent, and I heard your tents are the best. Give me one. And then they just gave me one, hahaha." He roared with laughter.

I continued to inspect his bike and equipment.

He told me his rear derailleur shifter was broken, so he shifted by pulling the steel cable on the frame directly.

"Damn! You can even ride like that."

That was when I noticed his bike had no front derailleur. I asked, surprised, pointing at the front chainrings, "You don't have a front derailleur?"

"Yes! So when I want to shift the front, I just use my hand to hook the chain onto the chainring, that's why my hands are always black and dirty, hahahaha."

He had ridden a bike without a front derailleur from Boston to near Whitehorse, a journey of over six thousand kilometers. He showed me his grease-stained hands as he spoke.

This guy is truly insane.

Just then, a local arrived on an ATV. Yamada started chatting with him about the Indian ornaments on the roof of the bank. I didn't quite understand it, and light rain started to fall.

I ran to pack my camera and put on my backpack rain cover. After putting the camera away, I went back to listen to them talk about indigenous culture. Yamada asked him if he knew anyone professional who knew how to build a canoe. The local said no. After chatting for a while, the local said goodbye and left.

That day, I had ridden less than 70 kilometers. I had planned to ride 100 kilometers that day, but I had a strong intuition that I couldn't just brush past him like this, otherwise, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

So I told Yamada that although I originally wanted to ride more, since it was only 4:30 PM, I wanted to chat with you more, so how about we find a place here to camp and chat tonight?

Yamada said he had originally planned to ride more too, but, why not? So we both started thinking about where to camp. He said he would go into the bank to ask if there was any place nearby to camp, and I said okay.

We went into the bank and met a lady. Yamada asked if there was anywhere around there where one could camp for free, because we were bicycle travelers and didn't have much money for campsites. The lady thought for a moment and said that three kilometers to the north, there was a museum that might work, and she would call for us to check.

Then she went into the office to make the call. While we were waiting outside, I told Yamada that I had passed by that museum earlier and thought it should be okay. A while later, the lady came out and said the museum staff said it was fine, but we couldn't have a fire and needed to stay far away from the museum building. We thanked her and headed toward the museum. He rode in front, and I rode behind.

He waved happily at every oncoming car, regardless of whether they responded or not. In between, I watched him bend down to hook the chain onto the front chainring with his hand—damn, he really could shift. A true genius.

The museum was less than three kilometers away, and we arrived quickly. We went inside to say hello, but the two female employees firmly insisted we couldn't camp there. Yamada asked, but a lady at the bank just called for us and said it was fine. One of the female employees picked up the phone to check. After hanging up, she said their supervisor was coming over and asked us to wait.

A while later, a middle-aged man who looked like a young Colonel Sanders walked over. He smiled and told us the law didn't allow camping there, but if we stayed far away from the building and didn't have a fire, he would pretend he didn't see us.

We thanked him and headed toward the lakeshore. There was a building there housing traditional indigenous canoes. The door was locked, and the roof extended toward the lake with a wooden floor. We decided to camp there. I said, you have a good tent, and I have good food, so we will sleep in your tent and eat my food. He said happily, okay, and kept saying thank you.

Where we pitched our tent

"How old are you?" I asked.

"20."

"So you left Japan when you were 18."

"Yes!" We chatted while pitching the tent.

After the tent was up, I took out my Shin Ramyun and told him it was only after six, so we'd have noodles first, and then cook potatoes later.

"Wow~~~ Shin Ramyun," he looked at the instant noodles in my hands happily, as if he hadn't had them in a long time.

"Before we eat, do you want some marijuana?" he asked.

"Sure!" I thought, why not try it?

"Have you smoked before?" he asked.

"No."

"Wow! You are letting me be the first person you smoke marijuana with, thank you so much, I'm so happy," he said.

What's there to be so happy about, I thought.

"I don't smoke, I don't drink, but I smoke a little marijuana," he continued.

"I've read data that suggests marijuana is actually less addictive and less harmful to the body than cigarettes, but I don't know why most countries ban marijuana but not cigarettes," I said.

"Right! Do you know why? Because it's hard to make your own cigarettes, but it's very easy to make your own marijuana. So tobacco companies lobby the government to ban marijuana; that's the reason." He replied. I thought that made some sense.

He started rolling the marijuana, and I lit the stove to boil water. After he finished rolling, he handed it to me. I took two puffs, and felt nothing special. He said, smoke slower, smoke deeper. I followed his advice, but still felt nothing, it was just like a cigarette. Just then, the water boiled, and I threw in the noodles. When they were done, I passed them to him. He smiled and said to me, "You feel it now, right?"

"Your eyes look different." That was when I realized, indeed, I felt it; drunk but not quite drunk, the feeling gradually became stronger, a bit like being drunk but not entirely. Time seemed to stop and then pass by in a flash. I knew very clearly what I was doing in that second, but the previous second felt like a long time ago. I thought this stuff was truly dangerous.

He was rolling a marijuana cigarette. The small knife in his hand was handmade for him by someone in Finland; it had his name engraved on it, and the handle was made of reindeer antler.

"How do you feel now?" he asked.

"I think this stuff is scary," I said.

"NO! You don't have to be afraid of it, it's just meant to make you high."

Yamada with his eyes rolled back after smoking. Was I like that too? I don't know.

"If you don't spend money, where do you get your marijuana?" I asked.

"If you see someone with hair like mine, they usually smoke marijuana, so I just ask them for some. People who smoke marijuana are very happy to share theirs," he said.

"You say you don't spend money, but there must be some places where you have to, right?" I stopped the marijuana topic and asked him while eating my noodles.

"Yes. VISA. I have to spend money for a visa."

"What about airfare? You flew here, right?"

"Yes! I have to spend money on airfare, but I only spent 100 dollars to fly from Norway to Boston. Hahaha."

"100 dollars!!! How did you manage to find a flight from Norway to Boston for only 100 dollars!!!?" I asked, amazed.

"I found it using a computer at a tourist information center. Hahahaha," he laughed.

"You said you were going to make your own canoe and drift; how will you prepare food for two weeks? There are no restaurants in that wilderness to beg for food."

"It's not two weeks! It's two months! I'm going to drift all the way to Fairbanks. I'll prepare a big bag of rice and go fishing. Hahahaha."

"You're going to drift to Fairbanks!!!?" I asked, shocked.

"Yes! Someone has done it before. Four French guys, I think. Two years ago, they made a raft out of barrels and boards; it wasn't a real canoe," he said.

"Oh! I've seen that video, but I didn't know they drifted to Fairbanks. What happens after you get to Fairbanks?" I asked.

"After that, I have two backup plans. One is, after drifting to Fairbanks, I'll ride my bike to Inuvik. Do you know Inuvik?"

"I know, by riding the Dempster Highway," I nodded.

"Yes! I want to go in the winter."

"You want to go in the winter!!?" I thought, this guy is crazy.

"Yes! I want to go in the winter. And then figure something else out, maybe take a plane to a research station north of Inuvik. Only two or three people are there. I'll spend the winter there, and when it's March or April, I'll ski to the North Pole, 900 kilometers from there to the North Pole." He showed me the map and told me his plans.

"Why March or April?" I asked.

"Because in winter it's too cold and it's pitch black for 24 hours a day, and after May it's the midnight sun, the weather gets too hot, the snow melts, and you can't ski across it."

Damn! Fucking Crazy! But so cool!

"Two people have done it before, and I want to be the third."

"And the second backup plan is to ride south, all the way to Ushuaia. I think this backup plan is more likely because crossing the North Pole requires a lot of good gear, which is a bit difficult."

"But when you're in Panama, you have to take a boat to Colombia. There is no road there; you have to pay money." I said.

"I'll walk." he replied.

"You'll walk!!!?"

"Yes, it takes two weeks. It's all jungle, but there is a trail. Some people do it, although not many."

I never knew there was a trail there...

"How did you start in the first place?" I asked.

"After graduating from high school, I found a job. Four months later, I quit, bought a plane ticket to Shanghai, and that's how I started," he laughed and said.

"When I left Japan, I had about 8,000 dollars in the bank. I've been living on that 8,000 dollars until now, and I'm going to continue to use that money for another four years." he continued.

"8,000 dollars to travel the world for six years?" I asked.

"Yes! What do you think? Hahaha!"

"What about your bike? You have to buy a bike at least," I asked.

"My bike was picked up/found, hahaha." He really likes to laugh.

"Picked up?" I was curious.

"Yes! I saw a bike when I was in Shanghai. I observed it for several days, and I was sure it was abandoned. Although it was broken in some places, it was barely rideable, and then I started. What do you think? Hahaha."

"So what did you bring when you left Japan?" I asked him, shocked.

He pointed to his tattered gray-blue backpack, which I estimated was about 15 liters. "I carried this, put some clothes in it, and flew to Shanghai, and that's it."

Yamada only carried this backpack when he left Japan.

"Just this broken backpack?" I asked.

"Yes! Just this one. Hahaha."

"And then what?"

"I rode that bike south, entered Vietnam, Laos, and then Thailand," he started to tell his story in detail.

"I bought food when I was in Vietnam and Laos—half and half, really—but from Thailand to now, I haven't spent a single cent on food, and I haven't spent a single cent on accommodation, hahaha."

"Then I rode to Malaysia, took a boat to Indonesia, and then took a plane to the south of India. I spent six months in India. That's a great place, you should go there."

"I will," I replied.

"India is very interesting. I camped next to villages. When I woke up in the morning, everyone was chirping around me, then they would give me a bunch of food and tell me to eat more. In India, I rode along the west side toward the north all the way to New Delhi. I originally wanted to continue riding north to China, but I couldn't; the border there is very strict."

"What about riding to Pakistan?" I asked.

"I could have ridden to Pakistan, but I couldn't enter Afghanistan from Pakistan, so I flew from New Delhi to Tajikistan, then passed through Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and entered Iran."

"Then I went to Azerbaijan, Armenia, and I was going to Turkey, but it was winter, so I went to Russia. After spending a month in Russia, I entered Finland, went through Sweden, and Norway. Look, I even made the headlines in a Norwegian newspaper." He showed me his newspaper and said.

"When I was in Finland, I kept riding north until I reached the northernmost tip where there is a small indigenous tribe of only three hundred people. Everyone knows each other. I spent the winter there with them. My job was helping them make their traditional earrings."

"I even camped outside for two weeks. It was very, very quiet there. Everything was pitch black; there was only night and no day. You couldn't tell if it was PM or AM. Time seemed frozen along with the cold weather; the only thing that let you feel that this world was still turning was the aurora dancing in the sky." His gaze drifted into the distance as he spoke.

At that moment, I looked at him, and an image appeared in my mind: in a pitch-black wilderness, with the aurora dancing in the sky, there was only a tent and a campfire on the snow-covered ground, as if I were there with him in that frozen land.

"There's half a year of day and half a year of night there. The locals say it's their one day, hahaha," he laughed and said.

"How did you come up with this idea in the first place? I mean, this kind of travel idea." I asked.

"When I was working for those four months, I read a book—a book about a Japanese man who cycled around the world."

"Rode for seven years?" I interjected.

"Yes! You know that book too?"

"I do. I went on this bike trip because I read that book."

"Me too, hahaha," we both laughed together.

"So do you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked.

"No, I'm an only child."

"What about your parents? What do they think?"

"They said, 'You go. Go crazy.' Hahaha," I laughed out loud.

"But to leave after working for only four months, that's crazy." I said.

"I don't want to live inside that Fucking System," he stopped smiling.

"Everyone just thinks about making big money, buying big houses, buying big cars. This world shouldn't be like that."

I looked at him and nodded.

"Although I'm living this kind of life now, I'm happy, really." He lowered his head and took a few bites of noodles.

"Look, your bike needs a lock, but I'm riding a bike like this, and I'm not afraid of it being stolen." He pointed to the lock under my seat.

"In my travels, many people want to give me money, but I refuse them. I only accept food or things."

"I intentionally don't use a better bike or equipment, because if I spend money to buy them, I'll start wanting to pursue better, lighter, and prettier things, and then I'll fall back into that Fucking System."

"Many people say that I'm dangerous to go to the extreme cold zone without preparing anything, but I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of death, Chung. What is death? For me, if your soul is dead, that's death."

"Do you know? In history, many great people didn't die; their spirits live on in our souls. For me, they are immortal. I want to become a great person like that and change this world."

"Although I live in poverty, my spirit and my soul are rich."

His words hit my head like crashing waves.

"Didn't you run into any difficulties on a trip like this?" I asked.

"Of course, and many, but even so I'm happy, because every day I live is different."

"And in my experience, people are always happy to help others. As long as you want to, everything is possible. Look, those two female employees kept saying NO! NO! NO! but the male supervisor said it was okay, so everything is possible; it just depends on whether you want to do it or not."

After finishing the meal, I borrowed his notebook to read. He asked if I wanted to smoke more marijuana, but I said no, I like to keep my head clear so I can think. He said that was good.

I didn't answer and continued flipping through his notebook. He wrote a diary every day. Although most of it was in Japanese and I couldn't understand it, from some notes in the margins or corners, I knew he was learning seriously—learning different cultures, different languages, and skills for surviving in the extreme cold.

He also asked me for the pronunciation of some Chinese words. He asked me how to say "big brother" (dà gē) in Chinese, and from then on, he kept calling me "Da Ge." Even though he had so little, he was still very happy to share with me. In the evening, when he took out his sleeping bag, I asked him, "Is this your only sleeping bag?"

He said yes. Someone gave it to him in Finland. It was a good sleeping bag; it could handle minus thirty degrees without a problem. He had tried it. He asked if I wanted to sleep in his sleeping bag. I looked at his sleeping bag; it was about the same size as mine, just older. He didn't mind at all that I flipped through his stuff, even his passport.

Yamada's diary

That night, we talked a lot about life, love, and happiness. Until late at night, we lay down to sleep, but his words kept echoing in my mind like an echo. Throughout the night, I kept thinking about what he said.

The next morning, when I was cooking breakfast, he asked if I wanted to eat his food. I looked at what he had: a few cans, a small half-pack of pasta, and a bunch of ketchup packets and sugar packets he had picked up from convenience stores.

I said, let's just eat mine. After breakfast and packing up, I asked him, "When you meet travelers like me on the road with good bikes and good gear, don't you envy us?"

"No! Like I said yesterday, if I pursued a better bike and better gear, I would fall back into that Fucking System. I can ride a hundred kilometers a day with this bike, and this gear allows me to sleep in a minus thirty-degree night without a problem. What else do I need?" He said without hesitation.

I had asked a stupid question.

We hugged tightly at the intersection before parting. There was a moment I wanted to ride back to Whitehorse with him, because the trip to drift from Whitehorse to Fairbanks by canoe was just too fascinating. But I couldn't; I couldn't just follow him, I had to have my own adventure.

So we went our separate ways on the road. He continued north, and I went south. Riding on the road, I gradually had some new thoughts, as if a scroll of a life map, which had originally only opened to Ushuaia, was now gradually rolling backward.

Postscript: When I invited him to camp together, I decided to write a blog post about him. I was thinking about the title. At first, I thought of "The Craziest Person." When I talked to him halfway through, I thought about using "The Truest Person," but I finally decided to use "The Richest Person" as the title.

After our talk that night, he wrote these questions in his notebook.

In the morning, I cooked mashed potatoes with oatmeal.

I went through all his equipment; there really wasn't a single good thing, except for the tent.