Track

トラック

宮田裕介◎文・写真

　日の出と共にバイクに跨り、日が沈むまで走り続けた。ハンドルを握る間、何かについて考える時間は山ほどあったが大抵はガソリンの残量や安全に夜を明かす場所の心配に費やされた。眠る場所は毎日様々だったが、日々生じる身体の様々な痛みを誤魔化すため、鎮痛剤を口に含み、冷たいビールが手に入ればそれで流し込むのが習慣になっていた。道中、豊富に手に入る麻薬の類に決して手をつけなかったのは倫理観からではなく、それらが運転中の判断力の妨げになると知っていたからだ。

　私は自ら組み上げたバイクでひたすらアジア大陸を走り続けていた。毎日のように人々の話す言葉やその身を包み衣装は変わっていった。そして人々が信仰する神々の姿もまた。男性の姿。女性の姿。半陰陽の姿。獣の姿。決して形を持たない姿。ヒンドゥー教からイスラムの世界を通り、峻険なヒマラヤ山脈に入ると馴染み深い御仏の世界が現れた。安心するのも束の間、高度は3000m、4000m、そして5000mと彼の富士山の高さを遥かに越え、私たち、つまりは私と、この鉄の相棒から呼吸と体温を奪っていった。私は生来、物や道具に対して無頓着だったが、こんな錆びの回った鉄屑の塊りでも長い旅が続けば愛着も湧いてくる。さすがに名前までは付けなかったが。寒さで指先に感覚がなくなれば、革手袋のまま、熱いエンジンに押し当てて暖を取った。夜は眠る時間を削り、月明かりの下、煤がこびりついたスパークプラグをヤスリや布でピカピカに磨いた。私たちは互いを生かし合っていた。しかしながら信頼と呼べる関係には程遠かった。相棒は必ずと言っていいほど、毎日どこかが壊れた。それは整備を行う私の所為でもあるがその日、走行不能になるような問題が起きなければ、それだけで幸せな1日に感じられた。また相棒の調子が良くても、乗り手である私自身が調子を崩す事も多々あった。そして双方の調子が良い時に限って思わぬトラブルに遭遇するのが旅の常だった。

　そんな事も切り抜け、ひと月が経った頃、私たちは高地特有の黒みを帯びた空の下、人々の生活の痕跡はおろか、一切の生き物の気配すらない砂漠の中にいた。舗装道はおろか、先行者のタイヤの轍すら見当たらない。未体験の景色に胸は大きく高鳴っていた。ギアを蹴り上げアクセルを最大に回し、シートに括り付けた荷物が外れる事も気にせずスピードを上げた。心から自由を感じ思わず叫んでいた。一頻りそれを楽しんだあと、相棒を停め、砂漠に大の字で寝そべり、そして日本から持ち込んだ数も残り少なくなってきた馴染みのタバコに火をつけた。空に大きな雲が浮かんでいる。そしてその雲の影が砂の中をゆっくりと移動して私たちに近づいてくる。目を閉じていても、肌が焼けつくような太陽の感触が治まったことで、その大きな雲の影の中に私たちがいることがわかった。風が相棒と積荷を吹き晒す以外、周囲に一切の音はない。もし誰かが近くを通ってくれたなら水を分けて貰えただろう。もしそれが遊牧民の一家なら今夜はテントに泊めて貰えたかもしれない。そんな事を考えながら私はふと、これからの先行きについて考え始めた。この旅のこと。それから国に帰ってからのこと。一通り考えを巡らせたあと、今のような心地よい感覚が出来るだけ続くことを願った。

　来た方角の山に目をやった。そこから不格好な一本の線がここまで伸びている。無造作だがどこか意味深そうに引かれたその蛇行線は紛れもなく私と相棒が付けた轍だった。私は少年だった頃のことを思い出した。学校を抜け出し、社会のレールを外れ、道路を集団で走り、一端の不良を気取ってみても、結局その道路は大人たちが作ってくれたものだった。ならば大人になった今はどうかと聞かれれば、あまり大差ないのかもしれない。自分の道を歩いてる気もすれば、相変わらず誰かの手の平で踊り続けている気もしないでもない。ひたすらに自由と解放を求めた少年期との違いは、今の私はただ一つの事柄に対してだけそれを求めている。それは作品だ。それはこの名もなき砂漠に私と相棒が引いた一本の轍に似ている。それが他の誰かの轍に囚われてしまわない限り、私の行く先はいつだって自由だ。

みやた・ゆうすけ
写真家、音楽クリエイター。群馬県高崎市出身。音楽アーティストを志し、17歳で単身渡米。民族音楽に強い興味を持ち、世界各地を旅する中で写真表現に出会う。
www.yusukemiyata.com

Track

Text & Photo: Yusuke Miyata

　I got on my motorcycle at sunrise and rode until the sun went down. While riding it, I had plenty of time to think about things, but most of it was spent worrying about how much gas I had left and where I could safely spend the night. I slept in different places every day, but to cover the various aches and pains of my body that arose each day, I would take a painkiller in my mouth and wash it down with a cold beer if I could get one. I never touched any of the drugs that were available in abundance on the way to my destination, not because of ethics, but because I knew that they would interfere with my judgment while driving.

　I was riding a motorcycle that I had built myself across the Asian continent. Every day, the language the people spoke and the clothes they wore changed. And the gods they worshipped changed as well. Male figures. Female figures. Half yin and yang figures. The form of a beast. A figure without any figure. After passing through the world of Hinduism and Islam, and entering the steep Himalayas, the familiar world of the Buddha appeared. My relief was short-lived. The altitude rose to 3,000 meters, then 4,000 meters, and then 5,000 meters, far surpassing the height of Mt. Fuji. We, that is, I and my iron partner, were deprived of breath and body heat. I've always been indifferent to things and tools, but even a rusty lump of iron like this could become attached to me after a long journey. I didn’t name it, though. Whenever I lost feeling in my fingertips due to the cold, I would keep my leather gloves on and press them against the hot engine to keep them warm. At night, I cut down on my sleeping hours and polished the sooty spark plugs to a shine with a file and cloth under the moonlight. We kept each other alive. However, our relationship was far from trustworthy. My partner always broke down at some point every day. It was partly my fault for doing the maintenance, but as long as no problem making the motorcycle undrivable that day, it made me happy. And even when my partner was in good shape, there were many times when I, the rider, was not in good shape. And only when both of us were in good shape did we run into unexpected trouble, as was usual on a trip.

　We made it through, and after a month, we found ourselves in the desert under the black sky typical of the highlands, with no signs of life, let alone traces of people. There were no paved roads, not even the wheel tracks of those ahead of us. My heart was pounding with excitement at the sight of something I had never experienced before. I kicked up the gears, turned the gas pedal to the maximum, and sped up, not caring if the luggage strapped to the seat would come off. I felt a sense of freedom in my heart, and I screamed. After enjoying it for a while, I parked my car, lay down in the desert, and lit my favorite cigarette that I had brought with me from Japan, the last of which was running low. There was a large cloud floating in the sky. The shadow of the cloud was moving slowly through the desert, coming closer to us. Even with my eyes closed, the feeling of the sun burning my skin subsided, and I knew that we were in the shadow of that big cloud! There was no sound around us, except for the wind blowing my partner and my luggage around. If someone had walked by, they could have given me some water. If it had been a nomadic family, they might have let me stay in their tent on that night. As I thought about this, I suddenly began to think about my future. About this trip. What would happen after I returned to my country? After giving it all some thought, I hoped that the comfortable feeling I had now would last as long as possible.

　I looked at the mountain ​I had come from. An awkward line stretched from there to here. The casually but somewhat meaningful winding lines were undoubtedly tracks made by my partner and me. It reminded me of when I was a boy. Even though I tried to escape school, get off the predestined track, ride a motorcycle in groups, pretend to be a bad boy. In the end, the road was made by adults. If you were to ask me how I feel now as an adult, I would say that there is not much difference. I feel like I'm walking my way, but I also feel like I still play into someone's hand. Unlike my youth, when I sought freedom and liberation, now I only search it for one thing: my work. It is a work of art. It's like a track that my partner and I have made in this nameless desert. As long as it doesn't get trapped in someone else's tracks, I am always free to go where I want.

Yusuke Miyata
Photographer / music creator Born in Takasaki, Gunma prefecture.He went to the U.S. by himself at the age of 17 to become a music artist. With a strong interest in ethnic music, he discovered photographic expression while traveling around the world.
www.yusukemiyata.com