/// MOTO CHRON ///

When I'm a little hungry, I often rumble over to one of the many convenience stores in my corner of Kobe. Here, I can find cute miniaturized versions of my favorite confections, a tempting new fizzy drink or seasonal ice cream flavor. I didn't expect to stumble upon this gem of a miniature motorcycle at my local Lawson's , but I'm so glad I did. Just look at it. It is magical. It is glorious. A piece of crap? Yes, no doubt. Only in Japan? Of course. Someone's pride and joy? Absolutely. We measure bikes all wrong. Horsepower, torque, weight, dyno charts, lap times. However, If you measure a bike by the sheer delight it can illicit, then you cannot deny the allure of the clapped out, truck sticked mini-bike. Cheap enough to buy, maintain and crash on a any budget, and - this is key - cheap enough to ride like a horseman of the apocalypse. No number can quantify joy, so there is no use in looking at statistics. The charm of this bike truly lives in the details - so let...

If you live in Japan for any amount of time, you will notice a gang of highly skilled riders  buzzing about in perpetual motion. S porting red bikes and open-face helmets, their eyes harbor a steely focus that seems both malevolent and stoic at the same time, their faces blistered, wind-burned and leathery from constant exposure to the elements.  They possess a preternatural control of their machine, dragging pegs to pavement, one hand on the throttle and the other gripping a fistful of envelopes. I am of course talking about the indominable, unflinching, pound-for-pound greatest rider in the world, the Japanese postal worker and their finely tuned weapon, the Honda Super Cub MD. In a recurring segment I'm calling JDM, I'll unearth a bit of Japanese riding culture for your reading pleasure. I t is easy to romanticize the humble postal worker and their little red Honda Super Cubs, dutifully traversing every paved corner of the country in the fulfillment of their essential dir...