To our friends from Taiwan: This is RIDEZ's annual free publication, documenting the stories of people who love motorcycles. Prices are based on Japanese Yen, with approximate New Taiwan Dollar conversions (1 JPY ≒ NT$0.20 / as of May 2026). For actual prices, please refer to the Shopify store in Taiwan.
I didn't know what to do, nor did I have anything I wanted to do. I was constantly adrift.
When I dropped out of university to become a model, I worked part-time at this shop. I worked reception at the clothing store next door, and sometimes afterward, I'd work at this cafe until dawn. I'd sometimes work from 11 AM until 4 or 5 AM the next morning. It was a complete disregard for labor laws (laughs). But I had no money, so I worked desperately.
I'm the son of an eel restaurant owner in front of Nippori Station. My father was the third generation, and the shop was called Chibaya. I was determined to be the fourth generation, but the shop closed when I was around junior high. I had been preparing to take over, so I thought, "Huh? I'm unemployed" (laughs). I didn't have any particular aspirations and was always feeling gloomy. I vaguely ended up in the Buddhist Studies Department at Komazawa University. It wasn't that I was interested in Buddhism; it was because I attended Christian schools from kindergarten to elementary school, where we had morning prayers and worship before lunch every day, so I wanted to learn about various religions. But at the entrance ceremony, everyone else was bald except me, and I thought, "Am I going to be okay for the next four years?" (laughs). When I asked people, "What did you do during summer vacation?" they'd say, "I was training," and I felt like I had stumbled into an incredible place (laughs).
After that, I stopped going to school and just played all the time. I'd go skateboarding every night, drink, hang out with my juniors in Ueno Park, living that kind of life. Then a stylist friend of mine sent me a long LINE message saying, "Hi, you should be a model. I'd love to work with you." I instinctively felt, "This is it!" I thought, "I'm going to do this! I found my calling!" and dropped out of school. Anyway, I didn't have enough credits to begin with. I wrote down my reasons for dropping out and what I wanted to do in the future in a notebook, and showed it to my parents along with my graduation thesis. Even though I wasn't graduating, I wrote a graduation thesis (laughs). My mother, who had always been strict and intimidating, calmly said, "Well, it can't be helped if you don't want to do it. It's your life." From then on, I started desperately searching for myself.
I was working at a clothing store at the time. The timing of having to leave due to company reasons, the timing of quitting the agency I joined with the goal of becoming a model, and the timing of dropping out of university all coincided. Suddenly, everything was gone. I thought, "Oh no, my life is stuck" (laughs). Later, I met a senior who helped me join my current agency, and after I started working at this shop again, my luck gradually improved. Lately, I've been able to make a living solely from modeling, and I feel like it's my calling. After all, it's the only thing I can do.
My current motorcycle is a Yamaha WR250. As an actor, I have a dream of playing a Kamen Rider someday (laughs). My senior said, "You can't do it without a license," so I got one. No matter how old I get, I won't give up on this dream until I can shout "Transform!"
The Voice／Hirai Yuto
"Your hobbies are weird, you're practically a guy." I only feel free when I'm riding my motorcycle.
My first motorcycle was a Monkey. I bought it after getting my moped license at 16. Since I couldn't ride a motorcycle to school, I only rode on holidays. My father loved cars; he competed with a Mini Cooper and also loved motorcycles. I think I was influenced by him. As soon as I graduated from high school, I got my medium-sized motorcycle license and bought a Yamaha XS250, which I heavily customized, changing the handlebars to make it an American style. I went to a technical high school, and although there were boys who rode motorcycles, I wasn't close with any of them, so I mostly rode alone.
My hobbies didn't align with my female friends, and being a teenager, I felt a bit strange. In fact, my friends only ever told me, "Your hobbies are so weird; you're practically a guy." My mom initially said, "It's dangerous," but eventually stopped trying to stop me. I got a boyfriend in my second year of high school. Because I loved motorcycles so much, he was also influenced and started riding an Ape. We would go for rides together. Where I lived was quite rural, so we would go to Lake Shoji or the Southern Alps and tackle some mountain roads, which was a lot of fun.
My family situation was a bit complicated; my parents divorced when I was in junior high. So, I went to a technical high school, and after graduating, thinking I could only learn a skill, I enrolled in a dental hygienist vocational school. But my mom got depression and couldn't work. I really should have asked my dad for help then, but I didn't want to trouble him. I thought I had to protect my mom, so I started working three part-time jobs simultaneously. When I entered my third year, I had to buy new textbooks, which was an expensive time, and I felt like "I probably can't keep this up," so I dropped out. Actually, I originally wanted to go to university, and even dropping out of vocational school midway was something I endured and suppressed, which became a complex for me.
During that time, I also left motorcycles behind, but there was a moment when I deeply felt — the time when I felt most free and most myself was when I was riding a motorcycle. With that thought, I realized life is only once, and I wanted to ride as much as I wanted, so I saved up diligently and bought another motorcycle. It was a Kawasaki Vulcan cruiser. It's still at my parents' house in Yamanashi. After I started riding again, I made more motorcycle friends and met a group of people who treated me for who I truly was, just like me. It's really thanks to motorcycles that I've come to like myself.
Last year, my beloved mother passed away. She had been taking medication for depression for a long time, and her kidneys and liver had deteriorated. Then she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. She eventually passed away due to multiple organ failure, at only 55 years old. I still think about her. When I bought a new motorcycle after a long time, I surprised her with it. She cried with joy then. I think she was happy that I was doing something I loved.
The Voice／Mochizuki Ayana
I love the smell of burnt engine oil. The moment the tires skid, I scream.
Towards the end of junior high, there was a period when I didn't really want to go to school. It wasn't exactly school refusal, but rather, I'd spend short periods in special classrooms. My art teacher at the time told me, "Do what you love," so I drew, and when the teacher saw my drawings, they said, "These are great, draw more." Later, the teacher asked me, "Could you make a stamp for the library?" and that's how I fell in love with the joy of printmaking. The library stamp is the kind you use when borrowing books.
The teacher said, "Make a stamp with my name on it too." That teacher played the violin and rode motorcycles. My school life revolved around making stamps for that teacher and being asked to make all sorts of things. Finally, when I graduated, I even made a stamp of the principal's face, and the principal said he wanted to hang the drawing in his office, so I graduated after my drawing was hung there. The reason I didn't want to go to school was due to interpersonal relationships. I couldn't fit in with any groups and ended up alone. I would go home without speaking to anyone. So, I went to a correspondence high school. I would go to school about once a month, but I still didn't make any friends. Making friends is quite difficult.
Since kindergarten, I've been riding the PW kids' motorcycle passed down from my older brother. My dad runs a motorcycle shop, so all our family trips were to places with motorcycle activities, and motorcycles were always around me. From junior high, I also started participating in flat track races. Flat track is where you race counter-clockwise on a dirt track, and when the rear wheel slides, I scream. It's also fun to compete to see who can slide the longest and who can race the fastest. I ride my motorcycle every day now. I love the feeling of the wind, heat, and cold all directly hitting me. Also, I absolutely love the smell of burnt engine oil.
Around 18, after graduating from high school, I really wanted to go to the Chirihama Sand Flats race in Ishikawa Prefecture, which my dad used to race in. The one-way motorcycle ride was about 600 kilometers, and I don't know how many hours it took, because I'm a bit foolish and didn't plan anything. I left here at noon, finally reached Toyama around 10 PM, stayed at a friend's house, and went to the race the next day. The older guys I knew were surprised, saying, "Mii, did you come alone?" (laughs). On the way back, passing through Hida Takayama, I was so sleepy on the mountain roads that it was really dangerous. I probably fell asleep, and the rear wheel slid with a hiss, almost causing an injury. I got rained on, was cold, and the rural highway was pitch black. I kept thinking, "Am I going to die?" on the way home. After that round trip, I felt like I had accomplished something amazing.
The Voice／Fukuda Mizuki
A wanderer who couldn't stay in Tokyo. Yokohama gently embraced me.
This shop has been open for 34 years as of April. I was only 27 when I opened it. Initially, the shop was two doors down from a restaurant called "Skandia" at Osanbashi. It's been about 27 years since I moved to Bashamichi. At first, I wanted to be an actor in Tokyo and also worked as a stuntman. But I got frustrated and wanted to go back to my hometown in northern Kyushu. I had never been to Yokohama, so I got off the train there. Then I saw a job advertisement for a hostess club called "Club Byakuran" in Nishiguchi. I called them, and they said, "Come on over," and that's how I got into the hospitality business. I guess Yokohama suited me; port cities are kind to wanderers. As the saying goes, "It takes three generations to become a true Edoite, but only three days to become a true Yokohaman." Thanks to that saying, I'm still in Yokohama today.
I don't have many good memories of Tokyo. I didn't make any friends there either. In the end, I had a big fight with a certain celebrity. Who? There's no way I can say. Wasn't everyone so energetic in those days? I was pretty boisterous too. But I started riding a Harley after I turned 40. My younger brother got cancer and told me, "I want to ride a Harley with you one last time, big brother," so I got my large motorcycle license and bought a Harley. But then, for some reason, my brother didn't die and is still thriving in Kawasaki. We don't keep in touch much these days (laughs). I heard he's having a tough time because his daughter is going to college.
The Voice／Shiotani Kazuo
Do I still have the passion I had when I made my first pair of gloves?
I love people who love motorcycles. How can I make riding more enjoyable for those who love it? I've been thinking about this for 28 years. But looking back, it certainly hasn't been a smooth ride.
When I started this company, it was just me. The first thing I made was gloves. Classic gloves, with a focus on good materials and domestic manufacturing. I had no idea if they would sell. I just wanted to make good things. I wanted to make things I wouldn't regret. That was the only intention. But I was an amateur who didn't even know it would take months to collect payments. Cash flow quickly became insufficient. Products were selling, but money kept flowing out. Every bank refused to finance me. I went to a bank that had rejected me before. I bowed my head and passionately explained my business plan for an hour and a half. The loan officer was moved by my passion and said, "I understand!" Three years later, the company was on track. Now I handle thousands of products and have colleagues who are employees. But the me from 28 years ago, who thought "passion alone can solve everything," is the origin of this company—I still often think about that.
I've met all kinds of motorcycle enthusiasts.
100 motorcycle enthusiasts have 100 completely different stories.
Can we, today, respond to this passion?
The passion of those days, still today—RIDEZ.
Editorial Production / TOKYOFLAGGER
Photography / Takaaki Miura
Styling / Naoki Hori
Published by / RIDEZ Co., Ltd. 33 Sanmai-cho, Kanagawa-ku, Yokohama-shi, Kanagawa
※ Product prices are based on Japanese Yen including tax. New Taiwan Dollar amounts are approximate conversions at 1 JPY ≒ NT$0.20 (as of May 2026). Actual selling prices are subject to the Taiwan Shopify store: https://ridez.jp