Mamachari + Sake= ?

Once you get a few kilometres out into the Kanagawa countryside a whole local culture becomes apparant in the shape of drunk old men weaving their way from side to side along the narrow riverside pavement on basket-fronted roadsters, or mamachari as those kinds of bikes are known here.
Being totally indifferent to the existance of other human beings and cyclists on the same path, they require real skill and timing to negotiate your way past (pause for a quick self-congratulatary pat on the back). It reminds me of one of the levels on the Treasure Island computer game for my old Spectrum, where you (Jim Hawkin) have to cross to the other side of the road without being hit by 4 or 5 Blind Pews. Glowing mauve, epileptic, super-fast, killer walking-stick wielding Blind Pews as opposed to the easily beatable, frail old git (albeit scary as fuck to young Jim m'lad) that he was in the novel.

So, just as I was cycling into the gateway to this sector, one of the said gentlemen was coming straight for me, One Cup Ozeki sake in hand, knees tuned outwards, heels on pedals, dominating the centre of the path and aggressively waving me to move even more to the left than I was, as if I was being out of order by not giving him the whole thing. I managed to outfox him and was through to the other side, when I noticed a crowd of people standing around just up ahead.

Another oldish man was laying on the ground next to his mamachari with some impressive looking road-rash on his cheek and arm and a face-full of surprise. I noticed this as I slowed up to get a good look at what was going on, despite the people crouched next to him inconveniently obscuring my view slightly. In races, cyclists do not stop for fallen cyclists and I did not either, justifying this to myself with ease after a brief assesment.
He seemed OK, his helpers were trying to convince him to stay on the ground and ambulances are freely used here for anything, more like a taxi to the hospital or as a mobile band-aid changing service so there was not much left for me to do.
Then, seriously contemplating going back to take a quick photo, I sailed past a group of around 10 nattering dog-walkers who were waiting for the ambulance next to the road. At least that is what I assume they were doing.
I am going to hell.