The 1980s in Japan were a time of electric excess, when the country's economy was pumping to extravagant heights and consumerism was turbocharged.
It was also a time when a tide of defiant subcultures emerged, pushing back against norms and expectations that defined Japanese behaviour as polite, quiet and dutiful.
One of the loudest and proudest was dekotora, or decorated trucks.
The large, chrome-clad, neon-drenched trucks were a proud representation of working class culture, a rejection of conformity and a common sight on the streets in the cities and countryside.
"It was an era where everything was a competition," explains veteran truckie and chairman of the Utamaro Kai Club, Junichi Tajima.
"The decoration was like fighting. If his bumper was 50 centimetres, you'd put yours out to a metre.
"Or if his lights were 50 watts, then you'd fit 800-watt ones. It was to show off."
The trucks first gained mainstream attention due to a series of films called Torakku Yaro, or "Truck Dude" — although getting involved in the phenomenon required great dedication and deep pockets.
These days, a dekotora costs tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars to fit out.
"You can't just make one of these dekotora overnight. It takes about 10 years to finish one," Junichi adds.
Despite their popularity, over the decades, these neon-clad trucks have become a rare sight on the roads.
Japan's era of opulence ended when its asset bubble crashed in the 1990s, leading to a flat economy and flat wages.
Attitudes changed, regulations on big trucks tightened, and the dekotora faded from the spotlight.
Now they are fighting for survival.
"Of course I'm worried," Junichi says.
"[The dekotora are] heading towards extinction."
Japan's big, decorated truck counterculture
In the aftermath of World War II, trucks moving goods for Japan's rebuild were often painted with images representing their home region.
As the economy shifted gears, they became more vital, and more visible.
But being a truckie was not a desirable profession.
"Back in my day, everyone looked down on us," Junichi says.
"To gain even a little recognition from people, we made the trucks beautiful and turned them into art trucks.
"We thought this way people would come to us. That's why we started doing it."
In the 1980s, rebel culture in Japan was displayed much more overtly and proudly than today.
Members of the Yakuza, the name given to organised crime syndicates, were cemented in pop culture, thanks in part to their iconic full body tattoos.
Motorcycle gangs known as Bosozoku would tear around the streets, intimidating and frustrating the locals as they revved their engines.
Territorial disputes would often result in violence, and even death.
But in the decades since, Japan became tamer, the Yakuza were crushed and the Bosozoku disappeared.
Even the display of tattoos is often prohibited in gyms and public pools due to the outdated notion they are a symbol of crime.
Some worry dekotora will also disappear.
Fading into history
Despite some antics, dekotora truckies were never on the same level as the motorcycle gangs or Yakuza.
They are, however, still viewed as part of Japan's once vibrant counterculture.
But road regulations across the country have made it much harder to register the trucks decked out with their iconic chrome structures and vibrant neon lights.
And their overt appearance continues to make them a target of suspicion.
"People still don't trust us," Junichi says.
"We still carry that shadow, us over 70s."
More than a hobby, it's an addiction for some
In recent years, the dekotora have found renewed purpose.
Following the devastating 2011 Fukushima earthquake and tsunami, many truckies helped deliver vital supplies and raise funds for affected communities.
It kickstarted a community drive that continues to this day.
In September, about 100 dekotora trucks descended on the Noto Peninsula, the site of a devastating earthquake in early 2024.
Among them is Touru Shiraishi, who's proudly displaying his fourth dekotora.
For him, it's much more than a hobby, it's an addiction.
"I went to the bank, took out a loan without telling anyone, and bought it," he says.
Events like that on the Noto Peninsula provide the disaster-affected locals with a much-welcome distraction.
Many truckies had driven overnight to get there, providing a few lucky bystanders with the rare spectacle of a dekotora convoy.
"It's amazing," one man told the ABC, after the convoy pulled into a truck stop.
"To expend that much energy is quite something. And since it doesn't bother anyone, it's a great hobby."
The truckies are more than happy to answer questions as their trucks glow in full glory.
"There's a lot of electrical stuff on it," explains truckie Yutaka Enomoto.
"It could catch fire, it gets so hot. You really have to think deeply about these things while decorating it; it's not just sticking things on willy-nilly."
Bringing attention to the next generation
Kazuya Akiyama also attended the event in September. At 34 years old, he is young for a dekotora truckie, given the average driver is in their 50s.
"I've come to realise that dekotora trucks have this power — to benefit society, help people, and ultimately, to make everyone smile," he says.
"I got hooked on the sheer joy of being able to energise everyone; that's the real thrill of deko trucks."
He loves the joy his truck creates and the thrill of driving in a convoy.
As he travels around the countryside and to community events, he hopes that maybe — just maybe — a young boy or girl will be inspired.
"When I first saw a dekotora truck back in primary school, I just knew it embodied a man's adventurous dream," Kazuya says.
"I truly feel it's my turn to pass the culture onto the next generation and keep the stories alive."
