CYCLING TAIWAN

Cycling， literally， around Taiwan is challenging to say the least， but for those who put in a little extra effort， there is so much more to see than just your handlebars. Traveling by bike is unlike any other form of transport. You experience a place just slow enough to love it and just fast enough to leave it in your periphery and move on. Taiwan is moving away from its reputation for big， loud， dirty scooters as major bike manufactures put effort into promoting cycling as a new lifestyle. Taiwan is made for bikes； this wondrous island is a combination of metropolitan and rustic， wild and farmed， mountain and sea.

Leaving the capital Taipei （臺(tái)北） on a warm， sunny day， takes me through the river parks in the direction of Xindian （新店）， the city’s southernmost district and home to Taipei’s main water source. This far out of Taipei， the view changes completely； the city remains， but the traffic slows along a lazy river. Taipei is（somewhat unfortunately） nestled between mountains， so the first challenge is taking the steep， windy Route 9 road to the tea plantations of Pinglin （坪林）. You have to sweat to get up that road， but the steep slopes washing into a beautiful valley carved by Xindian Creek （新店溪） are worth the climb.

The Central Mountain ridge effectively splits the island in two， making it difficult to reach the East Coast. What’s more， most typhoons land first and hard on this part of the island.

The only road to Hualian （花蓮） runs just beside the sea. It is narrow， beautiful， and overlooks the sea， but it’s also extremely dangerous. Landslides are common and the traffic doesn’t suit the average biker.

From here， I follow the Hualian River， putting the Eastern Mountains to my left， and the Central Mountains to my right. Rice paddies stretch through the thin valley， surrounded by twin mountain ranges.

The particularly chewy rice （Taiwaness like to use the letter“Q” to express that particular sensation） around Chishang

（池上） paved the way for the mother of all Taiwanese boxed lunches. The so-called Chishang Biandang （池上便當(dāng)） is an invention from the times when train rides were long and food was scarce. These dinners consist of vegetables， eggs， and meat on rice， protein and carbs on the go—perfect for cyclists.

Even though train rides today in Taiwan can be quite pleasant， the Chishang stuck as a cultural staple. It was enough sustenance to get me to Chipen （知本）， a famous Hot Spring Resort close to Taidong （臺(tái)東）.

Taiwan has one of the highest concentrations of thermal springs in the world， so hot springs are something you can find plenty of here. If you find yourself in Taipei and aching for some hot spring relief， it’s as easy as hopping on the MRT （Mass Rapid Transit）. You’ll get to a public hot spring in less than an hour.

Hot springs are said to have certain health benefits depending on the water composition. Chipen’s Hot Spring Resort hosts its very own private natural spring， including hot spring water in the shower. However， do not make the mistake of assuming hot springs equal peace and quiet. This place in particular has a reputation for being packed with tourists.

The next morning， a few new participants joined us in warm ups and stretches for the remainder of our journey. Setting out， the road is now directly beside the sea and getting noticeably hotter， having just passed the Tropic of Cancer a day before. This part of the trip is pleasant， no big ups or downs. That is， until Shouka （壽卡）.

There is no getting around it， this is where the Central Mountain Ridge finally needed to be crossed to get to the southwestern tip of Taiwan. This peak is called Shouka， and it’s a 21-kilometer climb to get 460 meters above sea level.

It’s time to say goodbye to the beautiful coastline and head deep into aboriginal territory. Taiwan’s aboriginals are Austronesian. Studies show that they may have inhabited the island 8，000 years ago. Today， they make up two percent of the total island population， and 14 languages are actively spoken in the various tribes that still exist. Most of the half a million people still live in these mountainous regions.

After Shouka， the ride goes swiftly downhill. Passing marching soldiers and historic battlefields， I arrive at Car City （車城 Ch8ch9ng）， and am met by a mild breeze and a beach. Taiwan’s south is nestled in the tropical belt and is warm all year round， different from the rainy north which can get somewhat cold in winter.

Kenting （墾丁）， arguably Taiwan’s best beach and just 20 kilometers south， is a calming oasis. But I’m not going. This is the turning point of my trip， and from now on， the trip goes north.

Slowly but steadily the landscape transforms. No more mountains， wild landscapes， or beaches. Instead the industrialized plains of the West close in. Ninety percent of Taiwan’s population lives here. Still far from Kaohsiung （高雄）， I tried the local specialty， guilinggao（龜苓膏）. The black gelatinous blob is supposed to have certain Chinese medicinal benefits， which would be the only reason to ever eat it. Ever.

Entering the South， another sight becomes pretty common—betel nuts （檳榔 b～ngl1ng）. Betel nuts are sold all over Taiwan and because they are believed to be a stimulant. They are said to be especially popular with truck drivers and construction workers. It’s a popular treat， and blood-like betel nut spit stains decorates the concrete. And—for something you can’t see in Taipei—there are colorfully-lit rooms with girls wearing next to nothing， selling nuts. As most of their consumers were men， in 1976， one shop boosted their business by employing young， attractive girls. Since then， a mob of shops have followed suit.

On the way north from Kaohsiung， you pass booth after booth. Most are found in towns along the road， but a few are scattered in villages built on rice or factories.

Kaohsiung is only the second largest city in Taiwan by population， but its outskirts seem endless. Cycling hasn’t really hit the southern part of the island yet. There aren’t many bikes at all， and scooters and cars seem not to care for the competition.

While in Kaohsiung， I start out on foot to the night market—one of my favorite Taiwanese experiences. The MRT stops close to Kaohsiung’s Liuhe Night Market （六合夜市 Lih9 Y-sh#）， popular for its colorful dome and one of the most famous in Taiwan. Night markets can be found all over the island and are definitely the best place to go for some late night snacking and shopping. Food stalls offer local cuisine in between vendors selling textiles， watches， electronics， shoes and more at bargain prices. However， unlike the mainland， there is （thankfully） very little or no bartering. Prices are fixed and you just might get a discount if you buy in bulk. These markets bustle with life and personality that you can’t find elsewhere， which might be why they are so popular with mainland tourists.

Leaving Kaohsiung， I pass the Bridge Sugar Plant （橋頭糖廠 Qi1ot5u T1ngch2ng）， which opened in 1902 and produced sugar until 1999. Now， the whole area—with its large， shady trees and Japanese colonial architecture—has been turned into an amusement park. The E.T. statue in front of a nearby shop is worth a look， and you should stop in for a “Sticko-Ice” （枝仔冰 zh～z2ib～ng）， apparently Taiwan’s oldest ice pop brand， around since 1926.

There’s not much nice to say about the landscape in the west besides： flat. If you like flat things， you’ll be in heaven. The plains are occasionally broken up by small cities and factories. As a cyclist， it can wear on the morale， but， on the bright side， it makes for a smooth， speedy ride， on which I pass Tainan （臺(tái)南）—the cultural and culinary capital of the South. It’s worth staying for a while as it’s an area of preserved folk culture， Taoist rites and other living local traditions. But the nine days are wore me down， and I had no time to dawdle. Chiayi （嘉義） is next on the list， the gate to the Ali-Shan Mountains （阿里山）. At this point， the goal is in sight. The more tangible the finish feels， the shorter the days seem.

Even in my rush to the finish， I join worshippers， burn incense， and grab two little red bags， one with embroidery of Bodhisattva Guanyin （觀音） and the other of Mazu. A Taiwanese friend tells me it’s supposed to bring luck， and I need all the help I can get.

When I step out of the main entrance， a barefooted man with a colorful vest catches my eye， waving ghost money in front of a car. His wild gestures are a rare sight， even in highly religious Taiwan. Mr. Wang is there to professionally “cleanse vehicles” （凈車 j#ng ch8）. Cars， motorcycles and trucks of all kinds come for Wang’s blessings. Business seems to be good as a line of automobiles waite for that little bit of extra protection.

Perhaps I should have taken Wang up on his offer， because， shortly after leaving the temple， it seemed that Mazu was not in a good mood. The wind picked up and the rain started to beat down， all with 70 kilometers still to go until I could rest at Hsinchu City （新竹）. As the West is flat， the headwind is a real force to be reckoned with. The trip goes slowly， but I soon see the ocean on my left once again.

Sadly， there’s not much I can relay of the last day of my trip， having come down with a bad case of food poisoning （quite uncommon in Taiwan）. The illness led to restless sleep， and the weather mirrored my mood. The rain didn’t stop until I arrived in Taipei under a gray sky. These trips never end in a“big reveal”. There isn’t a moment when you see the city come from the wilderness， there isn’t a line of revelers， and the city has barely noticed you’ve arrived. What happens is， as the tall buildings and herds of pedestrians surround and engulf you， you slowly realize： I’ve done it. That’s why—on no sleep， stomach aching， and body trembling with fatigue—I rode into Taipei with a smile on my face.