Adventure Cycling in Taiwan (Part 2)

Journey of the Immortals

We began pedaling in the rain under gray dull low-hanging skies. Cycling from our hotel to a little noodle stall down the street for breakfast, the rain was light and misty but growing in intensity. By the time we’d sucked down two steaming bowls of piping hot mian xian (beef noodles) and chugged a couple of liters of orange juice, the precipitation had increased to a steady pour and threatened to make it a true “adventure” day.

Rain isn’t optimal riding weather but isn’t bad if you’ve got the right kit. Cycling in the rain is more about clothing selection than the weather. If you’ve got the right rain gear, riding in the rain isn’t half bad and is often a nice change of pace. My Vaude cycling poncho was doing a great job shedding water while allowing pretty good air flow underneath to keep the condensation down — highly recommend. The poncho’s a piece of kit that works well in that it’s pretty small, deploys quickly, provides plenty of coverage for you and the bike, so if you’ve got fenders on your bicycle, you’ll stay dry without having to wear a rain jacket and pants.

Under low clouds and an ever increasing drizzle of rain, we donned our rain gear made our way north to Sanxiantai to see what there was to see. Streaks of rain sliced through the cool winter air as our tires hissed through the rivulets of water undulating across the road. Under my trusty cycling poncho, the pedaling was cool and dry save for the bit of perspiration I was working up.

Taking up sheltered positions under the covered scenic viewing spot, we cast our eyes on an angry sea before us. Gusting winds howled and scoured the shore whipping up a spray off the tops of cresting waves, and the rain threatened to go horizontal. Our little sightseeing stop wasn’t the golden warm sunrises we’d grown accustomed to.

Keeping sensitive camera gear dry while making pictures that becomes a bit of a challenge when the wet stuff is falling and the scenery is often worth the effort and added risk to the gear. I haven’t invested in any rain covers for my cameras that allow me to shoot in the rain. I either don’t shoot or rely on fashion garbage bags or Ziploc pouches to keep the rain off long enough to do a small amount of photography when the wet stuff is falling.

The rain showed no signs of letting up. And not wanting to miss out on the drama, I dug into my frame bag and found a Ziploc bag, to which I cut a hole in about the size of my camera lens and fashioned a makeshift rain cover for my little Sony RX100 point and shoot. There was just too much drama going on not to make a couple snaps. I then slipped the camera into the bag, turned it on and poked the lens through the hole and then proceeded through the spitting wind to the shore and crashing waves.

Stormy weather has a drama all its own. If one is properly prepared, there’s a lot to capture. Walking out to the shore, the rain showed no signs of letting up. Stormy seas sent waves surging and crashing angrily against the rocks. Scrambling over moss-covered rocks and onto the gravelly shore, I squatted at the water’s edge to get a little better perspective and began capturing images of the dull gray water in the peppering rain.

Sanxiantai — meaning “three saints island” — is an iconic scenic location on the eastern Taiwanese coast that consists of several small of islands situated just off the shore north of Chenggong that offers picturesque views of a jagged rocky coastline and gravely beaches set against the turquoise and cobalt waters of the Pacific. The name Sanxiantai makes reference to three of the Eight Immortals from Chinese myth.

An undulating eight-arch bridge, aptly named the “Dragon Bridge” and representing the “Eight Immortals” crossing the sea, spans rock strewn coastal waters to the first island that has a lighthouse and rock caves to explore. Rock pools found along the shore were teeming with striped tropical fish and green and black camouflaged crabs.

Parting the Heavens

“Kai!” (“open” in Mandarin), a short stout man in a blue windbreaker and dark pants shouted from the midst of several onlookers toting a purple flag emblazoned with several cryptic symbols (perhaps Buddhist) gathered around him at the edge of the beach as he hurled a rock into the ocean. “Kai!” the man shouted even louder a second time and threw his arms wide open as if to part the seas. “Kai!” the man shouted a third time and hurled another rock into the seas to the muffled “ohs and ahs” of the small band of followers.

“He’s commanding the heavens to open and for the storm to go away a way to prove the strength of his mojo to the others with him,” chortled Wei Lei before he taking a drag on a partially lit rain-flecked cigarette.

I remained silent, wanting to get a few benign snaps of their oceanside activities, but several of his followers were keeping a cautious eye on the laowai or the foreigner, who’s unexpectedly appeared in the middle of their ritual, and were watchful of my every move. It was obvious we were witnessing some sort of religious ceremony and to have begun blazing away at them with my camera would have most likely precipitated and incident as their apparent leader knelt, extended his arm and made signs with his hands.

Reminiscent of a standoff between gunfighters in an old spaghetti western, I eased my gun hand, err camera hand I meant to say, to the Sony dangling from my neck, and ever so slowly brought it to my eye so as not to startle the group below, who had now turned their attention to the shouts and gesticulations of the shaman. Pressing the shutter button, I snapped an image.

To our surprise, after about ten or fifteen minutes, the wind fell almost silent and the morning rain abated. One by one, golden rays of morning sunlight struggled through the parting clouds and cast a warm flaxen hue cast along the shore and among the irregular clusters of boulders.

Excited murmurings echoed through the little group as their seer set his gaze on the eastern horizon with a glow of self-satisfaction. Several of the devotees clasped their hands and bowed in reverence while a couple others recorded the magical event with small video cameras and on their smartphones.  His incantation had apparently worked… or was it really a matter of good timing in that the stiff wind would carry the clouds away anyway. Who’s to say?

Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Wei Lei and I wasted no time and scrambled to the water’s edge and began shooting away, getting as many images as we could before the local sunshine maker’s charm wore off. For the next hour or so, we scampered and hopped among the jagged, mossy rocks along the shoreline exploring the crystal clear tide pools for darting fish and scurrying crabs. On more than one occasion did my cycling shoes lose their purchase on the green slime sending me ankle and then knee deep into a surging tidepool. A happy, albeit squishy, day’s ride it was going to be while my shoes dried out.

For some reason, I never saw one starfish my entire time in Taiwan, unlike the beaches on the other side of the pond along the California coast where they can be seen in almost any tidepool or along the rocky shores.

Seeking the solitude and peace the ocean has to offer, several locals meditated alone and in twos and threes on the giant rocks overlooking the Sanxiantai beach. Like all good things, the sun gradually faded, the wind picked up, and the pitter patter of rain set upon us once again. It was time for us to continue our journey up the coast. “The east coast is most beautiful in the early morning light,” I thought to myself as we cycled away, bubbles of seawater percolating from my shoes with each pedal stroke. “Trail magic” exists for those who believe.

In Search of Paths Less Traveled

The charm of Taiwan’s sweeping ocean views was undeniable. After a week or so cycling along the west coast and southern end of the island, Zhang Wei Lei and I had settled into a good daily tempo of salty fresh breezes, turquoise ocean vistas and sandy seashores, so it was time to spice things up a bit and point our iron ponies toward the misty mountains flanking our route and venture off the beaten path in search of new adventures.

Most touring cyclists seem to stay on established cycling routes or main transportation corridors rather than attempting more challenging journeys to be found on the remote and infrequently traveled backroads the island has to offer, which is all fine by us because there is just that much more solitude for us to savor and enjoy.

Getting off the beaten path and into remote island locales is where the adventure and real sense of discovery lies.

With a quick tweak of the handlebars, we bid farewell to the No. 1 Cycling Route and dropped off the main highway and ascended into the less traveled, unpeopled mountain back roads that connected the smattering of remote, usually overlooked villages along the southeastern end of the island.

Working our way northward and inland, thick emerald carpeted mountain slopes replaced the broad ocean panoramas we’d grown accustomed to the past several days.

Steep emerald hills and steamy valleys covered with broad-leafed trees supplanted cobalt waters and salty breezes. The air fell calm and sticky as we cranked our way up the switchbacking road that snaked its way deeper and deeper into the tropic jungle. Beads of perspiration quickly turned into rivulets of sweat pouring off our bodies. Gone was the sweet salt air.

The cackling of tropic birds and the nervous cries of wild monkeys lurking in the treetops replaced the rhythm of the surf lapping at the ocean’s shore. We were in a different world.

Happening upon remote villages tucked away in hidden valleys and mountain glens, we occasionally stopped to partake of whatever sugary drinks we could find. Curious locals often wandered out for a gander or to quiet stare at the strangers in their midst.

Fifteen years of traveling in Asia has gotten me accustomed to being stared at. Smiles and giggles often accompany those bold enough to touch our bikes or pet the blond hair on my arms. Though life may be simple in the mountain hamlets, most everyone has some sort of a smartphone that they want to take a picture of them while posing alongside us by our bikes just to prove we were real.

Being we were wearing helmets, three-quarter length cycling pants and jerseys or windbreakers and riding odd looking bicycles decked out with electronic gadgets and laden with bags, not to mention me being light skinned and round-eyed — an obvious foreigner — the local were naturally drawn to see what the heck we were up to.

Many local villagers’ teeth, gums, and lips were stained red from chewing “bing lang,” an indigenous plant (also known as Betel Nut) they use as a stimulant and chewed similar to chewing tobacco. Many of what appeared to be long-term users of the herb were missing one or more of their lower front teeth.

Narrow paved country roads gradually turned into gravel double-track which turned into slick clay single track that threatened to clog our fenders as we trundled along. The climbing was often steep, pushing 10-15% grades while working our way over several heavily forested mountain ridges.

A towering, seemingly impenetrable gantlet of green tropical forest lay before us with the only way forward being the moist brown line of double track and greasy singletrack carved out on the jungle floor.

Riding along gravel paths we often spotted glimpses of howling wild monkeys darting overhead out of reach up in the branches, highly suspicious of the human rolling by on their two-wheeled contraptions on the jungle floor below.

On one occasion, high on a mountain ridge, Wei Lei and I could see a pair of large birds of prey, eagles I assume, soaring in circles overhead rising to cloud base on mid-day thermals before drifting out of sight.

We improvised our own route following narrow mountain paths among the moist broad-leafed trees and sections of double-track connecting tucked away villages and gradually worked our way north and east out of the mountains and dropped back on the coast road at the day’s end. Our little side trip had been nothing technical, just interesting stretches of backroad and mountain riding.

Crossing the Tropic of Cancer

A point of interest and popular tourist stop along the eastern coast is the Tropic Cancer landmark, which denotes the imaginary line that bisects the Taiwanese island along the 23.5º north of the equator demarcating the Tropical Zone to the south and the Subtropical Zone to the north. During the summer solstice when the sun’s rays shine down vertically, the poles cast no shadow.

Approaching from the south, traffic was light, save for a steady stream of tour buses had zoomed past us on their whirlwind island tour briefly hitting points of interest and then rushing onward to their next destination and start the entire process over with another band of hapless tourists who’d plunked down a hefty chunk of change to be hauled from one tourist spot to another and unloaded for too short periods of time to be rushed through gauntlets of touts and hawkers all plying the blurry-eyed masses in an effort to separate them from their hard-earned cash.

As we rolled up on the marker, prodigious throngs of tourists wondered about, temporarily set free from their diesel powered touring containers. Inevitably we waded into scads of Chinese, Korean, and Japanese tourists milling about the Tropic of Cancer marker, with many curious onlookers fiddling with and poking at our bike as we attempted to grab a few snaps. Some were so bold as to grab the handlebars and twist the shifters or tweak the mirrors. Nothing to do save for smiling a lot and politely directing them away.

One of three ladies walking abreast on the sidewalk bumped into Zhang Wei Lei’s bike knocking it over and snapping off his rear view mirror. Not one word of apology from any of the three — just blank stares. Amazing. And so goes the casualties of adventure cycling…

Indigenous natives and Taiwanese Han Chinese pretending to be indigenous natives sporting “genuine” ethnic dress squawked on the karaoke boxes dancing “authentic” tribal dances to welcome the throngs of road and bus weary tourist in the hopes for separating them from some their money.

Other tourists leaning against fancy tour buses and smoking cigarettes flashed me a “thumbs up” with expressions of appreciation and possibly even a glimmer of envy as I rolled our bikes to the base of the marker.

Numerous large tour buses created long lines at the restrooms. Loud uncouth tourists that spit and elbowed their way even into the washroom hastened my desire to split this scene. We had our obligatory photos. It was time to blow this tourist trap and get back on the road again.

The Adventure Continues in Part 3…

Coming up in the final installment: Taiwanese hospitality, culture, and cuisine, to include a few highlights around Taipei and the northern end of the island.  I’m also going to touch on my bike, the set-up and gear used, and assessment of what worked and didn’t work.

Please comment and let me know what you think. Your thoughts and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Feel free to share and like me on Facebook.

As always, best regards and thank you for your support, Johnny.