Day 1 Part 1: Escaping the airport with my bicycle

After a twelve-and-a-half-hour flight, and not yet five in the morning, our Boeing Triple 7 descended in the darkness toward Taipei's Taoyuan Airport. I was beginning a two-week, 1,000-kilometre cycling adventure around Taiwan. Marcus (who some of you will remember is the name of my bicycle) looked lonely waiting by himself in the oversized baggage area, still comfortably packed in a large box.

Getting away from the airport was my first challenge, which I knew beforehand might be. My route south was close to the airport, but the road in front of the two terminal buildings is considered a highway and cycling there is frowned upon. I had read stories of people leaving the airport on their bicycles and being stopped by the police. One person apparently played dumb and kindly received a police escort to a road nearby. I considered doing that but instead asked an airport security officer if I could ride my bike from the airport.

It was an emphatic, NO! He told me I could take the MRT train two stops from the airport and leave from there, With one hand, I dragged my bike box to the level below, and with the other hand clutched my two pannier bags (wondering why they seemed heavier than when I packed them). When I got to the ticket kiosk, I was told I couldn’t take the box on the train; I had to take a taxi. I schlepped everything back to the arrivals hall and joined the taxi rank.

Me, pretending to be a bike mechanic

At Kengkou station, I opened the box and got to work as a bike tech, putting Marcus together. The front wheel, handlebars, pedals, and seat, they all went into place relatively easily. I even adjusted the front fender to stop it from rubbing on the tire, but I couldn’t set the front brakes correctly. Just as I was about to give up and leave without front brakes (I’d find a bike shop later on), two cyclists outfitted in lycra and riding expensive bikes rolled into the station.

“Would you be able to adjust my brakes?” I asked, looking incompetent and pointing to the front of my bike?

They leaned their bikes against a glass wall and one of them, Teddy, pulled out a small tool kit and started working on the brakes, as if he knew what he was doing.

“Did you just arrive?” his fiend asked.

“Yes, from Canada.”

“Are you cycling around the island?”

“Yes, have you done it before?”

“About ten years ago. It’s good you’re doing it counter clockwise, you’ll have the wind at your back on the way down.”

He seemed to downplay the notion of a headwind when I get to the east side of the island head back north. Cross that bridge when I get there, but on these first few days, I’d gladly take to the wind at my back.

Teddy and his friend, saving me from mechanical incompetence

I left the station without my esim working, which meant riding blinding through the roads around the airport without any navigational assistance. I relied on memory from the times I studied the route at home on Google Maps. I went in a westerly direction until I found highway 61, which generally runs north-south along the coast.

Thankfully, most of the traffic stays on the newer elevated freeway, leaving scooters, some transport vehicles, and dozens of cyclists like me on the roadway below. I couldn’t escape the industrial blight for the first 30 kilometres. My view was of massive chemical plants and factories, as I passed one industrial park after another. Interestingly, despite these buildings of commerce, interspersed were small plots of land being farmed. Nature, trying to hold on to a scrap of land and thumbing its nose at the force of industry.

At the Yonghan Fishing Village, I welcome the diversion from the highway. And came to a 7-11 that looked like a biker hangout. And by bikers, I’m not talking the Hell’s Angels, but rather the spandex kind of biker. I went inside and bought some water and a banana. I sat down at one of the tables and noticed that people were eating hot soup and other equally hot dishes from prepackaged containers.

When I asked, someone pointed to the microwaves behind the cash register. I got up and perused the coolers filled with bowls of food, choosing the duck soup with ginger and sesame oil.   

Look for part two of my first day, when finding a hotel becomes the challenge I didn’t expect.

Near the airport, a warren of small lanes leads to small residential neighbourhoods and temples

For the first 30 kilometres, I followed Highway 61