Switching Coasts

After a day off, I was eager to get back on the road. And this day is one I had been anticipating. Like the back of a dragon, the mountains in Taiwan rise up and stretch along the length of the country, creating a natural barrier between the west and east coasts. My challenge was to climb over the tail end of those mountains and drop down the other side. With a total elevation gain of 600+ metres and 65 kilometres of riding, I was ready.

I chose route 199, a road many suggested is good for cyclists. While I’d have to climb higher than if I took the main road, there would be fewer vehicles. A good tradeoff, I thought.

One of several rivers and streams on my journey.

From Checheng, my cycle map took me in a roundabout way, I’m guessing to miss the main north-south road. When I came to the imposing Checheng Zhenan Temple, I thought I had stumbled on the set of a war movie. But these weren’t actors. Soldiers, with massive guns slung over their shoulders had set up camp on the temple grounds. I came up to one, and asked if I could pass through. She looked at me with indifference; an indication she didn’t speak English. I continued on, waiting to be told off, but as I passed other soldiers, no one said anything.

It wasn’t the first time I’d come across soldiers doing soldiering things. Because Taiwan’s neighbour to the west and across the sea threatens invasion, the military here is always on a state of readiness. And along the coast, large concrete barriers have been positioned to make an attack and landing from the sea more difficult.

The mountains are a pleasant contrast with Taiwan’s busy cities

The first big climb began with a series of switchbacks outside Mudan, the last place to stock up on water. I put the bike in a low gear and watched the village grow smaller and smaller. The vegetation was lush, and the humidity soaked my body. Coming down the road toward me was a solo walker.

“Jayo,” she said.

It was a word I would hear several more times. It’s widely used as an expression of encouragement, such as “go for it” or “keep going.”

Along route 199 are murals and art depicting stories of the Indigenous peoples of southern Taiwan, including the Paiwan

At the halfway point, I decided it was time for a snack break. I pulled out an apple, and a small bun I had loaded with peanut butter at breakfast, and enjoyed the mountain scenery.

Breaks on the road are fleeting, and so I got back on the bike and continued, which meant some more climbing. A car drove by, and someone inside yelled, “jayo!” I hadn’t seen another cyclist until a guy wheeled past me on the uphill. As I pulled out my water bottle, he had his in his hand and said, “cheers,” with what sounded like an Australian accent.

Throughout the day, I kept thinking of Mylie Cyrus’ song The Climb.

There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb

The struggles I'm facing
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down, but
No, I'm not breaking

I may not know it
But these are the moments, that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going

And I, I gotta be strong
Just keep pushing on, 'cause
There's always gonna be another mountain

Me, at the top of another mountain

The road went higher and higher. Yellow and black butterflies followed, seemingly handing me off to their friends who kept showing me the way. Coming to the crest of a hill, I could see the east coast for the first time and the blue Pacific washing off to the horizon. Around a few corners, the vista opened up. “So beautiful. So beautiful,” I said out loud. The green mountains descending to the sea. Adding to the magic was a flight of dragonflies dancing in front of me.

The stunning green mountains of southern Taiwan and the Pacific in the distance

A little bit higher, the road joined route 9. It was here where gravity rewarded me for the climb by giving me a fantastic downhill that lasted almost ten kilometres. Leaning into turn after turn, I zipped down the mountain, reaching speeds of 40+ km/h. With almost no cars on the road, I took up half the lane. The exhilaration was balanced by the thought that there was no room for error, from both me and my machine.  

The fun swiftly ended when I came to the coast. Waiting for me was a very strong reminder that the wind would not be in my favour, as I began making my way north.    

Fortifications along the coast make an invasion and landing by sea more difficult