How I Cycled from Farmland to the Mountains of Taiwan
1–24 Cycle Trail (Taiwan)
20th July 2024
I have been a bit slow with writing blogs lately. This is because I am now busier at work for the next two months due to Summer Camp, which means longer hours and feeling drained when it comes to my writing time. However, here is a blog about an adventure I undertook on the 20th of July.
Yunlin County
After completing the 1–25 cycle trail through Changhua County, Nantou County, and Taichung City, I embarked on the 1–24 trail, located a little further south. This trail starts in Douliu City in Yunlin County, where I headed eastwards towards the mountains, eventually turning southwest towards Chiayi City in Chiayi County.
This journey took me out of my comfort zone, with inclines that certainly caused my thighs to burn. I ventured away from the safety net of being close to the main train line, heading into unknown territory on my cycling adventure.
I caught a morning train down to Douliu, where the city was bustling with people enjoying the warm Saturday. Street markets were open, and breakfast spots were full, leaving me eager to escape all the noise.
I first made my way to Taiping Old Street, a lengthy thoroughfare located in the heart of the city. This street has long served as the main commercial area of Douliu and as an access route for villages to the north and south. Many of the buildings, showcasing a Baroque style, date back over 90 years, providing a glimpse into the local architecture of the past century. Taiping Old Street has much to offer, from traditional snacks to historic buildings.
Heading east out of the city, I planned to follow Highway 3 for the majority of the journey. Navigating through the city streets to reach the highway would have been more challenging without the modern convenience of GPS on my phone.
I passed a temple at one of the main junctions in the city. The golden statue atop the roof of this historic temple is Guanyin, the goddess of mercy, who is regarded as the physical embodiment of compassion. As I looked up at her, I felt her gaze upon me, with the blue sky behind enhancing her golden glow.
This is the official sign for the route. I paused for a moment after completing my short ride through Douliu. Ahead of me lay a bike trail that had been transformed into a construction site, alongside a main road and the mountains in the distance. I stepped off my bike, applied a layer of sunscreen, stretched my joints, and took deep breaths before setting off. “Here we go again,” I thought to myself as I gulped down some cool water.
I followed the main road, keeping as far to the right as possible. The road sign for Gukeng Township hung above me. I had only been there once, during my days of riding a scooter. A memory surfaced of exploring the mountains near Gukeng, struggling to find a fuel station for what felt like ages, which forced me to freewheel down the mountain. Running on fumes, I desperately stopped to ask someone who was buying food at the side of the road for directions. I followed them to a fuel station and remember feeling grateful for the kindness of a stranger.
Fortunately, this time I needed no fuel — just my legs.
I reached my first point of interest on this trail: Gukeng Green Tunnel Park. It features a long road lined with trees on either side, which have grown together to create a leafy canopy that provides shade from the sun.
A little further along, I came across a bustling street market. It offered a variety of goods, from cakes and vegetables to unique items like ornaments and toys. I had to weave in and out of the crowds, dodging children who aimlessly ran into my path — I’m convinced they have zero survival skills!
As I passed, I could hear music and laughter, and I would have loved to linger longer, sample some of the food, and sit under the shade of a tree while enjoying a refreshing honey tea. However, I pressed on; I didn’t want to be stranded in the mountains after dark.
I felt in high spirits; the buzz of the market and the greenery of the countryside had lifted my mood. I tried to ignore the heat that made my T-shirt cling to my back.
Life was good, and I was thoroughly enjoying the ride.
As I departed from the bustle of the street market and my close proximity to Douliu City, the countryside began to quiet down. I could hear the whistling of birds and the rustle of lizards scurrying into the leaves as I passed by. I spotted an old bungalow, its roof undulating like ocean currents, with paint that had begun to fade. Nature was slowly reclaiming the land on which the house stood. Like all old, abandoned homes, I wished they could talk, sharing the stories of times long gone.
I stopped to admire the view, feeling liberated by the expanse of green around me. The road I was on was practically silent, despite being a main thoroughfare. I listened to the warm breeze rustling the grass and watched as the distant betel nut trees swayed gently. Looking up at the sun, I wished for the clouds to thicken just slightly to give me a chance to cool down; little did I know how soon that wish would be granted further along the trail.
White butterflies fluttered around me, too quick to photograph, so I kept my phone in my pocket. A truck passed me on my left, jolting my senses back to reality. I needed to keep going, but I’m someone who easily gets distracted by the beauty of nature.
I spotted this structure on the side of the road and was quite impressed by it. Construction was still underway, and while I had no idea what it was, I knew it was related to Buddhism. As I paused to admire it, I noticed two men working on the stone flooring. The bright white stones glinted in the sunlight, causing me to squint.
The mountains I was heading towards were shrouded in a low cloud, appearing much darker in the distance. I looked forward to the promise of rain as the heat was becoming scorching. However, I felt a twinge of unease about the thunderstorms rumbling in the distance; I certainly didn’t want to get struck by lightning.
The main road I was on was almost deserted, with only the occasional car or truck passing by. I stayed to the far right as I tried to take in the view.
I truly admire the natural beauty of Yunlin County. While it has much to offer as a travel destination, it often takes a backseat to the other counties. Many people simply pass through on their way to more popular places, which, of course, makes the county quieter for those of us who want to explore.
As I crossed a bridge, I considered taking a ten-minute break to rest by the river, wading through the shrubs at the side of the road. However, I ultimately decided to press on; the shrubs looked nearly impossible to navigate, and it would have been more of a hassle to climb back up the hill afterward. So, I continued with my journey.
Some of the roads in Yunlin County were truly wonderful to ride. Long stretches of shade, created by overhanging trees, lined the route. To my right and left were pockets of forest, with farm fields on the other side. The road remained quiet, allowing me to savour the slow pace of life. One of my little joys while cycling was looking up at the tangled branches above, catching glimpses of the sun’s rays piercing through the gaps.
I felt at peace, listening to the gentle clicking of my chain as I glided along the country road.
Chiayi County
I had finally crossed into the eastern corner of Yunlin and entered the county of Chiayi. Meishan Township is a mountainous town that lies far from the main train line. I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings, watching as the mountains drew closer with every push of the pedal.
I was still a short ride away from the centre of Meishan, remaining in the countryside. I tried to figure out the purpose of a building I spotted on the border. A long wall topped with barbed wire encircled it, and I initially thought it was a prison; however, it looked a bit too run-down to be a facility meant to secure the country’s most dangerous individuals.
I still wanted to stop and appreciate as much as I could. I have never been one of those cyclists who rush to cover miles just to reach their destination as quickly as possible. Cycling allows me to slow down and take in the views. With the change of county came a change of scenery, as the mountains drew closer and the landscape transformed into more hilly terrain. Yunlin was largely farmland.
I watched as an egret swooped down into the water, likely trying its best to catch a fish, though I couldn’t tell if it succeeded. If it weren’t for the main road, I would have felt like I was in the middle of the wilderness, but with Taiwan being a small island, civilization is never too far away.
Meishan Township looked like any other small town in Taiwan, with its usual cheaply constructed architecture and the same types of businesses found everywhere else. This came as no surprise to me.
Originally, the town was situated at the foot of a hill, serving as a passage for business people. Meishan Township was initially called Meizaihkung Village. During the Japanese colonial period, it was renamed “Meizaikung District” and later “Siaomei Village.” After restoration, it was changed to “Meishan,” a name that is still in use today.
The heavens soon blessed me with welcoming rain. While others sought shelter, I embraced its coolness on my skin, looking up at the darkened clouds and letting the drops fall on my face. I felt like a big child, even laughing as my overheated body began to feel replenished and fresh. I could tell the townspeople thought I was a bit eccentric — a strange foreigner passing through on a bike, laughing in the rain.
I would be talked about for years to come!
The slow cycle up the hill through Meishan was leisurely yet enjoyable. At the top, I was greeted with some stunning views. This was the main road leading closer to the tourist area of Alishan. A lone scooter photobombed my shot of the road and the betel nut trees in the distance, but I must say I didn’t mind — it actually added character to the photo.
It was a perfect image that encapsulated Taiwan; it just needed a temple to make it complete.
The adventure was becoming more challenging, but that was to be expected. With the hardship of the ride came a greater sense of adventure and wildness. The forests grew denser, the mountains became steeper, and my heart raced faster. This was why I rode — to immerse myself in the environment around me. I wanted it to push me to my limits, to feel every ache and pain, as well as every moment of relief and happiness. I wanted to experience the heat of the sun and the coolness of the rain. I longed to grunt and curse as I pedaled up the steep slopes, only to be rewarded with laughter and joy as I descended the other side. This was the adventure I had been seeking.
As you can see from the picture above, the smile on my face was genuine. I was truly happy and in harmony with the world around me. At that moment, I was pedalling up the mountain, slowly approaching the highest point of my entire trip — around 210 meters. While that might not seem high to many, it certainly was for me, especially given the steep incline. I had noticed my tolerance for uphill cycling was gradually increasing; with each trip, my legs grew stronger, and I was more mentally prepared, only giving up when I had truly given it my all.
When I stopped briefly at the top, resting my body on my handlebars, it was nice to stand on ground where gravity wasn’t plotting against me. The air was warm, but it felt slightly cooler than when I was cycling through Yunlin. I watched as motorbikes whizzed past — a group of men enjoying their ride through the mountains. Moments after they passed, a rumbling sound joined the scene: thunder. I noticed the sky above me darkening, the wind picking up, and the pitter-patter of rain beginning to increase. I was about to descend the other side in a storm.
I put my phone away, opting not to make videos or take photos; I wanted to enjoy the reward of a fast ride down. I pedalled my legs a bit to gain enough speed, just fast enough to remain borderline safe. The road curved left and right, and I followed it like water in a stream. The drizzle began to pelt my face, tapping against the exposed areas of my body, while the whooshing sound of the wind funneled into my ears. I let out a little “whoohoo” to release my excitement and found myself singing ‘Black Betty,’ though I was so caught up in the moment that I couldn’t tell if it was real or just a figment of my imagination.
As the road began to level out and then transitioned into a small incline, I felt truly alive. Surrounded by trees and mountains, I looked up at the thick forest as the betel nut trees swayed gently above me. The thunder was loud, a continuous rumble reverberating with little pause, sounding like a giant’s footsteps stomping through the land. It was so loud that I could tell I was nearly under the storm cloud. A part of me was screaming, “This isn’t safe; we need to go,” but as I said before, I had never felt so alive.
I felt small amidst the magnitude of nature surrounding me, and it felt liberating — as if all the little things I once deemed important, all my problems, stress, and worries, vanished in that moment.
Before long, I was leaving the wild behind, putting the rumbling storm cloud at my back and, thankfully, avoiding any lightning strikes in the process. Taiwanese summer storms can be quite brutal, especially given the humidity and the towering mountains that dot the island. That day, I faced one of my little fears — being exposed to the mountains during a storm.
I felt liberated.
As I arrived in the town of Zhuqi, I realised I didn’t know much about the place, other than that it lies on the Alishan train line. It has a history with bamboo, as there are bamboo forests nearby, along with lush tea plantations and, of course, traditional Taiwanese temples. In fact, as I was entering the town, I stopped on a bridge to take a photo of the river and the mountain with the slow-moving storm cloud above. From behind the trees to my left, I could hear music and drums playing from the temple. I didn’t bother going to check it out, as I was already familiar with such occurrences; similar things happen at temples near my home in Changhua. However, with the dramatic mountainous backdrop, the storm, and the beating of the drums, it was an unforgettable way to enter the town.
I took a moment to rest beside this statue, which I believe perfectly depicts life in the town — a rural connection. It features a farmer with a young boy, pulling a cart with the help of their cows. I didn’t stay long; it was just a brief pause to drink some water and catch my breath.
I momentarily veered off the 1–24 and followed a smaller cycle path that ran alongside the Alishan train tracks. It was a pleasant diversion that provided a break from the traffic, which, as you may know from my previous blogs, isn’t the best in the world. Unfortunately, no train passed by as I had hoped, but the views remained largely unchanged — rural countryside framed by mountains and storms.
As I came off the path, I followed the sign for Chiayi City, gradually making my way toward my destination. I just needed to pedal a little longer.
Chiayi City
I was cycling on Road 159, which, according to the map, would take me from the mountains straight into the heart of the city and the train station. This was great news, as I now had no excuses for getting lost.
As I approached the border of Chiayi City, I noticed how the landscape began to change; buildings started replacing trees, the rumble of cars took over from the rumble of thunder, and the sight of birds was replaced by the hustle and bustle of people. I kept pedalling, and my legs felt better than ever. As I passed a garage where two men and a woman stood outside, they began to cheer me on, pumping their arms in the air. I laughed and joined in, raising my arms and giving them a thumbs-up.
The road was wet and filled with puddles from the storm that had just passed through. Like a big kid, I couldn’t resist swaying my bike through the brown puddles, leaving my legs soaked in the process.
Before entering Chiayi City, I faced one final incline that caught me off guard. According to Google Maps, the route was supposed to be mostly downhill.
“Noooo!” I exclaimed, my laughter attempting to mask my disappointment. I wasn’t ready for another hill, especially after enjoying all those declines. I pressed on, but my legs could only do so much to carry me up and over this hill. Eventually, I had to concede defeat; I had pushed my body just a step too far.
The valley below was stunning, with clouds nestled between the hills, creating a scene that looked like it belonged on a painting. Nature truly is beautiful.
I had finally made it to Chiayi City. There wasn’t much to say about the ride in; many of the cities in Taiwan, especially the suburban areas, tend to look quite similar. I continued to enjoy splashing through the puddles while observing the lively atmosphere around me. I’ve always been a people-watcher (in a non-creepy way). I find joy in trying to piece together snippets of people’s lives and imagining what they might be doing at that moment.
This was a perfect example of an interesting sight while people-watching. The metal bin with holes on the side is used by Buddhists to send ghost money to the other side. As I stopped at the red lights, I noticed an elderly woman engaging in this practice. She smiled and nodded at me, and I returned the gesture. I watched as she slowly tossed the ghost money into the fire, the smoke rising from the flickering flames. It’s heartening to see such traditions still alive amidst the hustle and bustle of modern city life.
I noticed I was passing one of Chiayi City’s most prominent tourist attractions: Hinoki Village. This charming spot offers a glimpse into Japan’s influence on Taiwan during the early 20th century. Hinoki Village was originally constructed as a residential area for Japanese officials and workers during the colonial period, and the buildings are made from well-preserved hinoki cypress wood.
Today, these structures house shops, cafés, and cultural exhibits. I treated myself to a refreshing watermelon juice that was absolutely delightful.
As I enjoyed my drink, a woman walked past and asked, “How much for a day?” while pointing at my bike. She must have assumed I had hired it. “It’s my bike,” I replied with a smile, tapping my chest. She laughed and asked, “Oh, okay. How much did you pay?” I wasn’t sure how to answer, as my wife had bought the bike for me as a gift. I simply said, “Around 7000 NTD,” and she nodded her head before continuing on with her family.
The End
I left the 1–24 trail and headed straight for the station. There was no point in straying further from my desired destination. Life was moving at full speed once again, with people walking by in a hurry and cars coming in and out to drop off or pick up passengers. I spotted a man who is often outside the station, sitting in his wheelchair with a phone propped up on a stick, doing karaoke — a Taiwanese twist on busking, I suppose.
I quickly popped into the restroom to change out of my sweat-drenched T-shirt and into a fresh Hawaiian shirt (I’m a fan of them). When I came out, I found a 100 NTD note on the floor. I looked around to see if anyone had dropped it or if it was one of those moments where someone was sneakily filming for a social experiment, like I’d seen on YouTube many times. It wasn’t.
I shrugged and pocketed it; the universe had provided me with the funds for my train ride home. It was the perfect end to an extraordinary adventure. Not only had I conquered the mountains and felt the raw power of nature with thunderclouds rolling just above my head, but I had also immersed myself in the rich tapestry of Taiwanese culture within these remote communities, far from the main line.
It’s incredible how much more interesting life becomes when you simply leave your home and hop on a bike. This adventure has reminded me that sometimes, the most unforgettable experiences await just beyond our doorstep.
