Taipei to Hualian

Travel Story by John Phillips

Taiwan

Have you heard the one about the blinged-up gangster, the guy who wears baggy jeans that hang closer to his ankles than his waist, who has gold medallions that would make Mr. T’s neck ache, and who goes shopping with his mother? Unfortunately it’s not a gag. Our hero lives in Hualian, a small town on Taiwan’s difficult-to-reach east coast, so perhaps it’s forgivable that some of the rules of street cred get lost or re-interpreted.

On the day I arrived, Hualian looked like an ant colony after somebody had poured boiling water into it. It was difficult to conceive of a single inhabitant who wasn’t on the high street, and it seemed they were all riding scooters, generating a cocophony of beeps and honks usually only heard at Italian football team celebrations. As it turned out, neither football nor boiling water were the catalysts for this throng of activity. It was the last day before Chinese New Year, and every man, woman, child, gangster and their moms were stocking up for the festivities.

I was also adding to the traffic chaos, having just arrived in town by motorcycle. I’d been meaning to do a cross-continent motorcycle journey ever since I was a teenager when I first read about Che Guevara’s character-defining exploration of Latin America. My own trip was on a somewhat smaller scale. From Taipei in the north, to the tip of Taiwan in the south is roughly 400 miles – the kind of distance Che would cover in a lazy afternoon.

And… I have a confession to make. Nothing would delight me more than to tell you I was on a Harley-Davidson-esque touring bike. And while I would love to tell you about the growl of the 500cc engine as I nonchalantly flipped up and down the gears, in reality I did the trip on a 125cc automatic scooter.

On Highway 9, the angry and gravelly road that took us to Hualian, a potential plunge into the Pacific or an oncoming gravel truck lurk around every blind hairpin. As it happened, I felt much safer on a bike that stops quickly than one that accelerates quickly.

After a day of riding, we pulled into Taroko Gorge National Park in pitch darkness. Campsites abounded and we were never asked to pay for using the facilities. Some of the sites are lit, and running water and showers are standard features. On the banks of the river that cuts through Taroko, an adventure playground of boulders and rocks serve as a timeline of volcanic and seismic activity. Whitewashed by millenia of water, a huge boulder announces itself amongst the green vegetation. For the not-so-squeamish, a rope bridge with waist-high railings hangs above the gorge offering aerial views. The solitary day that our schedule permitted us to stay in Taroko was never going to be adequate, and I suspect that even after a week there would still be nooks and crannies, trails and waterfalls unexplored.

Contrasted with the curves and turns of Highway 9, Highway 11, which we joined south of Hualian, was a biker’s dream, and for the first time on the trip we could really open the bikes up. An obelisk by the roadside informed us that we had entered the Tropic of Cancer. At the occaisional stop off for the obligatory sweet potato, the friendliness and inquisitiveness of the locals was unremitting, but with just four days to ride the length of the country, as we zoomed through bustling market towns and deserted beaches, it often felt like watching a trailer for a movie that I’d never get to see.

The more I saw, the more I became convinced that southern Taiwan bares little resemblence to the metropolitan bubble of my home in Taipei. The tropical vegataion was the kind of light green that one expects to see in Thailand or Laos. An elephant emerging from the undergrowth would hardly have seemed out of place.

As we entered the final leg of the journey, a helpful traffic cop told us about a shortcut used by the locals. It was called Route 199. As we approached Kending, a seaside holiday town, Route 9 had become heavily congested with holiday makers and several near misses with aggressive car drivers were enough to convince us that Route 199 would make an attractive alternative.

We were told that a Buddhist temple would mark the entrance to Route 199, but it was almost impossible to find. Having driven past it once, we re-traced our journey and explored every single turn-off, no matter how small. Entering one such turn off, we quickly discovered that we had driven up a dead end, and had gatecrashed an aboriginal wedding. All the women and girls were dancing in a big circle, while the men sat around and watched. It reminded me of my first high school disco. The women invited me to join the dancing but it quickly became apparent that I lacked the co-ordination, so pretty soon I was sitting down again with the rest of the males.

After eventually finding Route 199, we accelerated towards Kending, our final destination. Lying on Taiwan’s southern coast, Kending is a seaside town that attracts holiday-makers from all over the country, especially during the peak times like Chinese New Year. Heavy traffic and roadside go-kart circuits indicated that we were nearing Kending, and even after four days of riding a scooter it proved impossible to resist a quick race in the go-karts.

High on adrenalin from the race, we completed the final stretch into Kending in triumphant mood. We had ridden the entire length of the country, overcoming both torrential rain and appaling roads.  And as we shared our tales in the bars that evening, it was hard to ignore that strong feeling of a sense of achievement, from undertaking a true challenge.

Illustration by Bob Veon
(Bob Veon's Website)

Read more about the author of this story:
John Phillips

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