I have had some of the best days of my 20s up in the hills around Taipei – the days spent up there rooted in my memory. That’s why I was so delighted that, after six years of pestering, Ken finally decided to come up to Taipei for a round of mountain biking. Sadly, I managed to miss my alarm call leaving the rest of the guys stranded at Starbucks without us, but Ken and I managed none-the-less to string together a great day of riding and catching up before my departure.
Looking out from Starbucks at the rainMaking some adjustments to the Heckler brakesA new office chair post will probably change the riding dynamic; ie: less chatting!Need to do more of this in future.The rock drop section is never a cake-walk, but heading into this cameras blazing, knowing it was going to be my last attempt in a long time, combined with fuzzy status of medical insurance, definitely sapped my fluidity.The addition of steps on the intermediate section is not my favourite modification to the trail'Honestly, this is the way!'
I am itching to see what the trails are going to be like in San Francisco, and beyond …
This is the big one: 248km, 5,072m of climbing, peaking at a mighty 3275m. Taichung to Hualien by bike, with my friend and colleague Tony.
Bisecting the ridge of mountains that run down the centre of the island, the most direct route leaves Taichung and follows Route 14 up to Puli, through Renai, and switches onto the old Route 8 before reaching the peak and dropping down into Toroko on the way to the coast.
Step one was therefore to get the bikes down to Taichung on the HSR. There is an good guide to travelling with bikes on the train network here at Taiwan in Cycles. I have travelled with both road and mountain bikes on the HSR, but only in a large, padded bag. This time, we had heavy-weight rubbish bags supplied by Alljack Models. We planned on recycling them, carrying them with us to use on the return trip (more on that later).
Tony at the HSR station
Spicy, greasy food and one too many beers was not the finest foundation to getting a good night of sleep, so I awoke the next day feeling pretty depleted when we met Joel and Diego. They offered to show us some more interesting back roads out of the back of Taichung, avoiding the overcrowded route 14 up to Puli; screw the most direct route.
Day 1 – Taichung to Lushan, via Guosing
The morning light pouring through the trees and the beautiful scenery was an effective pain-killer substitute. Tony and I were treated to some strenuous climbing and sinuous descending before the guys peeled off back for base. Therefore, by the time we got to the lunch stop at the beginning of the climb up to Renai, we had already done a serious 75km ride, and still had 40km of climbing to our accommodation in Lushan.
With my Garmin GPS merrily chirping each time we passed a km marker, and with an eye on the altitude, we slowly winched ourselves up the hill to Renai. It is pretty well graded, and we were lucky with a pleasant temperature and mild tail wind, but still, crawling up through the 1000m altitude barrier seemed to take an age. A stop at a kindly fruit seller was sorely needed to recharge our batteries and push trough the final 12 km.
Call it lack of research or planning, but I had accommodation booked in Lushan that was about 150m further down the valley. I had to tolerate the harassed stare of Tony, as I cheerfully pointed out where we were staying: it meant a steep descent that we knew we had to climb again the following morning.
A relaxed evening of eating dinner (twice), and hot springs, meant I slept much better, and was in much better shape the next morning (be aware that the Family Mart is not 24hr, so buy breakfast the night before). For reference, we stayed at the Minglu Hotel, and they were fine with us having bikes in the room.
Tony on the road out of Taichung, the sun rising in front of us.Joel, Diego and Tony point the way up through the first of the day's climbingStopping to admire the local graphics designTake a look in the mirrorMy pack list included flip flops and trash bags. Tony's included an entire Apple store.Alternative modes of transportTeam photo – thanks to Diego and Joel – awesome riding chaps!Wide-screen ridingTony makes a new friendYummy pears!
Day 2 – Lushan to Xincheng
The opening climb dispatched (and insults swatted away), we again reached Renai and the start of the climb proper. Keeping a decent cadence, we passed increasingly unlikely hotels and resorts, themed to resemble Swiss chalets, German villages, and imagined English mountain-top castles. The GPS chirping less frequently than I would have liked, we slowly winched our way up the hill, stopping at the 7-11s that we passed to keep the fluids topped up and energy maintained. There were plenty of other cyclists on the road – many that we bumped into multiple times on the climb – but we were humbled when we chatted to two guys on folding bikes (sporting speakers and huge luggage panniers) that said they woke at 2am to ride up from Taichung to the peak in one day. Respect.
Altitude definitely begins to become a factor when you hit 1500-2000m, and it became increasingly difficult to keep the momentum up steep sections and keep from hyperventilating. But still the kilometres passed by (bleep!), and the good weather and increasingly beautiful views kept the motivation boiling. But things were beginning to get difficult, and it was clear we were beginning to dig deeper and deeper to keep the cranks turning; I lost count of the number of times I looked down to check I really was in my lowest gear.
Leaving behind the last of the tourist honey pots, the tree cover receded, the road narrowed and the conversation dropped. We had reached cycling purgatory, and the last minutes of climbing were among the hardest physical ordeals I have ever been through. Cadence had dropped to a level where it was a challenge to even stay upright. Finally, we broke through the throng of cars and people, less than gracefully dismounted, and climbed the steps up to the 3275m sign; we had done it. Chirp indeed!
One Tony’s riding buddies in Austin is in charge of a battalion of army attack helicopters. His reaction to our climb was as follows:
You likely experienced hypemic hypoxia above 10K’ as do pilots. The lack of partial pressure of O2 degrades your motor skills and vision. We’re only aloud to fly above 10K’ for 30 minutes, then back below. Stay safe.
Stopping for some quick snaps on the bridge out of LushanUp in the cloudsTony smiling, though not sure why, as he was complaining like a big baby for most of the opening km 🙂The morning sunlight was lovely – starting at 6:30am or soThe Old England Hotel in RenaiDay 2 climbing classed as 'adequate'Passing through the tree line, and the road narrowsThe soul-destroying final kilometres up to the summit … that line carved in the side of the mountain was to be our prison on wheels3118m … no wait shouldn't that be 3275m?Ever more people joined our victory photo, until we ended up with about 20 people in the photo; some of which I am not even sure cycled upView from the other side, looking over to the restaurant on the right
And so onto the descent – how does 100km sound, through some of the most stunning scenery in Asia?
Suitably fuelled with hot food and tea at the mountain-top restaurant, we pointed our bikes downwards. The euphoric high of reaching the top probably meant I lacked some self control, and I had to remind myself to slow down to avoid disappearing over a cliff edge into oblivion. With the GPS merrily chirping away, we descended back through the tree line, the train station a solid 100km away. The descent is actually less steep than the climb, and for that reason it seemed to take an age to drop back down through each successive 100m attitude mark.
Stopping occasionally to allow my hands to unfold (my ring fingers welded themselves shut), and recompose ourselves, we hugged cliffs, shot over bridges, squirted our through endless switchbacks, cyclo-crossed our way over landslides, and bounced over pot holes caused by rocks smashing into the road. Seasons shifted and temperatures dropped as we dropped through misty clouds, and we had to hold on for grim life as we went through blind, completely unlit tunnels, with the only light bouncing off the reflectors on the walls to show the way. Hint: whatever you do, bring lights.
We passed over original Eiffel bridges, imported from Vietnam after the communists took power, circled past thousand year trees and slowly the km markers began to show we were coming within shooting distance of Tianxiang – the town at the mouth of Toroko Gorge. I had tickets booked on the 17:30 train (I thought this would be generous), but with light just beginning to fade it was clear time was limited; we were to be descending for a full four and half hours.
I was positive that Tianxiang was a town at some altitude, but it turns out it is at a lowly 600m, a mere 30km from the mouth of the river feeding into the Pacific Ocean. Tony and I upped the pace, surging through the marble rock formations and past the throngs of day-trippers staring up the vertical canyon walls. I had actually imagined that we would stop to take it all in, but like horses running quicker as they approach the stables, we found the energy reserves to steam through it with nary a backwards glance. Streamlining buses, we shot through the last of the tunnels and emerged onto the flood plain and rolled into Xincheng train station: we had done it.
Stopping to move food from my bag to my pockets (Clif Shot Blocks are perfect, by the way)Crossing a real Eiffel bridge on the descentYep – meant for Vietnam, apparentlyEndless switchback heaven. Make sure to employ the mirrors on the turns though – some traffic always seemed to come the other way at the least opportune momentBridge crossingThe weather shifted quickly on the way down – much like our Nenggao mission we had a downpour mid-afternoon. Be prepared.
We had soundly missed our original train at 17:30, so I went to buy tickets for the 18:00 train (luckily they still had seats). We went to buy some beer and nosh, and then walked up to the gate with out tickets … our bikes were not allowed on! Arguing didn’t help, so we went to talk to the ticket seller; he suggested we take the ‘bike train’ (didn’t he see my bike helmet earlier?). We were delighted to see that they had actually laid on dedicated carriages for bicycles, with their own seating. Never has an Asahi tasted so good.
Carriage detailsHow insanely great is this?!All's well that ends well
Taiwan’s natural environment is a wonderland for outdoor sports; I have long said that it could be an Asian version of New Zealand. Some sports, such as cycling and hiking, already have a strong foothold, but the scale and breadth of the natural resources on offer here mean many more activities are possible.
River tracing (or river trekking) has been on the rise in Taiwan in the last few years. Similar to canyoning combines hiking, climbing and some swimming, negotiating obstacles and often working in a team. A host of friends have been recently, so I was delighted when one of Yuyin’s friends invited us to go.
There are several outfits offering outdoor activities in Wulai, but White Squall Adventure School is run for the benefit of improving the lot of less advantaged kids, so while the price was a little higher than the other places we thought it would be worth it. The company’s owner, Rock, is a true salt-of-the-earth type, and I really enjoyed spending the day with him.
I was imagining climbing up a very small stream, perhaps through trees, negotiating rocks and roots while making our way up the hill. Actually, we navigated our way up the river feeding into Wulai; a river I have ridden or driven beside many times and as a result even better to have a chance to splash around in.
Rock’s approach was to allow the group to discuss, try out, fail, retry and eventually succeed. This is in stark contrast to the typical teaching techniques in Taiwan that preach a digital correct / incorrect approach that yields accuracy, but does little in the way to foster team work or creativity. It was a wonderful day working as a team, looking out for each other, keeping eye-contact and slowly making our way to the end of the river. I would recommend it to any group of friends or colleagues.
Summer 2011 FashionSuited and BootedThe rascal Rock sprays us with water as we get into the van that took us to the trail head. I guess there is no turning back now!Two waterproof cameras packed – really useful at a time like this.Reservoir DogsTeam buildingNegotiating the first obstacle was a bit of a challenge, but nothing compared to those that came later in the day. A good chance to test our teamwork though!Rock guides towards the next section, and asks for our inputShades of greyGary's trousers fill with water, and we all erupt in laughterFlowLooking up at the next obstacle, we were told we needed to enter under the fall from the left side, and exit to the right – a challenge!Getting serious nowSuccess!The guys consider their next moveWorking as a team to get across this fast flowing sectionSaved!ReflectionsHappy!An 8m drop into the water below was not easy!Just about all of us dared jump in – quite a mental challenge!Pulling some team members up the rocksTeam photoThe sun begins to set on a gorgeous dayFoot prints (incidentally I was told not to wear my Vibram five finger toe things – not grippy enough – instead we had sort of dish cloths attached to our feet)The best thing about the day was the amount of team work, and care we all took over others.Finally at the end!Being dumped back in the van for the ride home – but no spray this time!Looking back at what we all achievedFOOD!
The day after our kitsch night out, we planned to escape the city and head for the hills. Joining friends from Facebook and Google, we drove over the Golden Gate and into Marin County. It was all very odd with Abe and Armando; we are 30-ish year guys and we have never been in a car with one of the others driving … the same thing with almost all of my Asia-based friends, in fact. Unthinkable in Europe or the USA.
AtmosphericsArachnid
Making a beeline for Alamere Falls in Marin county, we hit Taipei-levels of traffic as people headed out to make the most of the holiday weekend. Our late start then bled into massive delays, and we arrived at the trail head at about 4pm. Since the sun was likely to set at about 8pm, we decided to strap on our shoes and go for it.
We wound our way through majestic redwoods, light pouring through and the sound of the sea filtering through the birdsong: oh how I wish Taiwan had a more temperate climate, otherwise I would be doing this every weekend!
Breaking through the trees, we began the final descent towards the cliffs, a substantial stream picking its way down through the rocks on its way to the ocean. Gathering to take triumphant photos at the base of the waterfall, it was fantastic to be in such a beautiful place with so many good friends.
Stepping out … a little later than we first planned!Big trees demand a big lensPeeking over the horizon and thinking of Taiwan on the other side!The first of the falls heading down towards the beach.Gorgeous!JAZZ HANDS!‘I was young and I needed the money’Yay!Abe art directs the photo of a perfect Californian view. Armando has other plans.As a direct result of our tardy start, we enjoyed some pretty amazing light and views across the trees.Sunshine account in the red.Seeing this photo, I couldn’t help but think of Japanese photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto, who did the last U2 album coverTeam Jazz Hands!
And a note to myself and the people that were there … ‘deaf hands!’
Explaining why three male, unmarried room mates from Taipei were in San Francisco for ‘entirely independent’ reasons, raised some eyebrows amongst the people that we met. But honest, Abe was visiting family, Armando was jetting through en-route to Austin, and I was leaving Texas on the way back to Asia. These things don’t happen an awful lot, so I was bursting to see what it would be like to meet them in a country where we all speak the same language as the locals.
Through some minor level of planning, we found ourselves on a night out in a relic of 1970s kitcsh, The Tonga Room, complete with Filipino funk band that floats out into the middle of a small lake in the middle of the bar, and retreats again when the rain starts pouring down (yes).
I guess I am as transfixed by the double-decker trains as foreigners are by double-decker buses in the UK.View from my room across the roof topsCalifornia metal
Badly made cocktails, silly dancing and some sore heads set us up for a great morning of brunching and procrastinating on starting a hike off in Marin county…
A wonderful 1992 steel Bianchi … definitely a different feel to the Cervelo.
So I have the bike, the glasses, the funny shorts and the lingo down, but true graduation to road-biker status would not be permitted by Tony without first joining him for some rides in Austin, and participating in the local Driveway criterium series. Tell a lie; I also need to shave my legs.
Instead of renting a bike, Tony had expedited assembly of his 1992 vintage Bianchi. A proper professional-grade thoroughbred from the early 90s, it is a marvel of lugs, lucious Ferrari-red paint and chroming. It showcases the cabinetmaker-standard construction techniques that were employed in Italy, and is in stark contrast to the carbon jelly-moulds around today. It also offers partial explanation for the rebound in custom steel frames that are flooding out of Portland, Berlin, and East London, recreating their ideal of an industry that has long since shifted to Asia.
Turning up at the race track, I quickly donned Lycra and went about warming up. Visions of the Cat 5 ‘beginner’ race had me finishing in the top ten and applying my fitness and handling skills to turn the screws on some of the locals. These thoughts vanished when I saw the waves of carbon, shaved legs, and steely gazes singeing the grass. Yup, this was my first race, I had never seen the back 70% of the track before, and it was my first time riding this (20 year-old) bike. I was absolutely bricking it. Shit!
Criteriums differ from the ‘stage’ racing format, given they are typically hosted on a tight, twisting track and offer fantastic opportunities for spectators to take in the racing, enjoy some drinks and scream their support at the riders. The atmosphere was alive with kids trundling around, music pumping out and the warm sun setting in the distance. America takes its recreation very seriously, and the results are communities like this, with families and friends getting together.
Meanwhile, in Hell, the pack of fifty-odd riders is slowly picking up locomotive pace, and my senses are a mess of static electricity, trying to process sounds, feelings and a spectacle that is completely different from anything I have experienced before. Looking at a pack of riders go by, and it seems so serene, like a rolling flock of birds. Inside that flock of riders, surrounded by a thousand fluttering wings of gear trains, aero wheels and bearings, it is a cacophony of white noise, expressionless Oakleys staring back at you. It is intimidating.
I keep pace pretty well for the first few laps; it’s surprising how little effort you need to apply when air resistance is removed from the equation. But a dull thud, shouting voices and a spray of arms, sunglasses and feet in the air up ahead, and it is quite clear there is a crash at the tightest corner – probably a clipped pedal. The pack splits up, and while we try our best to catch up, the air has suddenly become viscous, and I seem to be plummeting back through the field as my legs turn to plastic. I pick a couple of riders that seem to be attempting to bridge a gap back to the field, but it’s hopeless; they disappear from view.
There is no need to give up though. It’s a lovely evening with the sun splintering through the trees, and myself and a few others keep a reasonable pace. The finish line shouts out numbers: “6 to go!” but I don’t know if they mean minutes, laps or kilometers. I make a mental note through my panting to check with Tony. They scream “1 to go!” and I pick up the pace with the remaining stragglers to give a shot at sprinting for the final lap. Weary, we spear for the line and I see him peeling off, and all of a sudden I am surrounded by riders: were we lapped? Is this the next race starting? Do I stop now? Please?
Yes, so I was a bit confused at the end (I was lapped, and I think there were still a couple of laps to go), but it was a rush, and the memory of being surrounded by riders with ‘that sound’ was intoxicating. I shall be back!
The 'peleton' rolls by; it's a different feeling from the inside!Holding on – it's me somewhere in the back I think.Grin and bear it!
Our friend Dave, who is an engineer at Microsoft in Seattle, paid us a visit last week. Reports had been circulating that he had assembled his own Sous Vide; a device that enables highly-accurate temperature control for cooking, in the manner of Heston Blumenthal.
By first vacuuming the food into sealed bags, then immersing it a water bath, it is possible to cook meats and other food stuffs in a way that prevents over-cooking, and because you can cook over more sustained periods of time, it can extract better results from cheaper cuts of meat.
Buying ready-made, commercial Sous-Vides is still very expensive, so Dave lead the way in bringing a temperature controller and the major components over from the USA. All that was left was to fashion an enclosure, and assemble it all together. After heading to the tool district, we found a cornucopia of electronics component shops, and had immense fun selecting the most clicky, over-the-top switches and widgets for the control box.
Results? Melt-in-mouth good, but without disintegrating. I wonder, in fact, if some of the more famous steak houses cook their steaks in this way; we had a relatively good value cut, but it would be interesting to see the results with even better meat.
Next project are eggs; apparently it’s possible to cook poached eggs in the shell that, once opened, are more like custard.
The control box.Bringing the water up to temperature.Dropping the vacuum-packed meat into the water.Bubbling away …PlonkCutting open the packs of meat, and suddenly filling the kitchen with rather a nice smell!You still need to finish it off in a pan to attain the colour, and to add a touch of caramelised burnt flavour to the meat. The Lodge cast-iron pan that I idiotically hand-carried back from the USA (6kg!) does the job perfectly; better than non-stick.Served with pureed cauliflower and jus of bell pepper. Yum!
First classic Lars situation: Three taxis, three couples, three kids, looking for a restaurant in a car repair area.
BAM. Gone as soon as you realise it started, weekends with the old Taipei crew are always a riot of food, laughter, cheap beer, good whisky and trips to the sweaty parts of the island. This time was no different. Well, except for the new addition of children to the mix.
Ostensibly here for the bike show, Anke was meeting with her Taiwanese employer here in Taiwan; an electric bike technology organisation. Lars popped over with her, providing baby sitting services for Linnéa, and new addition Luc. With the addition of Edgar, we suddenly had a trio of little critters running around and demanding the attention of our weary digital cameras.
Mere minutes in, I was already in a taxi, picking up Yuyin and racing across the city in search of a Gongbao Chicken recommendation from Mattieu. Dispite noisy disapproval from the cab driver, as he claimed there was ‘nothing there’, the flotilla of taxis made their way across Taipei. Circling around the area once, I took control of the situation, and pointed us back in the opposite direction to the reliable (but still delicious) ‘rechao’ on Leli Rd. Sorry to be a party pooper!
Real focus of the weekend was returning to Wulai, of course. Beloved for it’s completely crazy and lovely public hot springs, fabulous landscape, and easy access to Taipei, I make it up there with some regularity. Through what can only be described as mistakes of planning, I managed to find ourselves a pretty awesome hotel, with a huge mega room (naturally complete with KTV) for the two families and myself to crash. While I feared for the worst regarding sleep, Michael took care of it with a bottle of two of good whisky. Out like a light.
Garnished with smoked chicken, and washed down with a dip in the hot springs, it was one of those classic weekends that can’t really be summed up. Awesome.
Edgar is like a mini version of Michael, but with a better sense of humour.
Our excellent hotel, Melody Villa – prepare for crazy flash and music onslaught. Are they all from one web designer?
Peepo
Colours of Wulai
In the rush to leave the restaurant, we almost forgot Linéa.
Absolutely no bungee jumping allowed.
The hot springs were no different from usual; lovely organised chaos. The only mistake we made this time was bringing food in (‘hey we know what we are doing!’) which inevitably resulted in coffee filling one of the pools, and bits of waffle floating around for everyone to enjoy.
Yeahhhh.
I have about a thousand of these shots, as I was playing with my new waterproof (and ugly) camera.
Sugar and spice and all things nice.
If the kids were superstars already in Taipei, nothing prepared us for Wulai. Never alone, without comments about their skin or eyelids, you knew they were around due to loud screams of ‘hao ke’ai o!‘ (how cute!) echoing around the valleys. Luc and Edgar, while a mere five days apart, are built rather differently; Edgar like a little German Budda, and Luc like a tiny hippie cherub.
Chilled out Luc.
Never anything less than fascinated and smiling Edgar.
Checking out the waterproof camera.
Man time.
No trip to Taiwan would be complete without a visit to a nightmarket. While not really quite a nightmarket, Wulai’s old street sufficed, and provided us with some tasty treats for later on the evening.
Wulai old street.
Racing car start.
Luc doing some window shopping
Views up one of the side streets to buckets filled with eggs.
Yuyin and I enjoyed the long weekend by heading down to Taichung for a friend’s wedding. It was awesome to meet some of her university buddies, and they let me know they liked me by proceeding to get me nice and drunk. In 100% recovery mode, we headed out to Gaomei wetlands on the coast; a protected area of marshlands and salt flats.
While some of the local guys were not entirely convinced – “what are they actually protecting, here?” – I had a happy time looking out the flat lands and thinking of home, and The Fens. A nice day out, even with a dickie stomach and funny head.
Sunday was, naturally, Superbowl. The Pittsburgh Steelers played against the Greenbay Packers, in a northern-states head-to-head. This was my first Superbowl, so I was pretty excited to join in with the junk food, half-time adverts and shouting at an inert black box. I had effectively no idea what was happening the entire time, asked countless silly questions, and was probably more intrigued by some of the strange advertising; which was, I must say, a let-down.
Still, it was lots of fun to be there with committed Packers fans, and a bunch of work friends. You can’t but help be swept up in the sheer enthusiasm and pomp of the thing.
Team Latitude enjoy an afternoon of sport (on the sofa)
Insanely excited kids, air pumping and whooping at about age four.
