Gullible because I believed the people – clearly fitter, more experienced cyclists than me – who said this trip was easy for the average, active person, and a pleasant way to see Taiwan; now, on our second day on the road, I am beginning to doubt them.
Old because my legs feel weak, my back aches and I have, after all, picked this challenge to prove something to myself on a big, round-number birthday.
Worried because we have only just begun and my partner is lagging, timidly hugging the edge of the road in fear of the traffic.
The popularity of the sport was fuelled in part by the 2006 film Island Etude, which tells the inspiring story of a deaf Taiwanese man who cycles around the island.
Soon after its release, adventurers were pulling on cycling tights and fastening helmets to make their own lap of Taiwan.
My partner learned to ride only as an adult, and neither of us has ever ridden bicycles any further than to the park on a Sunday afternoon, but online reviews suggested this was a trip we could manage.
So, rather than start a regime of fitness training, we went to our nearest sporting goods store and bought cycling shorts, helmets, water bottles and cool-looking day bags in which to carry our snacks. And we rented bicycles, with two panniers each, to carry all of our belongings.
We were ready!
A lap around Taiwan takes between eight and 12 days, depending on your pace and appetite for pain. The Taiwan Tourism website suggests riding an average of more than 100km per day, with 500-metre daily elevation gains – which we soon find to be very ambitious for novice cyclists. Taiwan clearly targets a youthful, energetic traveller.
We leave Taipei and head south down the west coast, to make the standard anticlockwise loop.
Taipei alone is blessed with hundreds of kilometres of cycle paths, and we follow one out of the city beside the wide Dahan River in a park-like setting.
But soon Route No 1 leads us onto a highway, where we have to share our cycle lane with exhaust-spewing scooters. And as each overpass, bridge and intersection approaches, the cycle lane narrows to nothing, and we are squeezed in alongside cars and trucks.
Riding a bicycle on the side of a busy road is psychologically exhausting, so we find our own routes off the main highways, alongside Route No 1.
Choosing smaller country roads means slower travel, but instead of dodging trucks we slow for squirrels and stray cats. The smell of exhaust fumes is replaced by the tang of pig manure and pine trees.
Soon our days melt into a blur of early morning starts and then stops at Taiwan’s ubiquitous 7-Elevens and Family Marts to refuel on tea leaf eggs, sports gels and bananas.
Late afternoons see us roll up to yet another nondescript hotel, all of which are accustomed to cyclists and have secure storage for bikes or allow us to roll them right into our rooms.
We drink a beer, gobble a bag of potato chips, then shower and find a restaurant within walking distance. Evenings are short, as eyelids are heavy and bodies weary.
Slowly we tick off the towns and cities heading south: Hsinchu; Changhua; Xinying.
We begin seeing more betel nut shops, as well as the red streaks of spittle left on the roads by their customers. There are more dogs scampering across the road, and the temperature rises with every kilometre.
We cycle through verdant, newly planted rice paddies, and splash through water overflowing from some of Taiwan’s hundreds of fish farms.
Secondary roads take us past small factories and workshops, the stench of chemicals and smoke wafting out of steel sheds.
In many places the best route follows railway lines, and the occasional whoosh of a passing train emphasises the slowness of our progress.
An elderly neighbour ambles across the street and begins peppering us with questions. When he hears about the trip we are doing, he offers us a big guava from his garden, then wishes us a safe journey.
As we ride south, the mountains that form Taiwan’s backbone begin to hem us in closer to the sea, until all that is left is the blue Taiwan Strait on our right, the grey road before us and the steep green mountains to our left.
At Checheng, we turn north and cross to the east coast, which requires a 37km grind up and over the mountains, to nearly 500 metres above sea level.
We make it to the top of the pass, ecstatic and high-fiving each other, before enjoying a fast descent towards the sea on the other side.
On the east coast we begin to feel we are part of a fraternity of long-distance cyclists, meeting others in cafes, hotels and bike shops.
We are finding our rhythm, and Route No 1 feels like an event, with drivers shouting encouragement, honking their horns and giving us a thumbs-up as they pass.
We also pass people walking the route, in their own slow tribute to Taiwan.
Occasionally, a pack of seasoned riders on sleek carbon bikes passes us, followed closely by a van carrying their luggage, spare tyres and refreshments. They fill me with envy, and then I feel a sense of superiority that we are doing the trip “the honest way”.
As we climb north, the weather turns colder and wetter.
Our final day is a chilly 13 degrees Celsius (55 degrees Fahrenheit), with the mist threatening to turn into rain. Taipei is only 100km away.
By now our legs are firmer, our lungs expanded, and we have become hardened to the traffic, making 100km in a day seem far more attainable than it had just two weeks earlier.
The rain begins as we round Sandiaojiao, Taiwan’s most easterly point, and then drenches us as we join the traffic flowing towards Taipei. But we push on towards the finish, splashing through the final muddy kilometres like the seasoned cyclists we have become.
We roll to a stop in front of the bike rental shop, mixing with customers returning their bikes after a day exploring Taipei. Our weary faces, mud-spattered legs and bulging panniers catch their eye, and I imagine I see glints of admiration.
We are around-the-island riders; the real deal.
