Taiwan A-Z
B is for Bike: Resonating with the Warm and Resilient Island Within You
Prologue
To gaze at a country at the speed of a bicycle is, at its core, an act of intimate decoding. For Taiwan—a land defined by dizzying geographical compression and a hard-won civic openness—the two wheels of a bicycle provide the ultimate tool for deciphering its unique reality.
Pedaling across this still-rising island means truly grasping the dual entanglement at the heart of its destiny: just as four million years of violent tectonic collisions relentlessly squeezed and pushed this geography upward, four hundred years of geopolitical pressure trapped between empires never managed to crush its people.
On the contrary, this continuous and intense pressure forged a beautifully complete, extraordinarily resilient crystal defined by freedom.
This makes cycling in Taiwan not merely a journey, but a act of witnessing: how an open and free society transforms immense pressure into freedom through the quiet resilience of its everyday people.
In this essay, we disembark from the modern HMS Beagle, put on headphones connected to the global database, and step onto our bicycles. Together, through our physical senses, we will explore this island that humanity first discovered 28,000 years ago—an island that has continuously embraced, evolved, and thrived into the present day: Taiwan.
A Still-Rising Island: Vertical Latitudes and Climates
Taiwan is one of the finest places in the world to explore by bicycle, but before we begin, we must adapt to its speed and gradients. Imagine an island comparable in area to the Netherlands, yet home to over two hundred massive peaks higher than Galdhøpiggen, the highest mountain in Northern Europe.
Suspended in the Western Pacific, this island was born from a violent, epochal collision between two giant tectonic plates—the Eurasian and Philippine Sea plates. Driven by primordial mantle forces, dynamic rock strata were uplifted directly from the deep ocean floor, ultimately sculpting a three-dimensional island anchored by a spine of over two hundred mountains exceeding 3,000 meters in elevation.
This means that cycling in Taiwan always offers a clear horizon to move toward. In the suburbs or even the urban centers, the distant horizon is almost always a mountain or the sea.
Querying the database of our modern Beagle, one discovers a breathtaking geographical miracle: at the same latitude around the globe, most regions are engulfed in scorching, arid deserts—from the vast expanse of the Sahara and the desolate Arabian Peninsula to the harsh deserts of Mexico.
Yet, this island has completely escaped the fate of the Tropic of Cancer’s desert belt. Embraced by the warm and powerful Kuroshio Current flowing from the equator, abundant oceanic moisture is continuously swept ashore. When rain-bearing monsoons strike the steep, towering mountain ranges, they condense into life-giving dew and rain, cultivating a lush, verdant, and humid ecosystem.
With a forest coverage rate of 60.7% and an extreme elevation drop of nearly 4,000 meters, this three-dimensional island resembles a finely compressed parallel universe—ascending seamlessly from tropical rainforests and warm-temperate broadleaf forests to subalpine coniferous forests and alpine tundras. In a single day of climbing, you can physically experience thousands of kilometers of global vertical climate zones and plant landscapes.
For cyclists, this concentrated terrain offers an unparalleled experience. Landscape transitions that would require days of driving in continental nations happen within a matter of hours in Taiwan.
Transporting a bicycle to the mountain summit via our “modern Beagle” (or effortlessly arranged through local charter services) allows us to begin our ride overlooking an endless, magnificent mountain panorama. Witnessing the first light of dawn break through the sea of clouds from this altitude is a supreme visual feast—a classic moment that compels you to exclaim from the bottom of your heart: “How wonderful it is to have woken up early!”
Pushing down on the pedals, we set off from the alpine tundra or hemlock forests of this subtropical island. The freezing air rushing against our faces might even evoke the illusion of cycling through a Norwegian fjord.
Soon, we descend into the temperate forests of the mid-altitudes. Because the forest line on this island reaches as high as 3,600 meters above sea level, giant trees like the Formosan Red Cypress and Taiwan Hinoki Cypress stand tall amidst the thin mist.
Among them, the Taiwania cryptomerioides reigns as the “King of Trees” on this island.[🔗] The tallest known specimen stands at 84 meters—equivalent to a 25-story building. The indigenous Rukai people respectfully call them “the trees that bump into the moon.” Standing quietly in the deep mountains of this small island, they are the tallest tree species in all of East Asia.
Even though this island nation produces over 90% of the world’s advanced microchips, the deep mountain forests remain sacred sanctuaries reserved exclusively for plants, wildlife, and insects. To lay eyes on these ancient trees that have stood for millennia, one needs indigenous hunters familiar with the terrain to lead the way, scaling the wilderness on hand and foot for days before finally looking up to admire their majestic, timeless splendor.
Fortunately, Taiwan possesses an abundance of paved, bicycle-friendly mountain roads. Along gentle and winding downhills, we glide into the realm of broadleaf forests—a vibrant green treasure trove situated between 500 and 2,000 meters above sea level, serving as home to Formosan rock macaques, Reeve’s muntjacs, and pangolins.
As we descend toward the coast, stepping back into a longer temporal scale reveals the island’s genetic code with even greater clarity.
During the Last Glacial Maximum, the freezing of polar ice sheets dropped global sea levels 120 meters lower than today. The now-turbulent Taiwan Strait served as a temporary land bridge, allowing Paleolithic hunters to follow migrating mammal herds eastward from the East Asian continent, step by step, until they entered the mountain forests of this island.
Ancient humans from the south very likely navigated the warm, powerful, and ceaseless “Kuroshio Highway” of the Pacific, traveling northward from the southern archipelagos to land on the island’s eastern coast.
Whether arriving via the land bridge or drifting along the Kuroshio, they ultimately reached the junction where the steep Coastal Mountain Range drops directly into the Pacific Ocean: the sea-erosion caves of Baxian Cave. The knapped stone tools, hearth ashes, and animal bones excavated here by archaeologists prove that humans inhabited and thrived here at least 28,000 years ago. This represents the earliest known spark of human history on this island, crackling inside sea-carved caves accompanied by the roaring Pacific tides in deep antiquity.
When the glaciers retreated 11,700 years ago and global temperatures warmed rapidly, melting polar ice transformed into surging torrents, irreversibly submerging the land bridge and returning Taiwan completely to the embrace of the ocean.
The island’s towering mountains continuously intercepted seeds brought by Pacific monsoons or migratory birds crossing the ocean. Some took root in this isolated sanctuary, while others rested briefly before flying onward into the distance. Countless marine species also arrived via ocean routes—swimming along the Kuroshio to find rich hunting grounds between deep trenches and steep coastal reefs, or landing on these shores after surviving the blind tests of winds and waves aboard natural “tree rafts” washed out by landslides.
This landscape, protected by mountain defenses and diverse coastlines, offered a sublime haven for oceanic travelers and drifters arriving from afar. Exploring upward along river valleys, they adapted to vast differences in water quality and temperature from coast to peak. Over millions of years, they reconstructed their genomes and evolved unique island forms.
Its isolated geographical position, complex and fragmented terrain, and near-4,000-meter elevation drop collectively birthed the island’s rich ecological niches.
Furthermore, Taiwan sits precisely at a crucial hub of the world’s busiest migratory corridor—the East Asian-Australasian Flyway (EAAF). Each year, it attracts countless stopover birds, wintering birds, and summer residents, resulting in a recorded total of over 700 bird species on this tiny island.[🔗]
Even more striking than the sheer number of species is the remarkably high proportion of endemics. Among this vast bird record, endemic species and subspecies account for 25% (meaning one out of every four common or resident bird species seen in Taiwan is unique to this island). For terrestrial mammals, the proportion of endemic species and subspecies reaches 71%; for amphibians and reptiles, it is around 31%; and for specific insect groups like fireflies, butterflies, stag beetles, and longhorn beetles, the endemic rate exceeds 60%.
Viewed through the evolutionary perspective of our modern Beagle, this is no coincidence. This extreme biological diversity is rooted in Taiwan’s unique geographical hardware, decreeing from its inception that Taiwan would be an “island of immigrants” with infinite compatibility.
Those ancient sparks, the roaring ocean waves, and the unique life forms that evolved over millions of years do not exist merely in textbooks or museums; they physically reside right beside our current cycling route.
As we cycle across this island, we are actively traversing a living history of geographical evolution. Every inch of land traversed by our wheels was once a deep seabed, a land bridge, or an ancient sea cave inhabited by early humans.
You might be admiring ancient trees and rare birds left behind by the Ice Age at an altitude of 2,000 meters one moment, and plunging into a valley carved out by raging rivers the next.
As you pick up speed on the descent, the scenery shifts rapidly: lush green paddy fields, small vegetable gardens on trellises, or fish and shrimp ponds. Before long, a salty ocean breeze touches your face, passing through windbreak forests as the azure Pacific Ocean opens up before you, its waves gently splashing against your wheels.
This is an epic journey driven by human muscle power, capable of traversing multiple climate zones and millions of years of evolutionary history in a single afternoon. This island defines a near-impossible spatial density—here, the Creator compressed the distance between mountain wilderness and the boundless ocean into a breathtaking bicycle descent.
Of course, it might also involve grueling climbs that force you to stop and catch your breath several times—an experience humanity might still need a little more evolutionary time to get used to.
A Rock ‘n’ Roll Song from Peak to Coast
The legendary route descending from the summit of Taroko Gorge directly to the crescent-shaped Qixingtan Beach is undoubtedly the ultimate expression of this island’s “compressed beauty.” This is not merely a highway, but a vertical geological tunnel cutting through the Earth’s surface and a symphony of life.
The starting point lies on the spine of the Central Mountain Range—Wuling, at an elevation of 3,275 meters. This stretch forms the iconic course of the Taiwan KOM Challenge,[🔗] renowned as one of the “Top 10 Toughest Bicycle Climbing Routes in the World.” But rest assured, our starting point is the finish line where world-class cyclists suffer; as a sensory grand tour for all, we can save our energy for the scenery and focus entirely on enjoying the thrill of a gravity-fueled descent.
As our wheels roll forward, we dive from the freezing alpine zone, the crisp air brushing against our faces warming up as the altitude drops. Descending to around 500 meters and entering Taroko Gorge proper, we are greeted by massive marble cliffs forged under intense tectonic pressure and extreme metamorphism—a masterpiece carved out by the relentless downcutting of the Liwu River over millions of years.
The rushing river water, saturated with microscopic calcium carbonate crystals ground from the marble, refracts sunlight into an icy, dreamlike sapphire blue, painting a breathtaking line of color between the deep gray and white rock faces.
What follows is a dramatic inversion of ecological boundaries. The cold, quiet stillness of the high mountains is instantly replaced by the vibrant sounds of lower elevations. The Styan’s bulbul, unique to eastern Taiwan, calls from the branches, while the Taiwan whistling thrush—glowing with a metallic blue-violet luster—darts between the gorge’s rocky walls. Occasionally, it emits a sharp, piercing call strikingly similar to squeaking bicycle brakes, playfully reminding us to slow down and spot them.
On the cliff faces on either side, massive basket ferns and humid broadleaf canopies sway in the wind. We might catch a glimpse of a Formosan rock macaque nimbly leaping across near-vertical cliffs, or a colorful butterfly gracefully gliding over the valley.
Pedaling through this environment feels like being immersed in a symphony composed jointly by geology and microclimates. The sky-piercing marble cliffs construct a cathedral of light and shadow; accompanied by the roaring sapphire river and the vibrant life emanating from lush ferns and tree canopies, every breath tastes of pure wilderness.
Exiting the mouth of the gorge, our vision suddenly opens up. The oppressive feeling of being sandwiched between giant boulders vanishes, replaced by an infinite horizontal liberation along the East Coast. Within minutes, the sensory world undergoes a complete inversion: the roaring waters inside the gorge give way to the rhythmic ocean tides of the Pacific; the tense, downhill road flattens out; and the cool mountain air transforms into a warm, salty sea breeze.
Arriving at the crescent bay of Qixingtan, tens of thousands of smooth pebbles collide with the ebb and flow of the tide, generating a delicate, rustling melody. This sound feels like an invitation to remove our helmets, lie down on the shore, and listen to the “Rock ‘n’ Roll” song composed by these stones over countless ages as they tumbled from mountain peaks down to the Pacific—much like the journey we have just completed.
On the east coast of Taiwan, mountains and sea are one. Standing with our backs against the lush, massive mountains we just crossed, the Pacific Ocean before us stretches into an endless expanse of blue.
Reclaimed Roads: The Path of Freedom and Democracy
Today, we can ride freely between the mountains and the sea in Taiwan, treading its magnificent landscapes beneath our rolling wheels. Yet, just a few decades ago, such an experience was entirely out of reach.
From the mid-twentieth century onward, these mountains and seas were strictly sealed off for nearly forty years by the authoritarian Kuomintang (KMT) government after its retreat from China. Under the gravitational pull of the Cold War and martial law, high mountains were designated as closed strategic fortresses, coastlines were draped in barbed wire and guard posts, and the mountain-and-sea spaces that once nurtured countless islanders were locked away as military forbidden zones.
Gazing down from the long river of civilizational evolution, whenever Taiwan was locked into the gravitational sphere of the East Asian continent, it was met only with suffocating functionalism and a loss of agency. In terms of spatial logic alone, this island differs fundamentally from the millennia-old “Qin-style Unification Operating System” of the East Asian mainland.
Across the vast expanses of the East Asian continent, flat plains and massive river basins gave rise to a governance logic that required concentrating the power of millions under a strong central authority to execute giant water conservancy and flood prevention projects. It was a “Continental Operating System” emphasizing order, obedience, assimilation, exclusion, border control, and a single center of power.
However, the geographical and historical DNA of Taiwan is entirely different. This is an “unsettled geology” created by the intense friction between the Eurasian and Philippine Sea plates, still actively uplifting today. Steep mountains, short and rapid rivers, and a landscape densely fragmented by continuous mountain ranges mean that natural “uncertainty” is the true baseline of this island. Earthquakes are a part of daily life, and typhoons serve as an annual physical formatting process, shifting the terrain instantaneously amidst torrential rain and landslides.
In 1662, Koxinga (Cheng Ch’eng-kung) arrived from the East Asian continent under the banner of “Resisting the Qing and Restoring the Ming,” expelling the Dutch East India Company (VOC) from Fort Zeelandia. This drew the attention of the Qing Empire to the island. In 1683, the Qing Empire annexed Taiwan by force, yet viewed this island—long contested by maritime powers—as a mere “unimportant mudball in the sea.” They established the “Tugou” (Earth Ox Trench) as a boundary between Han settlers and Indigenous peoples, lacking both the capability and the desire to integrate the lands east of the Central Mountain Range. Instead, they attempted to forcibly format this dynamic crossroads—which had comfortably profited within global oceanic networks for millennia—into a static, closed imperial prison.
However, this inland, unified “static control software” was destined to suffer a catastrophic rejection when applied to Taiwan’s “dynamically ocean-facing hardware.” The result was an endless, volcanic eruption of resistance, recorded in history as “a minor revolt every three years, a major rebellion every five.”
Faced with a rapidly changing geographical environment and the imperial court’s bureaucratic apathy of “prevention without governance,” relying on a distant central government to allocate disaster relief or maintain order was equivalent to suicide—the court’s administrative speed could never keep pace with landslides, nor with the rhythm of social change.
To survive, the islanders settling here evolved a real-time, micro-scale, decentralized mechanism for horizontal self-defense and mutual aid. When floodwaters receded, neighbors picked up shovels to clear the mud together; when bridges broke, villagers from neighboring hamlets joined hands to rebuild with stone. Confronted by frequent natural disasters and institutional failure, local social cells—such as communities, temples, and neighborhoods—bypassed red tape and official bureaucracy, weaving self-rescuing “mycelial networks” directly within civil society.
In the biological world, this social mechanism operates just like an underground, invisible mycelium: without a single central processor or authoritarian commander, it relies on countless tiny nodes performing distributed computing. During crises, it demonstrates extreme vitality, pragmatic resilience, precise nutrient allocation, and self-repair. This decentralized social structure woven from mountains, seas, and plains naturally rejects central authoritarian control, possessing an embedded “Oceanic Operating System” centered on openness, connection, decentralization, and free exploration.
Yet, external regimes repeatedly tried to lock this island behind lines of defense: the Japanese colonial period utilized modern technology for mountain resource extraction and police control; by the mid-twentieth century, the KMT regime imposed a harsh 38-year martial law—the second longest in global history. Under the shadow of the Cold War, high mountains became closed strategic strongholds, coastlines were enclosed in barbed wire, and ancestral mountain-and-sea spaces once again became forbidden martial zones.
It was not until the 1990s that the island underwent a decisive institutional breakthrough. The people of Taiwan brought an end to the “Ten-Thousand-Year Parliament” representing the old continental order, completely retiring the National Assembly delegates from Chinese provinces who had gone un-elected for decades, culminating in the historic 1996 direct presidential election.
This thorough “shareholding restructuring” returned national sovereignty directly to the 23 million people living on this island, completing a democratic transition rooted in popular sovereignty. The Republic of China (Taiwan) was transformed into a resilient democracy, and the once-locked mountains and seas were unsealed step by step, fully returned to the true masters of the island.
As Taiwan embraced democracy and returned to the ocean, the Taiwanese people—through physical mobility and casual composure—thoroughly dismantled centuries of oppressive gravity.
National infrastructure that once symbolized military control and defensive mindsets has been transformed beneath the rotation of bicycle wheels into a recreational, health, and ecological network fully open to free spirits. This is not merely a spatial reversal, but a physical practice of freedom where Taiwanese people have turned former frontline defenses into oceanic highways of liberty.
To cycle in Taiwan is to practice freedom. It embodies an egalitarian culture—roads are shared by all, and the natural environment is collectively safeguarded by the public. The island’s mountains, seas, and plains are no longer barriers or forbidden zones, but an open network where every free individual can explore at will and connect with all things.
Simultaneously, this open network within the island is deeply embedded in and nurtures broader global connections—from semiconductor chips and trade networks powering global advanced computing, to the post-WWII maritime order established by the free world led by the United States. The daily operations, industrial vitality, and national security of this island are fundamentally global extensions of this “Oceanic Operating System.”
Even today, Taiwan remains on the frontlines against authoritarian expansion and threats of annexation by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), facing a massive shadow seeking to lock the island back into a closed gravitational field through “unification and authoritarian control.”
Yet today’s democratic Taiwan is deeply rooted within this irreplaceable oceanic network. If the CCP attempts to annex this island using continental authoritarian logic, it will face not only islanders forged by centuries of enduring earthquakes and typhoons with resilience and composure, but also a formidable alliance woven together by free domestic highways, global semiconductor supply chains, and the post-war maritime order of freedom.
Street Food, Convenience Stores, Cycling Supply Chains, and Warmhearted Islanders
When international travelers step into the capital city of Taipei, beyond the clean and orderly MRT system, they often notice the seamlessly integrated YouBike public bicycle sharing network. Although the Taipei Basin can be sweltering, dense, and crowded in summer, the bright yellow YouBike bicycles navigate the city’s fine capillaries with incredible resilience and flexibility.
While Taiwan has built many dedicated bicycle paths, road sharing remains the prevailing reality. Be aware: on certain stretches, you will experience a unique local challenge—rumbling gravel trucks, or a nerve-wracking yet strangely orderly “chaotic ballet” of countless scooters and cars interweaving during peak hours.
Yet, even amidst exhaust fumes, a profound Taiwanese virtue shines through. For long-distance cyclists touring the island, Taiwanese drivers and pedestrians will cheer you on, hand you bottles of water, or even share a portion of proud local street delicacies.
You may know that boba milk tea originated in Taiwan. In fact, beyond producing world-class tea and hosting ubiquitous drink shops, Taiwan boasts a vibrant street food culture.
Tracing its roots, this amazing street food culture is closely tied to the island’s deep spiritual traditions. The Han deities and temples brought by early immigrants underwent a unique localized evolution in Taiwan: temples became not only religious sanctuaries for blessing and peace, but also social hubs and emotional anchors for communities.
To serve steady streams of pilgrims and reward hardworking devotees, vendor stalls naturally gathered around temple squares. Over centuries of burning incense, a rich tradition of “temple-front street food” emerged—quick, delicious, and deeply reflective of local terroir.
From the Keelung Temple Night Market and Lukang Mazu Temple to the ancient trees and venerable temples around Chihkan Tower in Tainan, these flavors—starting from humble food stalls and passed down through generations—satisfy devout believers while creating Taiwan’s most captivating culinary landscape. What you taste is not just delicious food, but the rich heritage woven from centuries of faith, warmth, and daily life.
Today, these culinary delights have expanded far beyond temple courtyards, spreading into streets, alleys, night markets, and along cycling routes nationwide. Cyclists can easily refuel with delicious snacks at roadside stalls or quiet alleyway eateries anywhere, anytime.
Interestingly, these ubiquitous food stalls also reflect another profound institutional trait of the island. Behind Taiwan’s top-tier international rankings in “economic freedom” lies a remarkably flexible capacity for inclusion. On one hand, the island harbors world-class tech giants like TSMC, which anchor national finances and pay tens of billions in taxes annually; on the other hand, it affords micro-scale street vendors—whose revenues fall below tax thresholds—the leeway to operate tax-free without issuing official receipts.
This low barrier for entrepreneurship provides countless ordinary people the opportunity to earn a dignified living through their craft. This is not a policy loophole, but a gentle, tacit understanding between a free island, a democratic government, and the livelihoods of its people: every individual possesses economic freedom and dignity, allowing cutting-edge semiconductor fabs and ultra-flexible street food stalls to coexist harmoniously in a shared ecosystem.
As NVIDIA founder Jensen Huang demonstrated during his visits with global tech leaders to Taiwanese night markets, the “extreme flexibility and responsiveness” shared between humble food stalls and advanced wafer fabs represents the core soul of Taiwan’s supply chain.
This ecosystem—pushing technology, flexibility, and daily craftsmanship to their limits—not only birthed a semiconductor miracle, but also built a rock-solid foundation supporting cyclists worldwide: Taiwan is the birthplace of global cycling giants GIANT and Merida.
This is not only a place to ride bicycles, but also a place where bicycles are crafted. Consequently, the entire cycling ecosystem—from purchasing and renting to maintenance—is mature, comprehensive, and convenient.
And speaking of convenience, Taiwan’s convenience stores operate on an entirely different level. They are everywhere—chains like 7-Eleven and FamilyMart operate 24/7 across cities, rural towns, and remote mountain areas. For cyclists, they serve not just as re-supply stops, but as places to sit, rest, use clean restrooms for free, purchase train or high-speed rail tickets, and mail packages. Convenience store clerks, even if not fluent in English, are remarkably welcoming and famous for their all-around capability.
Furthermore, Taiwanese people are exceptionally friendly and warm. In rural areas, mountains, and along coasts, locals are eager to lend cyclists a helping hand. If you look slightly lost at an intersection, friendly locals will often approach to guide you toward the scenic backroads before you even pull out your phone.
This is why Taiwan is becoming a premier global destination for bicycle tourism: diverse topography, a comprehensive road network, a deep cycling industry foundation, combined with the bedrock of democracy, an open society, diverse street food, and multi-functional convenience stores.
It is this unique convergence that tempers the distinctive crystal of this open society. This still-rising land, together with the free spirits inhabiting it, defines what makes Taiwan, Taiwan—an unerasable presence on the world map.
Such heights may not fully show on a map, but once you arrive in Taiwan, amidst wind-swept downhills and challenging climbs, you may discover that this miracle island—continuously resisting typhoons, earthquakes, and authoritarianism in the Western Pacific—resonates on the exact same frequency as the warmest and most resilient island within your heart.
