Author Chris Van Laak
Photographer Chris Van Laak
There are people who cross the world’s hottest deserts on a bicycle. They climb Mount Everest, or some other peak that, even though inevitably smaller, promises an even bigger challenge. I’m not one of those people, but apparently I’m sometimes dissatisfied with my comparatively sedentary lifestyle, too.
When my partner suggested climbing Nanhudashan, Taiwan’s fifth-highest mountain at 3,742m, I didn’t just say “Yes, please,” I also came up with an idea on how to spice up the adventure.
We had climbed mountains in Taiwan before—including its highest, Yushan, at 3,952m—and I had done quite a bit of cycling, so I thought combining the two would be great.
Many in my social circle knew right away it was a stupid idea. I came to the same realization later when it was too late to back out. A day before my partner took a bus to the Atayal village nearest the hiking entrance, Nanshan (南山), in Yilan County, I embarked on my two-day cycling trip there.
Taipei to Nanshan via Luodong
About 25km in, it dawned on me that I should have listened to my friends. The first 30 minutes along the Xindian River to Bitan (碧潭) had been flat and without traffic, it was as unremarkable as it was pleasant, but then the route along Provincial Highway 9 started to climb into the dense forest of New Taipei City’s Shiding and Pinglin districts. I was as slow as a snail amid speeding traffic. Heavy trucks carrying cabbage (so many trucks! so much cabbage!) hurtled down the mountain towards me, while motorcyclists sped past me, including some on sports bikes who took the narrow turns Tourist Trophy-style.
The views along the way were breathtaking though, especially when the big ascent was conquered and the terrain opened up at about 550m above sea level. Taiwan does not feel small here. It’s as if the green hills, dotted with land god temples, hamlets and tea gardens, are endless in all directions.
I, however, had to cross the hills quickly, past Pinglin’s picturesque Old Street and a slightly lower mountain pass at the border with Yilan County. There the Pacific should have come into view, but all I could see was a thick cloud moving in my direction. I tried to cycle down into the plain as quickly as possible.
Eventually, I arrived in Luodong (羅東) earlier than planned, but I had not been able to escape an intense, 10-minute thunderstorm. It had, however, washed away my feeling of what-have-I-gotten-myself-into. Now, after 84.5km, I was ready for the adventure that I was already in the middle of.
The second day of cycling was shorter, but the climb was even more relentless. From Luodong, “Yilan’s second city” at the southern end of the plain, Provincial Highway 7A leads into a part of the county that few Yilan visitors have ever seen. For hours, the road snakes up the broad valley of the Lanyang River, into mountains that were shrouded in thick clouds that day. Once more Taiwan felt much bigger than it is—the dry river bed at times hundreds of meters wide, and, once more, the trucks speeding down the hill carrying an endless amount of cabbage. They left me wondering what was beyond the next bend of the river.
Higher up the valley, in Datong Township (大同), I got my answer. The river bed was narrower now, leaving space for a broad strip of fertile land. This is where Taiwan’s best cabbage (高麗菜) grows, our host in Nanshan told me later.
I was greeted at our guesthouse by my partner, who had made friends with an old man on the bus. He told us he always escapes to this valley when it gets too hot in the city, or when he simply has a good book to read. He called Nanshan a hidden gem, and I strongly agreed.
I felt proud I had made it, but then I remembered we were still 2,500m below the summit of Nanhudashan. I felt humbled, but I no longer thought taking the challenge was a stupid idea.
Two days to the top
The entrance to the hike up Nanhudashan is at the border of Yilan and Taichung. My legs no longer felt fresh when we arrived, especially now that I had to carry a sleeping bag and food for four days on the mountain. At the time, water was also scarce, and it was advised to stock up whenever there was a creek.
After unusually little snow the previous winter (and no great rains besides the one two days ago), the ravine we were hiking through was one of the last places where water was plentiful.
After about 6km, the path led up a steep mountain flank; in retrospect it was the hardest part of the whole hike. Once we had reached the next ridge though, we were rewarded with a breathtaking view into the valley more than 1,000m below us. From now on, it was no longer that steep, and we were awed by a world where monkeys (many monkeys!) and other creatures of the forest were at home, and we humans were only guests.
The second day began similarly. After a short night in a (surprisingly crowded) mountain hut, we followed the ridge until we were above the treeline. Among Taiwan’s highest mountains, Nanhudashan is not exactly the easiest to reach, and my exhausted legs reminded me of that with every step.
The last part of the second day’s hike was a steep, painful descent into a bowl-shaped valley at about 3,000m. It was bone-dry but spectacularly beautiful. Surrounded by peaks of the Nanhudashan massif, we stocked up on water for the night at a hidden spot where it trickled from a crack in the rock into our filter bottles.
The next day was relatively easy—our heavy backpacks could stay in the hut and the terrain was, except for a few meters right under the summit, not too steep.
Reaching the summit was rewarding beyond words—it had all been worth it.
The long way home
My thoughts moved on to what was still to come though. I had made it here, but I also had to make it back.
We spent one more night in the second hut and then returned to the hiking entrance in one day, half the time it had taken us to hike up.
The next day, I felt shaky getting back on my bike. I told myself luckily it was only downhill to Luodong, but I couldn’t make myself believe it would be easy. The last day, via Pinglin and Shiding back to Taipei, was also ahead of me.
I took a day off by the beach in Yilan, and eventually, after nine days in total, I was back in Taipei. In all honesty, the cycling part was nothing I truly enjoyed. It was the kind of thing you do so you can say you’ve done it, to yourself and others, but mainly to yourself. I’m looking back on the trip as an accomplishment to be proud of.
