It's a cloudy morning and the forecast is rain all day. I leave the comfort of the Zhiben hot spring hotel and depart early in the morning. My parents are there to send me off. I put on a smile and wave goodbye to them, and they tell me they are proud of me, and will see me when I get to Kaohsiung (which is further south along my path). There's comfort knowing that there are people waiting along the way for me, waiting to welcome me. Even though I am doing this alone, it feels like I have a rallying support group behind me, from my family in Taipei, to all of those people I have met along the way. Taiwan really is special.
I depart, and almost immediately it starts raining. No matter -- I keep going. By this time, there have been a few rainy days such that I am prepared to handle it mentally. That's all the rain is, some sort of mental damp. Biking in the rain is a great release. I, like many other things, learn to let things fall by the wayside -- those things that I cannot control. I feel like a child, back to the water from which I was born, with all hope and no fear that this stretch will be beautiful in its own way.
A portion of the path that I am biking is the path that my parents and I drove on just a few days before when I was hanging out with them. I've been biking for about 2 hours, and was wondering when they would catch up. There are some patches of sunshine in between the rain that cast light onto the green hills of the countryside, and it feels like a completely new day. On one of my climbs, the rain starts again, and it gets heavier. I hear a car honk behind me, and thinking that I am too far into the road, I hug the edge a bit more. A car stops in front of me that looks familiar, and its hazard lights go on.
After pulling over in the midst of the rain, two people come out. It's my stepmother and my father, on their drive back to Kaohsiung, and they quickly cover themselves with their jackets from the rain as they step out of the car. They yell to greet me and smile, "Wahhhh!! This rain is so big!! We did not think you would have biked this far, we thought we missed you!" my stepmom said. My dad looked at me, drenched from the rain and smiled and said he was proud of me for doing this on my own, and we take a picture. They don't mind the rain, and not just that, being in the rain together was a reason to celebrate. Nothing else mattered at that moment except for being together on this random pullover on a hill, the rain still falling hard. Later, my stepmom told me that she had seen me and felt so sad, as if I were a wet dog wandering in the rain. She wanted to drive me back in the car and find a way to get the bike back. "But," she said, "I knew I can't stop you from doing this on your own."
The rest of the bike to Dawu was uneventful. I pull into the city which looks like it was stuck in the 1950s. There was one main street running through the town, and by the time I'm dried off in the hostel and showered, all of the places have closed to eat. I stop by the local 711 which is one of the few things open. It feels like a pitstop town like that in the United States.
As I'm packing up my things in the hostel, and drying off my clothes, a group of 6 travelers come in. They are drenched as well, and they each are carrying a large bag on their backs, as if they'd just come back from camping. I smile and greet them as they put down their things and make room for them. Before I know it, I am chatting with one of the girls. They are a traveling theater troupe from a university in Yilan county (from which I passed), and they are touring the island on foot. This is called 徒步環島, and much more hardcore than what I am doing. They've been on the road for nearly a month, and have covered about 25-30 kilometers a day together as a way to finish off their summer vacation. I chat with them through the night and they share their stories along the road to me. Strangers who have opened their house to them, temples who have let them have a place to stay, and all the friends they've made along the way. Now, I am one of them.