From Taipei to Kenting in 24 Hours: A Dialogue with Time and Myself

Taipei to Kenting, 460 kilometers, completed within 24 hours. This is not just a physical challenge, but a journey deep into the self. Against the headwinds of the West Coast Expressway and on the climbs of the South Link Highway, I found something more important than speed.

Why 24 Hours?

“One-Day Twin Towers”—riding from Fugui Cape Lighthouse at Taiwan’s northernmost tip to Eluanbi Lighthouse at the southernmost tip—is a bucket-list dream for many Taiwanese cycling enthusiasts. But for me, starting from my doorstep in Taipei and riding to Kenting’s main street carries a more personal, purer meaning. No shuttle to the starting point, no return transport to arrange—it’s simply riding from the starting point of everyday life to a place that symbolizes “the faraway.”

I set myself a 24-hour deadline. Not because it’s a recognized standard, but because I wanted this challenge to have a clear time pressure. A ride without pressure is a journey; a ride with pressure is a challenge.

Route Planning: Southbound on the West Coast Expressway

I chose the West Coast Expressway as my main route, departing from Taipei and passing through Taoyuan, Hsinchu, Taichung, Changhua, Yunlin, Chiayi, Tainan, and Kaohsiung, before turning off at Fenggang into the Hengchun Peninsula and on to Kenting. The advantage of this route is its relatively flat terrain; the disadvantage is that wind conditions on the West Coast are unpredictable—with a tailwind you feel like you have divine help, against a headwind every minute feels like an eternity.

Two days before departure, I closely monitored the weather forecast and picked a day with an expected northeast wind. In theory, the northeast wind should provide some tailwind assistance. In theory.

Midnight: Departure

I chose to depart at midnight so I could get through the most traffic-dense northern sections before dawn. Taipei’s streets at midnight are surprisingly quiet, accompanied only by taxis and the glow of convenience stores. The temperature was around 20 degrees Celsius, and riding in a thin long-sleeve jersey was very comfortable.

The first 100 kilometers were spent almost entirely in darkness. I headed south along Provincial Highway 1, passing through Zhongli, Yangmei, and Hukou. Darkness has a strange compressing effect—you can’t feel the distance accumulating, you only know you’re moving forward.

Dawn and the West Coast Expressway

By daybreak, I had reached Hsinchu. I stopped at a breakfast shop next to Nanliao Fishing Harbor for a hearty meal—egg pancake, radish cake, and soy milk. When the owner saw my bike gear and asked where I was headed, and I said “Kenting,” he gave me an extra cup of soy milk on the house.

Once I got onto the West Coast Expressway, the wind became the main character. The first stretch did have a slight tailwind, allowing me to easily maintain speeds above 30 km/h. But after Changhua, the wind direction became unstable—sometimes crosswinds pushed me off my line, and sudden headwinds dropped my speed below 20 km/h.

I did the math in my head: at my current pace, 24 hours should be just enough. But that calculation completely ignored the factor of declining physical strength in the latter half.

The Afternoon Ordeal: Tainan to Kaohsiung

At 2 PM, I reached Tainan. By then I had ridden 300 kilometers in 14 hours. Progress was on track, but my body was starting to sound alarms. The pain in my rear had escalated from “uncomfortable” to “every time I sit down it feels like sitting on nails,” my neck was stiff from maintaining the same position for hours, and worst of all, my stomach was churning—the result of consuming too many energy gels and convenience store food in succession.

On the road from Tainan to Kaohsiung, I hit the lowest point of the entire ride. The afternoon sun burned my skin, the heat radiating from the road made the air shimmer, and the road ahead seemed to stretch endlessly. I started bargaining with myself: “Just get to Kaohsiung,” “We’ll see after Fenggang,” “Making it to Hengchun counts as success.”

It was a phone call that saved me. My wife called to ask where I was, and I said I was near Tainan. She said: “Hang in there—I’ll be waiting for you at a seafood restaurant on Kenting’s main street for dinner.” Just that one simple sentence got my pedals turning again.

Fenggang to Kenting: The Final Test

I arrived in Kaohsiung at 6 PM and reached Fenggang at 7 PM. From Fenggang to Kenting was still about 50 kilometers, but this final stretch included several climbs of considerable length, and with darkness falling, the difficulty level went up another notch.

The Hengchun Peninsula night was far darker than I had imagined. After leaving the lights of Fenggang behind, the road was flanked by pitch-black jungle, with occasional calls from unknown animals. I set my bike light to its brightest mode, focused intently on the road ahead, and pushed forward turn by turn.

After passing Checheng, a hint of sea air began to fill the atmosphere. The wind changed too—salty and humid. I knew I was almost there.

The Lights of Kenting’s Main Street

At 10:32 PM, I saw the neon lights of Kenting’s main street. As I rode into that bustling thoroughfare, the aroma of grilled squid and fried chicken cutlets hit me, and the leisurely scene of tourists strolling in flip-flops formed a stark contrast with my sweat-soaked, exhausted state.

Total time: 22 hours and 32 minutes. Distance: 463 kilometers. Nearly an hour and a half ahead of my 24-hour estimate.

My wife was waiting for me at the agreed seafood restaurant. I locked up my bike and walked in; she took one look at me and said, “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.” I smiled and ordered a bowl of seafood congee. That bowl of congee was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.

What This Journey Taught Me

Riding 460 kilometers solo taught me a few things. First, your body can endure far more than your brain tells you. At the most painful moments, your body is actually still functioning normally—it’s your brain that keeps generating “you should stop” signals. Learning to distinguish between genuine physical warnings and your brain’s cries of fear is the core skill of long-distance riding.

Second, the power of a goal is beyond imagination. The concrete image of “eating seafood on Kenting’s main street” was more effective than any abstract willpower. If you’re going to take on a long-distance challenge, give yourself a specific reward at the finish line.

Third, and most importantly—don’t carry the burden alone. The phone calls, messages, and words of encouragement from the cycling community along the way—these seemingly small supports become immense strength in your most fragile moments.

Next year, I’m planning to take on the eastern route. Hualien to Taitung and then to Kenting—mountains, ocean, and tunnels. Will that bowl of seafood congee at the finish line taste just as good? I suspect it will taste even better.

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• Taiwan Twin Towers Challenge Analysis: Strategy and Preparation for Extreme Time Trials
• Round-Taiwan Cycling Challenge: A 9-Day Daily Record of Riding Around Taiwan