A Hundred-Mile Challenge in the Dead of Winter: Cycling Asceticism Below Zero

January on Wuling, the temperature was minus three degrees Celsius, and a thin layer of ice had formed on the road. I chose to complete a 160-kilometer century ride with twelve fellow cyclists during the coldest time of the year. This isn’t madness—it’s the most devout tribute to cycling.

The Romance and Reality of Winter Riding

Winter in Taiwan is a contradictory season for cyclists. Without the summer heat and afternoon thunderstorms, the cool, pleasant temperatures make it theoretically a great time to ride. But the cold fronts, rain, and strong winds brought by the northeast monsoon drive most people to stay home and train on their indoor trainers through the winter.

I was one of them, until Ade from our cycling group threw out a proposal: “End of January, Wuling century ride, anyone in?” The group chat was silent at first, then a few replies popped up: “You’re crazy,” “I’ll think about it.” In the end, thirteen people signed up.

The route was planned to start from Puli, pass through Wushe, Cingjing, Yuanfeng, and Cuifeng to Wuling, then turn back to Puli, plus a loop around Sun Moon Lake to make up 160 kilometers. Total elevation gain was approximately 3,500 meters, with the 50-kilometer climb from Wushe to Wuling accounting for 2,400 meters of that.

The Science of Gear

The biggest challenge of a winter century ride isn’t endurance—it’s staying warm. In the mountains, the wind chill can make it feel more than ten degrees colder than the actual temperature. You sweat on the climbs, and that sweat instantly freezes on the descents—if you don’t manage this temperature cycle properly, the risk of hypothermia is high.

My gear list went through multiple revisions: a base layer sweat-wicking shirt, a mid-layer fleece jersey, an outer windproof and waterproof jacket, insulated thermal bib shorts, windproof gloves with thin glove liners, wool socks, shoe covers, a face mask, and ear warmers. I also packed spare dry underwear and chemical hand warmers in my backpack.

The most important piece of gear was a jacket with a zipper that could be operated with one hand—because you need to quickly put it on and take it off between climbs and descents, and hands wearing thick gloves can’t handle fine zipper work. This small detail was a hard lesson learned from last year’s winter ride up Wuling.

Puli at 4 AM

Departure day was the last Saturday of January. We arrived in Puli the night before and stayed at a bed and breakfast. The weather forecast was both exciting and nerve-wracking: clear skies, but temperatures in the mountains dropping to minus five degrees in the early morning.

When the alarm went off at 4 AM, the temperature in Puli was eight degrees. Stepping outside fully geared up, the cold air hit my face like a slap. My fingers were already going stiff while I was setting up my cycling computer.

At exactly 5 AM, thirteen bike lights lit up in the darkness, and we set off. On the road to Wushe, there was only our lights and the occasional headlights of passing trucks. The cold air stung my nasal passages, but after ten minutes of pedaling, my body started to warm up.

Wushe to Cingjing: The Shock of Dawn

It was just getting light when we reached Wushe. The distant mountain ridgelines were edged with a golden trim, and morning mist hung in the valleys—so beautiful it made you want to stop and take photos. But Ade urged everyone on: “Let’s climb as much as we can while the morning temperatures are still bearable.”

The section from Wushe to Cingjing is my most familiar climb. But winter changes everything—the hillsides that are usually lush and green are now withered and yellow, the cherry blossoms along the way are just about to bloom, and the air is dry and crisp with astonishingly clear visibility.

The thermometer at Cingjing Farm showed zero degrees. The water in my bottles was starting to develop a slight icy slush.

Cuifeng to Wuling: A World Below Zero

Past Cuifeng, traces of ice began to appear on the road. Puddles in the shade had a thin layer of ice, while the ones in sunlight were melting but forming a slippery film of water. Our speed dropped from the already slow 10 km/h to 7 km/h, and everyone was extra cautious.

The temperature kept dropping. My cycling computer showed minus two degrees, but with the wind, it felt much colder. My toes had completely lost sensation, and my fingers, even with two layers of gloves, were aching from the cold. The worst part was my face—the face mask only covered my mouth and nose, leaving my forehead and cheeks exposed to what felt like needle pricks.

Two riders decided to turn back at Yuanfeng. No one blamed them. At this temperature and this altitude, safety is always the top priority.

Wuling: The Silence at 3,275 Meters

At 10:30 AM, the remaining eleven of us reached Wuling. The temperature was minus three degrees, but the sun was shining brightly and the sky was an unreal shade of blue. The parking lot at Wuling, usually packed with tourists, held only us and a few cars.

I stood before the monument marking the highest point of Taiwan’s highway, looking at the endless mountain ranges in the distance. My body was shivering, but my heart was warm. It’s a contradictory feeling—your body tells you, “Find a warm place quickly,” but your soul tells you, “Take one more look at this world.”

We didn’t stay at Wuling long. After taking a group photo, drinking hot water, and eating a few bites of food, we began the most dreaded part—a high-speed descent in sub-zero temperatures.

The Terror and Beauty of the Descent

The descent from Wuling down to Cingjing was the most thrilling and terrifying ride of my cycling life. Some sections of the road had a thin frost, and braking had to be much gentler than usual because tire grip decreases at low temperatures.

But within the terror was an indescribable beauty. The winter sun filtered through the bare branches of trees, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow on the road. A patch of snow-white capped a distant peak, and the air was so clear you could see the horizon dozens of kilometers away. Descending at speed in this environment felt surreal, like riding into a traditional Chinese landscape painting.

We all put on every layer we had, but by the time we reached Cingjing, we were frozen stiff. Several riders’ fingers were too numb to open their own water bottles. We crammed into a convenience store by the roadside, each of us clutching a cup of hot coffee, looking like a team just back from an Arctic expedition.

Back to Puli, Around Sun Moon Lake

After descending from Cingjing to Puli, the temperature rose to a heartwarming twelve degrees. Shedding my heavy windproof jacket felt like taking off a suit of armor. The afternoon ride around Sun Moon Lake was much easier—pleasant temperatures, beautiful scenery, a stark contrast to the harsh conditions on the mountain that morning.

Back in Puli after completing the Sun Moon Lake loop, my cycling computer stopped at 162 kilometers. Century ride accomplished.

The Meaning of Winter Riding

Why ride in the coldest time of the year? That’s the question I get asked most often.

For me, the meaning of a winter century ride isn’t about proving anything—it’s about experiencing something. Riding in comfortable conditions is pleasant, but you never truly feel the full picture of cycling. The cold of winter, the wind, the icy roads—these “discomforts” actually make you more keenly aware that you’re doing something. Every pedal stroke is a conscious choice, not a habitual repetition.

That evening at a hot pot restaurant in Puli, eleven of us gathered around a steaming pot of spicy mala broth, our faces flushed red from the cold and then warmed again, wearing satisfied smiles. Ade raised his beer and said, “To winter, to cycling, to every madman here.”

Cheers.

That bowl of hot pot was the warmest soup I’ve ever had in my life. And that warmth—only those who have experienced minus three degrees can truly understand.

Related Reading

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• Race Report: Autumn Wuling Challenge—An Amateur Rider’s First Race Experience
• First Time Conquering Wuling: The Complete Mental Journey from Shaking Legs to Standing on Taiwan’s Rooftop
• Taiwan’s Cycling Hundred Peaks Challenge: A Complete Preparation Guide for Conquering Wuling