A Solo Journey on the East Coast: A Seven-Day Cycling Tour of Eastern Taiwan

The night before departure, I laid out all my luggage on the bed and counted it three times. Two sets of cycling jerseys and bib shorts, one set of casual clothes, toiletries, bike repair tools, two spare tubes, personal medication, two power banks, and a camera. Everything was stuffed into a saddlebag and handlebar bag, plus a bottle cage with water—about eight kilograms in total.

I looked at myself in the mirror, my back loaded with gear, and said, “Are you sure you want to go alone?”

Yes. Precisely because I’m alone, I have to go.

Day 1: Taipei to Su’ao (110K)

I set off from Taipei at six in the morning, taking the Provincial Highway 9 (Beiyi Highway) over the mountains to Yilan. The climb on the Beiyi Highway wasn’t too painful in the cool morning air, but the extra eight kilograms of luggage made every incline far more strenuous than usual. The descent after the summit was the reward—a panoramic view of the Lanyang Plain unfolding before me, with Turtle Island floating quietly in the distance on the Pacific.

After descending the Beiyi Highway, I took Provincial Highway 2 to Su’ao. The Yilan section was straight and flat, with rice paddies stretching to the horizon on both sides, and the occasional egret gliding low over the fields. I slowed down, in no hurry, stopping to take photos whenever something caught my eye.

I reached Su’ao in the evening and found a homestay near the fishing harbor. Dinner was a bowl of seafood noodles and a plate of stir-fried clams, paired with a bottle of beer. Sitting alone at the food stall, watching the lights of fishing boats sway in the harbor, the fatigue of the first day slowly melted away under the influence of food and alcohol.

Day 2: Su’ao to Hualien—The Suhua Highway (100K)

This was the most nerve-wracking day of the entire trip.

The Suhua Highway stretches about a hundred kilometers and is one of Taiwan’s most spectacular—and most dangerous—roads. On one side, cliffs rise hundreds of meters; on the other, the Pacific Ocean. The road is narrow, winding, and crowded with heavy trucks. Every gravel truck that roared past sent a gust of air that made my bike wobble.

I chose to ride the old Suhua (Provincial Highway 9) rather than the Suhua Improvement. Although the improvement has tunnels and new sections, bicycles are prohibited inside the tunnels. The old Suhua’s pavement was in rough shape, with traces of rockfalls in some sections, but the scenery was unparalleled.

The Qingshui Cliff section was the highlight of the entire journey. The road wound along the mountainside, with the Pacific below in a blue so deep it looked black. I stopped at a lookout point and watched the sea for fifteen minutes. No one was competing with me for the spot, no one was urging me to move on, no one interrupted my thoughts. The luxury of traveling alone lies in these moments when you can linger as you please.

I arrived in Hualien City at four in the afternoon. I found a hostel, showered, then rode out to eat at Zhengxing Baozi and Goose Master. That night, I was so exhausted I fell asleep by eight.

Day 3: Rest Day in Hualien

On the third day, I gave myself a rest day. No long rides—just wandering around Hualien City and Qixingtan Beach.

In the morning, I had a hearty Taiwanese breakfast at a shop near Dongdamen Night Market—egg crepes, radish cake, and soy milk. Then I rode to Qixingtan and sat on the pebble beach listening to the waves. The sound of Pacific surf crashing ashore was loud, yet it had a strangely healing effect.

In the afternoon, I visited Pine Garden and Qingxiu Temple, taking some photos. Back in the city by evening, I stopped by a small shop for a simple bike check—tightening bolts, lubing the chain, and confirming the brakes.

Rest days matter. Long-distance travel isn’t about pushing to the limit every single day; timely rest lets your body recover and gives you time to digest the scenery and feelings along the way.

Day 4: Hualien to Ruisui—Northern Huatung Valley (75K)

Leaving Hualien City, I headed south on Provincial Highway 9 into the Huatung Valley. This stretch was my favorite of the entire trip.

The valley’s scenery is completely different from the coast. Flanked by the Central Mountain Range and the Coastal Mountain Range, the wide plain in between is planted with rice, daylilies, and various crops. The road was straight and flat with little traffic, and occasionally I’d pass fellow cycle tourists, exchanging nods of greeting.

I stopped at the Guangfu Sugar Factory for an ice cream. Red bean flavor, unbelievably rich. While eating, I struck up a conversation with a Japanese motorcyclist next to me. He’d started in Taipei and was riding to Kenting, already five days in. Our languages didn’t quite match, but with gestures and Google Translate, we chatted happily. He gave me a small snack he’d brought from Japan, and I gave him a pack of Taiwanese pineapple cakes in return.

I reached Ruisui a little after two in the afternoon. I went for a soak in the hot springs—that steaming, golden carbonated water evaporated three days of accumulated fatigue in one go. That evening, I ate at a noodle shop on Ruisui’s main street recommended by a local. Simple but satisfying.

Day 5: Ruisui to Chishang (65K)

In the southern section of the Huatung Valley, the landscape shifted from plains to rolling hills. After passing Yuli, there were a few undulating climbs—not long, but after several consecutive days of riding, they still made my legs work hard.

The highlight of the day was Chishang. Brown Boulevard’s beauty needs no introduction from me, but riding a bicycle down that straight, pole-free road, with golden rice ears on both sides and layered mountain ranges in the distance—the feeling was completely different from viewing it from a tour bus. The wind rustled through the rice paddies, blending with my pedaling rhythm and the faint creak of the chain into a piece of music that belonged only to that moment.

That night, I stayed at a small homestay in Chishang. When the owner heard I’d ridden solo from Taipei, she offered me some homemade misua noodles and insisted on giving me a bag of Chishang rice to take along. I said it’d be inconvenient to carry rice on my bike, and she laughed: “Then I’ll have it delivered to you when you get home.”

That evening, sitting on the bench outside the homestay, looking up at the countless stars overhead, I thought about the people and moments I’d encountered along the way. The beauty of traveling alone is that you cherish every interaction with others all the more, because those kindnesses aren’t a given—they’re unexpected gifts along the road.

Day 6: Chishang to Taitung (75K)

The final stretch of the valley. The road from Chishang to Taitung was mostly flat, but a few headwind sections were demoralizing. When you ride alone, headwinds are the worst—no drafting, no windbreak, you just have to power through.

After reaching Taitung City, I rode straight to the coast. Taitung’s sea is different from Hualien’s—more open, more desolate, with a rugged kind of beauty. I sat by the shore for a long time, soaking my feet in the Pacific, feeling like these seven days had stretched into a month.

In the evening, I wandered around Taitung’s Tiehua Village and caught an open-air Indigenous music performance. The singer’s voice was high and resonant, echoing through the night sky. Standing at the edge of the crowd, I listened and thought: tomorrow I’ll pack up the bike and take the train back to Taipei. I really didn’t want to leave.

Day 7: Taitung, the Return

The last day involved no long rides. In the morning, I cycled around Taitung City, had misua noodles for breakfast, and made one final visit to Jialulan Coast to look at the Pacific. In the afternoon, I disassembled my bike, packed it into a carrying bag, and took the Puyuma Express back to Taipei.

On the train, watching the scenery recede at speed outside the window—those roads I’d covered kilometer by kilometer with my own legs just days before—I felt a strange sense of fulfillment. Those roads were no longer just lines on a map; they had a relationship with me now. Each stretch was tied to an image, a taste, a conversation, a moment when my heart raced.

The Meaning of Traveling Alone

Seven days, roughly 425 kilometers, one person.

When people ask me why I didn’t find a companion, my answer is: traveling alone and traveling with others are completely different experiences. Both are good, but neither can replace the other.

When you ride alone, you have conversations with yourself. Not the anxious inner monologue, but a quiet, honest self-dialogue. You think about things you’re usually too busy to consider. You discover that on those long, flat roads, in the steady rhythm of pedaling, many tangled thoughts find their own resolution.

Traveling alone also makes you more proactive in connecting with strangers. Because you have no companion to rely on, you’re more willing to ask for directions, more willing to accept help from strangers, more willing to chat with shop owners at food stalls. These connections may be brief, but they’re often purer than long-term social relationships.

If you’re considering a solo cycling trip, my advice is: don’t overthink it—just go. Bring enough gear, plan a rough route, but keep the flexibility to change your plans at any time. The best scenery is often found off the itinerary.

Practical info: For an East Coast cycling trip, October through December (before or early in the northeast monsoon season) is recommended, avoiding summer vacation (typhoons + extreme heat) and Lunar New Year (hard to book accommodation). For lodging, there are plenty of hostels and homestays in Hualien and Taitung, but booking ahead is advised during peak season. TRA bike-train service has limited departures, so it’s best to buy return tickets in advance.

Related Reading

• The Solitude and Self-Discovery of Cycling Trips: The Psychological Growth of a Solo Island Tour
• The Suhua Highway Cycling Challenge: A Complete Guide to Riding the Coastal Highway from Su’ao to Hualien
• The Majestic Ride on the Suhua Highway: Cliffs, Sea Breezes, and the Unbelievable East Coast of Taiwan
• The Grand Cycling Journey on the Suhua Highway: The Ultimate Riding Experience on the Pacific Cliffs