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Easy riders

By Philip Glamann
SPECIAL CONTRIBUTOR
Saturday, Aug 05, 2000, Page 11

ON an overcast Sunday morning about 8:30am, a small, inconspicuous motorcycle shop on Minchuan East Road suddenly becomes a very busy place. As if all their bikes need repairs at the same time, riders of brightly colored scooters and low-riding choppers begin to congregate on the sidewalk and street out front.

The bike owners -- mostly young Chinese men, some older ones, and a few Westerners -- mill about, making routine last-minute preparations, like slapping another decal on their already well-decorated rides, making a quick oil change or packing enough betel nut and Mr Brown coffee to keep around 35 riders happy during a 240km day trip through the Taipei countryside.

While a few coolers are packed and saddlebags stuffed, there is much chatter and laughter above the din of idling engines. Suddenly, the bike shop owner commences to shouting like a displeased father and the riders begin to line up two-by-two along the street, taking up about a half block between stoplights. As the laoban barks orders, the sun falls in line, too, and peeks out from behind a wall of clouds.

After a few minutes of revving their engines, firing off their horns and making sure they look as sharp as their bikes, the riders are ready. The procession begins to roll forward, headed by a chubby, bespectacled Chinese man in his mid 40s who wears a black leather vest and bandana and rides a giant white scooter with faux Mercedes emblems and red and blue running lights.

The machines glisten in the newfound sunlight and the collective roar of engines smothers the sound of traffic on Minquan. And with that, the "Da Cham" (大千) riding club is off on another of its day trips.

CHANGE OF SCENE

One of the riders, known only as Bill, settles into the pace set by the pack. Clad in black from bandana to boots, he rides a rebuilt, silver and black Honda 135 with shoulder-high handle bars, leather saddle bags and a set each of long front forks and fat shining mufflers. His chopper looks like it rides as comfortably as a rolling couch, and Bill says, "I'll be the guy with the least aches and pains at the end of the trip," referring to the comfy custom seat and backrest.

Bill is an American who's been in Asia since the late '60s and now runs a bakery and sandwich shop in an alley off Kuangfu Road. These rides are a release for him, he says, and a chance to see the countryside, which is so easily crowded out by tight schedules and the frantic work pace of Taipei. As the city fades from memory, Bill has few complaints. "I just wish it was a little cooler so I could wear one of my leather jackets."

On his own, Bills gets more than a few curious looks and turned heads from gas station attendants and sidewalk strollers, but with the group, riding in all their glistening glory down Tunhua, past CKS Memorial Hall and out to Shintien, the effect is doubled. People on the street stop to stare, children riding on scooters smile and point and a propane gas delivery man on his own motorcycle fails to notice a stoplight has turned green while the procession rolls away.

Able Wan (萬毅中), a Chinese man in his mid-40s, has been riding with the 10-year-old Da Cham for four years. Like Bill, Wan prefers the all black and silver look for his motorcycle, a low-riding, rebuilt San Yang. His only bike decoration is a red USA license plate on the back.

Wan says the club, which occasionally collects dues, makes a jaunt like this once every few months. The last was on Jan. 1 and they usually head to places within an hour or two of Taipei, such as Taoyuan or Yangmingshan. Today, the group is headed for Ilan, cutting through the mountains on Highway 9 through Touchen.

Wan says the group has about 200 members and that treks likes these usually attract 50 or 75 riders. A few of the older members have skipped this long ride on a day which might produce rain.

When asked why he does it, why he spends the occasional Sunday riding until his backside hurts a bit and the sun has set, Wan says, "Just for travel, just for fun."

His wife also comes along, but she rides on her own scooter, and if his daughter attends, she rides with someone else, maybe the car that tags along to carry coolers and other supplies. "I like to be alone on the motorcycle," he says and laughs.

Zipping through the hills near the Feitsuei Reservoir, past the watermelon stands and cabbage trucks, the low-riders tend to keep toward the back, along with a few of the other big, well-tended choppers. Three of them -- one maroon, another orange and another bright yellow -- stand out. Their riders wear leather shirts, or none at all, let their long hair flop in the breeze and eschew the rain gear when the weather turns. The scooters on the other hand, led by a pack of new Yamaha Majesties, tend to shoot up front and bounce through the traffic. When the rain comes out, so do their long blue raincoats.

Perhaps the brightest colored scooter in the group belongs to Tai Chung-yi (戴仲毅), who, in totally local style, rides in his slippers with his mobile phone mounted on his handle bars. His bright white scooter is dappled with stickers and decals: Hello Kitty, Yamaha, Da Cham, the ROC flag and FBI.

"If I drive a car, no one notices," he says, while the group stops at a gas station about halfway to Ilan. "If I ride this everyone will look."

A BUMP IN THE ROAD

During the rest stop, it's discovered that the group has suffered some misfortune. The bike shop owner, riding with his son on a scooter, was knocked over by a car. Bill and Able say it's the first accident anyone can remember the group encountering. After it's determined the boss and his son have been taken to a hospital and the injuries minor, the group discusses whether to turn back or proceed.

The caucus is led by the burly Chinese guy on the police cruiser look-alike who calls himself "Pirate" and looks the part with his ponytail, earrings and necklaces. (A new addition to the pirate attire is a pair of pink headphones connected to a cell phone.) After a few minutes' debate, Pirate announces they will go forward. He says they'll now ride single-file and slow down a bit. The second part is soon forgotten.

On the ride, Pirate provides a useful role for the convoy. At intersections he blocks traffic, which seems to take him for a police bike with his flashing blue and red lights, at least long enough for him to get the group through. Then he races back to the front of the pack to set the pace and keep it on course.

In the mountains, the trip runs into a thick fog, which turns to rain as they descend to the east coast. After a ride of about two and a half hours, Pirate, who will say only that his occupation is "money changing," guides the group to their destination: a park near Ilan where a truck is waiting with hot food. (Chicken, soup and eggs, cooked in a hot spring.)

The rain and long ride haven't dampened anyone's spirits as they wolf down the meal. Pirate isn't any more talkative though. When asked why he comes out on these rides, something he's been doing for eight or nine years, he says only, "I'm a Harley guy."

After the group finishes eating, they find a covered gazebo and do something fittingly Chinese: eat again. By the time the last of the pork is grilled, the last bandana dried and a group photograph taken, it's time to head back.

The return leg is pepped up by the betel nut and Mr Brown and goes without a hitch, except for a silly newcomer who completely misjudges a gap in traffic and bounces harmlessly off a parked car to the ground. Like a good shepherd, however, Pirate, sorts out the mishap, more betel nut is handed out and the procession moves on.

For your information:

The Da Cham bike club may be reached at 2595-4989 or 2306-1623.
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