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" (
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 (
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