Those who know me well enough, know that I tend to think in very straight lines - I could either keep going forward and end up in Taichung, I could turn back and ride 4hours back to Hualien. Both choices would get me back to civilisation by dinnertime and I could easily get a room for the night and ride back to Taipei in the morning.
Those who know me well enough, also know that I absolutely hate giving up on a plan worth doing. If you're gonna do anything worth doing, then you gotta do it right. Right?
By the time I reached Route 7 - the water that had seeped into my gloves from riding in the mist of the clouds had reached an equilibrium with my hands. Not quite as cold as the outside temperature, but not quite as warm as my body ought to be. Still, the rain had eased up, and I realised that I was turning corners quite a bit faster than I had been a few hours earlier. I'd been riding continuously for so long I'd reached that point were I knew my bike absolutely without knowing it.
I knew the balance, I knew the engine pitches, I knew the torque at different gradients and most importantly, I knew the grip limits, on these new tires, in this rain, with this semi-tuned engine.
The light was getting dark, and there are no street lights in the mountain roads.
The rain was getting heavier again.
What else could I do?
I picked up the pace.
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