Quite sensibly, our team of cyclists take noon naps during the hottest part of the day. In Chaiyi, we rest in the blissful shade of the UFO-shaped Tropic of Cancer monument, an odd-looking solar exploration center of sorts. Sitting upon the line that divides Taiwan into sub-tropical and tropical zones, I smile because the “Chia” in “Chiayi” is the same character as the “Chia” in my name; and so “Chia as in Chaiyi” has always been my standard reply to inquiries after my name characters, even though I have never been to Chiayi. Now, after twenty-eight years, I am finally here, under a giant concrete mushroom with legs, with fifty-one teammates that are now like family.
