21 - South of Pingtung

Riding your bike south of Pingtung City you find a wilder landscape. There are few structures here. Electricity pylons, sat on concrete pedestals, rise up above the long grasses. Higher still are the train tracks and the highway. On the ground, a cracked path cuts between meadows, where giant reeds and bamboo grow.

The land then dips down and flattens out. You see a ring of trees embellished by paving stones, on which stone seats have been placed, as well as a larger stone, which stands in for a table. This has been inscribed with red writing and resembles those ornamental boulders that bear inscriptions of wisdom, the kind you see outside temples and in public parks. On closer inspection you find this table stone bears the spray-painted inscription: "Take your rubbish with you," a command which has generally been obeyed: an empty bottle of soy milk, the rind of a pomelo and a purple carrier bag are the only signs of mis-use. A semi-circle of bricks contains the barbeque ashes of Moon Festival celebrations.

From here the view takes in common ground, which stands out for being so kempt. To one side a group of radio controlled aircraft owners are lined up with their craft. These enthusiasts watch in silence, showing no emotion whatsoever, while the flier whose turn it is steers his plane through barrel rolls, wingovers and, your favourite, a trick that involves keeping the plane suspended nose up, spinning on its axis just above head height. Some don't bother with tricks. One such man has a tiny yellow plane, which sounds like a blender. It is extremely fast and its owner is content to simply steer it to and fro. It whips about like a hawk. Another flier spends a long time working on his machine before taking it up. Its pleasant tone, much like a muffled strimmer, diminishes. Finally, it seems to disappear among the grey skies. It has a long thin body and is hard to make out up there, except for when it turns and flashes its wings at you.

You can't fail to notice the abundance of street dogs. Two of them chase a passing car. Another drinks from and then flops down in a muddy ditch. He's called over by one of the model plane enthusiasts. Approaching slowly, his side all muddy, he half-expects to be attacked. The man who called him pours water into his cupped hand and lets the dog drink. A pack of about a dozen dogs of all colours and sizes sleep under the raised highway. They eye you warily as you pass.

The meadows beyond this are overgrown. Above them, seemingly hundreds of birds are lined up on  pylon-suspended cables. Beside an Earth God shrine, there's a sofa under a tree. At the end of this grassland there's an array of fields. Some are crowded with bamboo stakes and leafy green crops. Others are covered in dark tarpaulins. There are groves of mango and banana; papaya and coconut trees tower over small holdings. A black lizard with a tail longer than its body runs across the path and disappears. You pass an incense factory.

Letting yourself get lost, you follow a series of lanes until you find yourself on private property, among fish farms. The owner directs you back to the highway, while the six or seven guard dogs sat behind her watch you. As you ride off, her dogs, now bold and barking, take chase. She did mention that this would happen, saying "They love to chase after people, but wouldn't know what to do if they caught you" These words are easily forgotten when half a dozen dogs are running after you at full pelt. Leaving them behind, you find the highway again. From here it's a twenty minute ride to Pingtung Station.