Day 27

Dajia to Houlong.

Three days to go!

Last night’s festivities were reminisced over and relived again this morning as we headed down to the beach for a refreshing swim that booted out those hangovers in a second. Not all stories were joyfully retold, however, as Kyle and Kevin got into trouble with Neil for something naughty they did regarding some sausages.

But there was no ill-feeling and we said goodbye to the merry band of travelers who returned to Taipei for The Mighty Shane FC’s game that afternoon, filled with dreams of a win. (We later learned the dream came true thanks to a Hollywood hat trick). After taking advantage of Alex and Steve’s fabulously relaxing Hsinchu pad, where tea and showers were greatly appreciated and enjoyed, we finally hauled ourselves up of our backsides and headed back to the train station for Yuanli. Our laziness somehow got the better of us today, nothing to do with the countless celebratory drinks, I’m sure, and we’re heading to the start line late. We are meeting Michael, but there’s no way we’ll be there for the meeting time of three. Luckily and coincidentally, it turns out he’s on the same train as us anyway, so we all arrive in Yuanli a little late, but at the same time. I suffer a bout of driver’s block caused by not having paid attention to the route when we arrived in Yuanli a couple of day’s before, though it’s fair to add that it’s true that all Taiwanese towns look the same and can prove difficult to navigate: 7Eleven, Hi-Life, Family Mart, betel nut stand, 7Eleven, Hi-Life, motorbike repair shop, McDonalds, 7Eleven, Family Mart, you get the idea…

Finally, we ask Michael’s taxi driver to drive to Route 61. He, quite understandably, misses the point that we’d like Michael dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of no man’s land, and takes us to the beach instead. The kerfuffle leads to the latest start yet and at 5.40 we are only just about to begin. Knowing Neil has to run an exceptionally quick time today, I must admit that I’m not completely confident when Michael begins to tell us about a twenty mile walk he once completed in Oxford, or was it Cambridge? Does he know he’ll be running at some pace today and will not be allowed to walk a single step? Does he know that if Neil doesn’t finish by midnight that could be the end of the universe as we know it? It turns out I needn’t have worried. They start the marathon at a brilliant speed and Michael doesn’t break out in a sweat all night.

I’ve never been a fan of this Expressway and eight-lane concrete road to hell that is the 61, so we take a side road through a village and manage to rejoin northbound Highway 1. It’s less busy, better lit and far more user-friendly. Or runner-friendly, should I say? The time Michael and Neil are making is amazing. With Michael’s fitness (he’s a central midfielder which I believe involves more running around than a goalkeeper) and enthusiasm they are bouncing off one another, running seven kilometre stints instead of sixes, and talking incessantly about all manner of things, including that oft-discussed topic of the Tsars of Russia. They really are quite a sight. Barely once did I see them without animation and chatter. Barely once did they fail to see me and carried on running by, engrossed in conversation, as I shouted after them to stop.

Just after 10pm, they’re on 32.5km, and wanting to steam on to the end without any further breaks. As luck wouldn’t have it, a mountain appears (from nowhere, may I say. Neil hasn’t had to climb anything steeper than a 10NT shop this past week). As the kilometres pass quickly by, the conversation never fades and I hear later that they’ve discussed everything from French history to influential politicians, from Emile Zola to why England failed to qualify for the World Cup in 1976, from the aforementioned Tsars to more philosophical concerns. I imagine Neil has thoroughly enjoyed this varied discussion.

At the finish line at 11.25, Michael is as composed a gentleman as he has been all day, and I’m sure as he always is. He looks like he could quite happily run again tomorrow. A quick marathon, the quickest to date, and as smooth as silk. The pace was fast, the conversation stimulating and interesting and the day was an absolute pleasure.Thank you, Michael, and congratulations on becoming the fifteenth gentleman, and the final one, to run a marathon with Neil and show quite amazing support in his challenge.

We relay into a town called Houlong and, though there are no hotels, we find a Love Motel in no time. It’s expensive, even with the goodwill discount, but once Neil sees the jet-spa jacuzzi style bath and ridiculously vast amount of cosmetics and bath additives we decide it’s money well spent. Oh, and did I mention the TV- the TV plonked right in front of the bath, so you can watch Star Movies while you soak? The see-through kinky shutters that separate the bedroom from the bathroom, we guess we’ll just have to live with.