#pushingboundaries

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan

Chapter 2: Toward the Alps Let go of the extras you want, and you'll find you can carry everything you need.

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Supportive Partners – Austria, DAY 3

Even though it was just my second day on the road, I felt growing sense of confidence. The anxiety from yesterday and the failure from the day before seemed like distant memories.

I turned onto a small path, imagining myself as a professional cycling adventurer. Without GPS, I simply followed the river or headed south—it felt like the right direction.

But ten minutes later, I regretted taking this supposedly bike-friendly route. It led me uphill on a rough trail, pulling me away from the Isar River.

Now I was lost in the wilderness, dragging a bike loaded with tens of kilograms of gear. Recalling scenes from TV, I awkwardly maneuvered the bike over rocks and uneven terrain, hoping the rear wheel could withstand the weight and impacts. At this point, I wasn’t confident I could handle a flat tire on my own.

“Couldn't they design these bike paths to be smoother?” I muttered in frustration.

The day before, I had followed bike path signs only to take several unnecessary detours. Determined to avoid that mistake, I started the day on regular roads. But the speeding cars and strong winds were terrifying, often making me feel like I’d be swept into traffic. For safety, I reluctantly returned to the bike path.

At the trail's end, the exit was barely wide enough for a single bike or stroller. My bike, with saddlebags on both sides and the Big Frisbee tent strapped to the back, couldn't fit through.

“You're just trying to make my life difficult, aren't you?” I grumbled at the exit. Dismounting, I unstrapped the Big Frisbee and prepared to remove the left saddlebag.

But the saddlebag's clips were covered by my sleeping bag and mat, which meant I had to detach those first. After dismantling everything, I awkwardly pushed my bike through the narrow exit, then went back to carry my gear piece by piece before reattaching it all.

A middle-aged man with silver hair walked by, glancing curiously at my gear and actions. I liked meeting people with such curiosity because they were usually friendly and helpful—and I could really use a guide.

“Hello, can you tell me where the Isar River is? Is it far from here?” I asked in my broken German, one of my strengths being my lack of fear in using it.

“Not far. Just follow this road straight ahead,” he replied. His curiosity grew bolder as he took a closer look at my bike and gear.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Do you mean today? I’m heading along the Isar River to Austria,” I replied, choosing to focus on today’s goal.

“Oh my! And then?” he asked, sensing my journey was more extensive.

“Next, I'll head to Italy,” I said.

“And where are you going in the end?” he asked, skipping ahead.

“If all goes well, my plan is to ride back to Taiwan,” I said.

“Just you? How long will it take? Why are you doing this?” he asked, his eyes wide with astonishment. In the end, he sincerely wished me a safe and smooth journey.

Shortly after returning to the Isar River, the landscape began to change. Mountain ridges appeared on the horizon, and I struggled to pedal up steep inclines with my untrained muscles, carrying tens of kilograms of gear.

My speed was comparable to a crawling turtle. Every couple of kilometers, I had to stop to catch my breath. When faced with a 12-degree incline, I sat by the roadside to rest before forcing myself to charge up 10 meters, only to dismount and push the bike step by step.

After several attempts, I stumbled upon a technique: leaning my body forward at a 45-degree angle gave me just enough momentum to push the bike. The thought made me laugh out loud, even as I struggled uphill.

After a long day of pushing, the path finally leveled out. Suddenly, the breathtaking Sylvenstein Lake unfolded before me, stretching east and west under a blue sky with layered mountains standing on the far side.

“Okay, next goal: make it to the other side of you. But first, it's time for lunch,” I said aloud to the lake, as if it were listening.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon when I found a lookout point with a parking spot. Leaning my bike against the railing, I pulled out a stove and pot from one of the saddlebags and fished out a pack of instant noodles from the quick-release bag. Facing the lake, I boiled water for my meal.

“Who cares if I have experience or not? Who cares if I'm doing it right? The fact is, I pushed my bike up here, and now I can sit here and enjoy this view while cooking. That's all that matters,” I thought.

I felt proud of my progress, as if every cell in my body was cheering.

Friends had often questioned the logic of my trip. “Why are you planning such a dangerous journey?” they’d ask.

“I'm not entirely sure. There are so many small reasons, and each one is like a thread pulling me forward, making it impossible to stop,” I'd reply, never able to give a satisfactory answer because I didn't have one myself.

Planning this journey felt like navigating life itself: not knowing which direction to take, what to choose, or how to proceed. No matter how much advice I received, I was the one who had to walk this path. The thought of loneliness and darkness terrified me—just as life’s uncertainties did.

Still, I believed that completing this journey might somehow solve certain puzzles about life. Of course, it might end up changing nothing at all, just as life often feels futile. But even then, I had nothing to lose. By letting go and daring to try, I might achieve a different outcome. “I have to do this,” I told myself, even as I knew I lacked the ability to complete it. Because it is not only a distant goal but also a dauting challenge to begin.

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Closing Remarks:

✨ Your Turn: Challenges often teach us more than victories. Have you ever found a sense of rhythm or peace while overcoming something difficult? Share your thoughts below—I'd love to hear them!

📅 Time Frame: This story chronicles my journey across two continents between November 2013 and October 2014. Published independently in Taiwan in 2021, it is now shared as an English serialized novel through AI translation, connecting with friends worldwide to share this journey of personal growth.

📅 Next Episode: "Supported by Generosity"