As I stuck in the mud (泥), with my bike on top of me, I wondered what had forced me to come here. Madagascar is not a good place for a cycling holiday: one of the world's poorest countries, only 11 percent of roadway is paved (铺). South of the town of Antalaha, where I started, the road was in worse condition.
I appeared from a week in the wilderness and reached the start of the Route National 5 at Maroantsetra, but my dream of a smooth road and speed was suddenly destroyed by mud. The "worst road in the country" changed my bicycle into a burden (负担) for days. Finally, I was claimed by the road. Tired. Alone.
As I wiped (擦) the mud from my face and looked upwards, I was greeted by a Malagasy man. He helped me stand up and smiled playfully while he pointed to my bike, which sat next to his. I started again. But I fell again in the mud. Angrily, I told him to go on, but if he understood he showed no sign of it. His smile forced me back onto the bike. We continued like this for hours. But I fell less. Studying my quick guide, slowly I learned. As we passed through a village, a group of children saw me and shouted loudly. His only words were: "Their parents tell them while people steal and eat them. Funny, no?"
I tried to ask why, but he had already set off. I tried to catch up; as I got closer, he took it as a challenge and sped up. We raced along the road. I rode a little faster and I was just behind, about to catch up with him. With a smile, he sped up and was away, leaving me breathless.
