June 20, 2016

I was prepared to make the focus of this posting, a vivid and graphic recollection of the amazing and crushing 7 hour ride I had through remote areas…places that I would wager not many foreigners (if any) had ridden…until something happened at the end of the ride that overshadowed it…true kindness.

It was getting dark and about to rain. I was shattered from my ride (more details below). I arrived at a large town named Manjakandria and assumed it would be no problem to find a hotel. I cruised through town 3 times. Nothing. I was prepared to camp but not looking forward to it. I started to look for places in town that would maybe let me roll out my sleeping bag under a shelter so I wasn’t setting up in the rain. Nothing. I began trying to communicate with people, even though I spoke no Malagasy and they spoke no English.  I just gave the international sign of sleep with my ear laying on my hands. Nothing. Finally a woman who knew a couple words in English, told me to wait and she would get someone who spoke English. A young man appeared from a restaurant who told me to wait 15 minutes while he got someone who spoke better English. Finally a young man with slightly better English approached me and told me his sister in law, who was now standing in front of me with her 2 small children, that I could stay at her home…if I didn’t mind an empty room, with no furniture or electricity. Absolutely!   We walked to her home and she showed me my room on the first floor. It was perfect. As I was setting up my camp for the night, her husband came down and they invited me upstairs to stay with their family. “Really?” my eyes lit up. I was ecstatic. Their home was simple, but warm. They even changed the sheets when I walked in and then invited me to join them for dinner. True kindness, with nothing to gain. It should be noted that the typical Malagasy meal is rice…a healthy portion 3x per day, every day.  They usually will add some greens or meat like beef. It was not much,  but they were proud to share with me and I enjoyed it with them gratefully.  As the night went on, other members of their family arrived after they heard that a “foreigner” was staying with them. Everyone was so excited to talk to me and took turns practicing their English. They were even more curious about me than I was about them. Even though they expected nothing of me, I wanted to show my immense gratitude.  I gave the father 5000 Ariari.  He looked at me like I handed him the winning Lotto ticket.  It was about $1.50.  In the morning, they made me breakfast and I was on my way. This just keeps happening to me.  All I can say is that I keep putting it out there and it keeps coming back. True kindness.

Oh yeah…that bike ride. Two things went through my head, literally all day. Jenna telling me, “There are no secondary roads in Mada. Stick to the main national road.” My friend Jeff telling me, “We’re capable of more than we think. Challenge yourself.” As I was leaving, I looked at the map. There were 2 routes: main road and secondary road. I had time to figure it out since the commute to get through rush hour in Tana took nearly 2 hours of exhaust choking brain damage. At my decision point stood more congestion and exhaust or pure freedom. Once again, I got to the edge…and I jumped.

The pavement quickly gave way to cobbles, climbing and winding its way up some 2000 vertical feet before rolling through the country side, leaving all that noise behind. Welcome to Madagascar…for real. After an hour, the road began to narrow, and then narrowed some more, and then narrowed some more, becoming a mere broken and over grown foot path, before reaching a dead end at a creek crossing. I looked at the map. Yup…still on course. At this point, the voices crept in. “There are no secondary roads in Mada. Stick to the main national road.” As I lamented the dreaded tuck tail and back track, I heard, “We’re capable of more than we think. Challenge yourself.” I dragged my 80lb bike across the creek and up the other side and began slogging up the foot path. This went on for about 90 grueling minutes. Sweat was flowing through my helmet and burning my eyes. I checked the map constantly. Yup, still on course (but how was this path on the map???). Finally, I crested the hill and joined a larger dirt road. Euphoric , yet dumbfounded. I pedaled along on this double track “road” for about 60 minutes. I checked the map just to make sure I didn’t miss a turn (although there were not any other junctions for me to miss a turn). I missed a turn. DAMMIT! I back tracked and saw yet another foot path heading up a ridiculously steep hill where a man was walking his cow. I was crushed. Jenna and Jeff…get out of my head! Only one of you can win. After about 45 minutes of literally dragging my bike up this hill, at one point it got so steep that I slid down the hill backwards with my bike on top of me. I was defiant. Even if I wanted to turn around, It would have been harder to keep my bike from careening down this hill and shattering into a dozen pieces. I pressed on and again was rewarded with an overgrown double track. Still on course. Honestly, this happened 3 more times. Each time that I was shattered and dejected, I was immediately rewarded by the next joining of a “road”. Throughout this day, I was greeted by warm smiles of people in small remote villages who I’m sure were not sure what they were seeing. I know that what I experienced today, not many other cyclists have (if they were smart).

Finally, after about 6 hours of this war, a single track trail dropped into a village that joined the main PAVED road before rolling into town for the night. I will live to fight another day. Welcome to Madagascar…for real.

Get me out of here!

Beginning of the adventure

Intersection.  At least it’s “marked”

The “road” complete with “signage”

Look close…that’s my “road”

Another intersection.

Finally a proper road!

Seriously?

Choose correctly

The road to pavement