It was 11:59 p.m. when my phone vibrated with a WhatsApp Message.
Pickup: Muradpur
Drop-off: Hill Top Park, near Boktiar Para, Anwara
Payment: Taka 1000 (cash) — urgent delivery
And then the note —
“Please deliver no matter what. I’ll wait outside. Important parcel, don’t delay.”
For a long moment, my fingers hovering over to type Accept/Decline.
Even through the screen’s pale glow, something about that message felt wrong. The way “no matter what” was written — desperate, almost pleading.
I remembered my cycling group’s riders warning from earlier that week:
“Bro, avoid Hill Top Park after midnight. Spirits roam there.”
But a thousand taka for one drop? I needed it. My Tetulia–Teknaf ride fund was bleeding dry.
And so — like a fool warmed by greed and caffeine — I typed order Accepted.
The city was unnervingly still.
Muradpur’s chaos had thinned to whispers — shutters half-closed, tea stalls empty, stray dogs watching with cautious eyes.
At the junction, beneath a flickering light that buzzed like an insect dying, an old man waited.
He wasn’t drinking tea.
He wasn’t even blinking.
Just waiting.
When he saw my delivery bag, he smiled — slow, cracked, and lifeless.
“You’re the rider?” His voice rasped, like sand dragged across glass.
“Yes, sir. Hill Top Park, right?”
He nodded and handed me a brown parcel — wrapped in paper too brittle for this age, tied with a jute string, and sealed with candle wax instead of tape.
The faint smell of incense clung to it — not the sweet temple kind, but something old, something burnt out too many times.
“Be careful,” he whispered. “Don’t open it. And don’t stop.”
I tried to joke — “Sure thing, sir. Just another night shift.”
His stare didn’t break. “No. This is the only one tonight.”
Before I could speak, he turned into the alley.
By the time I blinked, he was gone.
The fog thickened the further I rode, wrapping around my headlight like wet gauze. Every sound felt sharper — the chain’s metallic rhythm, the crunch of gravel, the slow drag of my breath inside the helmet.
By Bahaddarhat, the air had changed — colder, heavier. I could taste rust and salt.
Under Shah Amanat Bridge, my headlight swept across a figure sitting alone — a woman in a faded red saree, her back turned.
I slowed down, instinctively cautious.
Then she lifted her face toward me.
Her eyes —
not eyes.
Empty glass marbles reflecting my light back at me.
Her skin too smooth, too pale, as if wax had replaced flesh.
I swerved, tires screeching, heart slamming against my ribs.
The sound echoed for too long.
When I dared to glance back —
she was gone.
Only the faint echo of a child’s giggle lingered under the bridge, as though it had been waiting for me to pass.
At Daulatpur, the parcel on my back shifted.
Just slightly — like something inside had moved.
I stopped under a streetlight.
The paper was dry, the wax unbroken — yet the weight was… different.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: +8801*******666, I answered.
Static, then a whisper so thin it barely sounded human:
“Almost there… right? Don’t stop. He’s hungry.”
My breath caught. “Who is this?”
No reply.
Just the faint sound of… chewing. Wet. Slow. Then the line died.
I checked the call log.
No record.
By the time I reached Anwara, the world had turned grey. The road shimmered with fog; trees leaned over like silent spectators. My tires made no sound, though I was still moving.
That’s when I heard it —
the click-click-click of another cycle chain behind me.
Steady.
Rhythmic.
Matching my pace exactly.
I turned.
Empty road.
I pedaled faster.
So did it.
Click-click-click.
Closer.
I stopped abruptly.
Silence.
But on the wet asphalt behind my wheel —
bare footprints.
Small. Muddy. Fresh.
And the parcel on my back was warm.
When I finally reached Boktiar Para, the lone streetlight flickered like a dying pulse. Ahead loomed the gate — tall, rusted, its sign barely legible:
HILL TOP PARK
The air was thick with incense and something else — the sickly-sweet odor of rot covered by perfume.
My phone buzzed again.
A message.
“I’m waiting. At the top of the stairs.”
The mist parted, revealing a shadow of a mansion at the hill’s crest.
Its windows were dark except one — glowing faintly yellow.
I should’ve turned back.
But Taka 1000… and my stubborn dream of Tetulia to Teknaf…
So I climbed.
Each pedal stroke up that cracked driveway felt wrong. The earth seemed to pull my wheels down. The grass whispered as I passed, as if murmuring finally.
She was waiting.
The woman. The same red saree. The same glassy eyes.
“You brought it,” she said softly. Her voice was the same whisper from the call. “Thank you.”
My throat dried. “What… what is this parcel?”
She didn’t answer. Her trembling hand reached for the brown wrapping — and the paper peeled itself open, soundless.
Inside was a bowl of rice and steak, untouched, perfectly preserved, with an incense stick upright in the middle.
It lit itself.
The smoke coiled upward — and in it, a man’s face began to form.
Eyes sunken. Jaw slack.
Then the mouth opened, wider, wider, stretching past what bone should allow — until it became a void that breathed.
The woman turned to it and whispered, “He’s home now.”
The void lunged.
The air collapsed.
The smell — incense and rot — filled my lungs, choking me.
I fell backward, tumbling down the stairs. My bike crashed beside me.
Then —
blackness.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was rising over the hills.
Birds sang.
The mansion was gone. Only cracked stone and vines remained.
My delivery bag was empty.
The order? Vanished from my phone.
No number, no chat history.
But when I opened my wallet —
Taka 1000.
Old, yellowed notes.
Crisp but fragile.
Smelling faintly of burnt incense.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Because from the corridor outside my door came a sound —
click… click… click…
A cycle chain. Slowly turning.
I checked the clock: 3:12 a.m.
No one was there.
But on the floor — faint muddy footprints, small and bare.
A week later, I passed Hill Top Park again during a daylight delivery.
Curiosity gnawed at me.
The gate was sealed with rusted chains.
I asked a fruit seller nearby, “There used to be a house here, right?”
He frowned. “House? Nah, burned down years ago.”
I felt my skin tighten. “What about the woman in red?”
His knife slipped from his hand.
“You… saw her?”
He lowered his voice.
“Every Hungry Ghost Month, she waits for someone to bring food for her husband. The last rider never returns whole.”
As I turned to leave, I felt warmth in my pocket.
The old notes.
Hot — almost burning.
Up the hill, behind the shattered windows, something flickered — a hint of red fabric fluttering in a wind that didn’t exist.
And faintly, from behind me — click… click… click…
The sound of a chain matching my heartbeat.
I never look back now.
Because once, when I did…
I saw her reflection in my rear light.
Smiling.
Holding the bowl of rice.
And whispering — “You’re next, rider.”
Let’s be honest — the post-ride hunger is real.
You finish a long, gruelling ride, your legs are jelly, your heart rate is still high, and suddenly everything edible looks like a five-star meal. Pizza? Tempting. Biscuits? Too easy. Leftover rice? Gone in seconds.
But here’s the truth: what you eat right after your ride can either boost your recovery or delay your progress. Random snacking might fill your stomach, but it won’t refuel your muscles the right way. That’s where the science of balancing protein and carbohydrates comes in — and understanding it can make the difference between just riding often and truly becoming stronger over time.
Cycling is an endurance sport that burns through glycogen — the body’s stored form of carbohydrates — while also causing tiny muscle fiber damage (especially during climbs, sprints, or long-distance rides).
So, after your ride, your body enters a repair-and-rebuild mode:
Carbs refill your depleted glycogen tank (your body’s energy reserve).
Protein rebuilds and strengthens the tiny muscle fibers that were stressed during the ride.
Think of your body like a workshop:
The protein are the builders, bringing in materials and fixing broken structures.
The carbs are the power source, keeping the lights on so that rebuilding can actually happen.
Neglect one, and the other can’t do its job effectively.
Protein is made up of amino acids — your body’s building blocks for muscle repair and growth.
After a ride, your muscles are like workers waiting for materials. If protein isn’t supplied soon, the recovery process slows down dramatically.
Research suggests consuming about 0.14–0.23 grams of protein per pound of body weight within an hour after finishing your ride.
| Body Weight | Protein Range After Ride |
|---|---|
| 120 lbs (54 kg) | 17–27 grams |
| 150 lbs (68 kg) | 21–35 grams |
| 180 lbs (82 kg) | 25–41 grams |
Delayed muscle recovery
Higher fatigue on your next ride
Weaker immune response
Potential loss of lean muscle mass over time
Remember: cycling doesn’t just burn calories — it stresses muscles, tendons, and your entire metabolic system. Protein ensures they come back stronger.
| Type | Examples | Notes |
|---|---|---|
| Animal-based | Eggs, chicken breast, fish, milk, yogurt | Complete proteins with all amino acids |
| Plant-based | Lentils, chickpeas, tofu, quinoa | Combine multiple sources for full amino acid profile |
| Convenient | Protein shakes, Greek yogurt, chocolate milk | Great when you’re on the go or not hungry post-ride |
👉 Pro Tip: Aim for high-quality protein that contains leucine — an amino acid shown to trigger muscle recovery.
Some people fear carbs like they fear flat tires.
But for cyclists, carbs are essential fuel — not the enemy.
When you ride, your body burns through stored glycogen in the liver and muscles. Without replenishing it, your next ride will feel like pedaling through wet cement.
You need roughly 0.5–0.7 grams of carbohydrate per pound of body weight within the first 30 minutes after your ride.
| Body Weight | Carbs Needed After Ride |
|---|---|
| 120 lbs (54 kg) | 60–84 grams |
| 150 lbs (68 kg) | 75–105 grams |
| 180 lbs (82 kg) | 90–126 grams |
Why so soon? Because in the first 30–60 minutes post-ride, your body’s glycogen “refilling” mechanism is at its fastest. Miss that window, and you slow down recovery by hours.
Sports scientists have discovered a sweet spot: the carb-to-protein ratio.
A 3:1 or 4:1 ratio (carbs : protein) is ideal for endurance athletes like cyclists.
This ratio:
Replenishes glycogen efficiently
Promotes muscle repair
Reduces muscle soreness
Speeds up recovery time
Example:
If you take 30g of protein, pair it with 90–120g of carbs for optimal recovery balance.
You don’t need a nutrition degree to refuel properly — just a bit of planning.
Here are easy, science-backed recovery meals and snacks that fit real cyclists’ lives:
Chocolate milk – Nature’s perfect 3:1 carb-to-protein ratio.
Greek yogurt + banana + honey – Smooth, sweet, and recovery-friendly.
Peanut butter and Jam sandwich on whole-grain bread – Balanced, cheap, and effective.
Protein smoothie with milk, oats, and frozen fruits – Ideal if you’re not hungry post-ride.
Rice with grilled chicken or tofu + vegetables
Lentil soup with flatbread and yogurt
Tuna pasta with olive oil and a boiled egg
Chickpea curry with brown rice
Eat your recovery meal/snack within 30–60 minutes post-ride.
After 90 minutes, your body’s glycogen absorption rate slows down significantly.
Skipping carbs for fear of weight gain
→ You’re not just burning calories — you’re restoring energy. Without carbs, your muscles stay empty.
Waiting too long to eat
→ The “glycogen window” closes fast. Have at least a banana or chocolate milk immediately if you can’t eat a full meal right away.
Overloading on protein shakes
→ More protein doesn’t always mean more recovery. The excess is just burned or excreted — and you may still feel tired due to lack of carbs.
Ignoring hydration and electrolytes
→ Protein and carbs won’t work if your body is dehydrated. Drink water or a rehydration mix to help nutrient absorption.
Beetroot juice: Rich in nitrates that improve oxygen efficiency and speed up recovery.
Coffee (in moderation): Can help reduce muscle soreness and fatigue perception.
Tart cherry juice: Shown in studies to reduce inflammation and muscle pain.
Coconut water + salt pinch: Natural electrolyte replenisher if you’re avoiding commercial drinks.
Every cyclist is different — metabolism, muscle type, and training volume all affect recovery needs.
Some riders recover well on a higher-carb plan; others prefer slightly more protein.
👉 Experiment:
Track how you feel the next morning after different recovery meals:
Do your legs feel heavy? Maybe you need more carbs.
Feel bloated or sluggish? Maybe less fat or a lighter meal.
Feel strong and energized? You’ve found your formula.
Balancing protein and carbs isn’t about chasing perfection — it’s about understanding your body’s rhythm.
Recovery nutrition is a continuation of your training, not an afterthought.
When you fuel wisely:
You recover faster.
You ride stronger.
You progress consistently.
So next time you finish a ride, skip the random snacks and reach for the right combo. Your body — and your next ride — will thank you.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a banana, peanut butter, and a cold glass of chocolate milk.
March 23, 2025, Feni, Bangladesh: Two sisters sit and talk to each other at the railway station in Feni district, Bangladesh.
November 19, 2024, Chittagong, Bangladesh: In dust and heat, a worker’s silent struggle unfolds.