A Paws for thought – Singlespeeding through Sri
Lanka.
There’s something about the sight and sound of
rushing water that captivates me; be it the soothing chatter of a brook
speeding through a shallow glide or, like today, the deep base of white horses
breaking on a sun-soaked beach. Last night I was lulled into a deep sleep by
it, and today I stood on its edge with a wash of cool, foaming, surf tickling
my feet whilst I studied, mesmerised, the infinite variety of the forming
waves, no two the same, ever.
It was 36 hours since we'd rolled into Tangalle, on
Sri Lanka’s southern coast, on our local singlespeed bicycles; seven days after
leaving Jaffna, in the north, 804kms of cycling now behind us. My bike sat in
the shade of our simple but pleasant beach-side accommodation, its tyres half
submerged in the soft white sand. It was a nice place to end an adventure.
-----------------------------------------
With a budget of just £150 each we
took the slow train from Colombo, the capital, to Jaffna, bought ourselves a
couple of the ubiquitous singlespeed bicycles, known locally as “Standards”,
for the princely sum of £63.00 each, and prepared ourselves for the long slog.
We were cycling from north to south
via the most westerly and easterly points on the map - Jaffna, Mannar, Arugam
Bay, and Tangalle. None of this was my idea I might add; it was all the making
of my friend Phil Evans; a master of master planners if ever there was one.
For our efforts we were hoping to
raise £2000 for the Helping Paws Neuter and Vaccination Program which in turn
would help to enrich the lives of around 100 street dogs and cats (*I’m pleased
to say we exceeded our target).
Our journey wasn’t without incident -
how could it be - it wouldn’t be a journey otherwise; even our train was
delayed en-route by a car colliding with it at a level crossing a few miles
short of our disembarkation. Thankfully the driver appeared none the worse for
the altercation, the car however didn’t fare quite so well - these lumbering
old Asian trains are made of stern stuff. The type of stuff we would need to
made of over the next seven days.
I loaded my bike, ad hoc fashion,
with the new Alpkit Koala Exo Seatpack, a Joey Harness, and a 20l Airlok dual
dry bag, and we rolled out of Jaffna with an eclectic mix of smiles,
enthusiasm, and trepidation. This was no picnic, no leisurely bikepacking tour
through a tropical dreamscape, we had big miles to cover and a tight deadline
in which to do it.
Our reverie was soon tempered by the
desolate northern landscape of scrub and desert, a pan-flat and arrow-straight
road, and a relentless coastal headwind. We were about to earn our turns.
The first fifteen kilometres or so
were on a raised causeway that dissected a saltwater wetland of sorts, before
transitioning to the mainland and long stretches of nothingness, no settlements
or services to speak of for miles at a time. The crippling heat and humidity
made its presence felt from the start and would play a significant role in our
suffering for the whole journey south, I only remember stopping to pee three
times in seven days, and we drank copious amounts of water, tea, and pop, along
the way.
The last thirty kilometres were where
it got tough, no longer buoyed by the morning’s excitement, the smooth asphalt
turned to concrete, with a corrugated ripple just for good measure, and I began
to suffer. The heat, headwind, and unforgiving surface all playing a part. It
was miserable. When finally this purgatory ceased we rolled on to a beautifully
smooth asphalt causeway across to the island; the coastal headwind, of course,
perpetuated our misery until the final turn of the pedals. The horribly cheap saddle
on the bike had caused me problems all day, I was left to contend with a bruise
on each bum cheek the size and colour of a Cox's Orange Pippin; some urgent
adjustments were required.
Our oasis for the night was a little
hideaway in the backstreets of Mannar called The Pearl Rest, more homestay than
hotel, and at the princely sum of five dollars each ensured we came in under
budget. Isabella Fuchs, a Swiss girl we met in Jaffna, just happened to be
staying in the very same place, and with a little wave of her wand some trail
magic appeared; a bottle each of the local Lion Beer. Cheers Isabella.
Saddling up for the spin inland to
Vavuniya (pronounced Vow-nee-er) we anticipated a pleasant morning of now
favourable coastal winds over the trifling 80kms - a virtual rest day. Ha.
The weather gods decreed that we
would be given no such quarter and prescribed us another vicious headwind.
After a mere fifteen kilometres we pulled off the road, completely knackered,
propped our steel behemoths up on their kickstands, and paused for tea. Tea in
Sri Lanka is delicious (the coffee culture, on the other hand, is quite
diabolical). We slurped down our first cup and then promptly ordered another.
Sri Lankan's like tea. They also like sugar. The tea was so sweet it made my
teeth rattle, but, given our advanced levels of perspiration, we figured it may
be more helpful than harmful and guzzled it anyway.
We were now far enough inland as to
be untroubled by the draw of the tidal wind and we whizzed along happily,
albeit in furnace like conditions, for a couple of hours through delightful
arable farmland and pasture, so green that we might have been at home in
Derbyshire.
It was at a fork in the road that our
yin met its yang. As we gleefully swept around the bend towards Vavuniya we
were hit with a double whammy, nay, triple whammy; the road surface
deteriorated to unpleasant, our friend the headwind made an unwelcome return to
the fold, and the furnace decided it was time to release molten steel upon us
and soared to a mind-bending 38 degrees Celsius.
A holy trinity of wrath was cast upon us.
To further propagate my sufferance my
steed began to develop a few issues. Firstly, one of the front brake pads fell
off and the nut was nowhere to be found, so I stashed it in my waist pack and
continued forth. It wasn't a real problem at that point because the brakes
didn't really work anyway. A short while later my left pedal started to wobble.
It had worked its way loose and jammed, at an angle, in the threads. This
wasn't a good omen for success. With our crappy spanner set, thankfully an
impulsive purchase in Jaffna, I managed to tighten it up a bit, but it was far from
ideal. Phil, highly amused by all of this, said he might ride behind me for the
rest of the day just in case anything else fell off. He then promptly cycled
off into the distance (along with the spanners; do you see where this is
going?); it's what friends are for after all.
Phil's bike remained steadfast
throughout the whole trip whilst mine gradually disintegrated - the exact same
bikes bought from the same shop.
Just as Phil was out of sight my
pedal fell off completely. After attempting (unsuccessfully) to pedal
one-footed for a while I found myself a slither of paltry shade from the
incessant sun, fished out my phone and called him a number of times before making
contact.
With the spanners at hand I screwed
the pedal in from the wrong side to clean out the damaged threads and then
reinserted it correctly. It never once came loose again. Weird.
In Vavuniya we secured a room at The
Princess Rose Hotel and managed to negotiate a reasonable discount by pleading
poverty and charity. Choices were at premium in a town that is distinctly off
the tourist track.
Food, it transpired, was also at a
premium. Vavuniya is, unusually, a predominantly Muslim town, and this was Ramadan.
Tracking down sustenance before sundown was a challenge but one that we managed
to surmount with a meagre bag of spicy samosa's and fried potatoes before going
out in the evening and having a massive bowl of ice cream. When cycling a long
way everyday it is perfectly acceptable to have ice cream for dinner. I also
bought a massive cake for breakfast.
The temperature was pleasant,
relatively, around 30c, we enjoyed a favourable tailwind for the most part, the
scenery was a delight, and we were beset by zero mechanical issues. What could
possibly go wrong?
Actually, not much.
The terrain was rolling all day; we
did plenty of climbing but we weren't particularly troubled by it. The first
eighty kilometres fairly whizzed by. We enjoyed our now customary tea stops
every hour or so (about 20kms) and had nary a care in the world.
I wandered ankle deep into the
margins, soaked my tee shirt, and splashed the delicious cool water over my
head. Phil had other ideas and fancied going a bit deeper - now at this point I
should mention that a pair of likely lads where sat a couple of hundred metres
away enjoying the shade of the palms, a tipple of the local firewater (Arrack -
a type of coconut whisky), and, let's call it, a toot of herbal relaxation.
Many Sri Lankans enjoy drinking excessively; a good friend of ours once told
us, with some pride I might add, that Sri Lanka has the highest per capita
percentage of alcoholics in the world, and these two fellows had clearly
embraced that.
Phil waded thigh deep, perhaps ten
metres, through a gap in reeds to the point where the lake started to open up,
at which point we began to hear some faint catcalling from our friends up the
bank. We chuckled at their drunken absurdity, until the calls became a bit
louder and a bit more distinct... "CROCODILES". I don't believe that
I've ever seen anyone move quite so fast, it was like watching Roadrunner rev
up his legs before catapulting away from Wile. E. Coyote.
I couldn't get my breath; I clutched
my stomach and howled with laughter as Phil came scurrying out of the lake
quick sharp. Now I don't even know if there were any crocodiles or if those
boys were pulling his tail, but it certainly got him out of the water in a big
damn hurry.
The two village idiots then wandered
down, chuckling, for a chat, and very kindly offered to share their
refreshments with us. Now as tempting as that offer was, and it was tempting,
we thought it best to decline; we did have another fifty kilometres of riding
ahead of us and the searing heat of the afternoon sun to contend with.
At our final tea stop the sky turned
a little brooding and began to spit with rain. We saddled up, cranked the bikes
up to cruising speed, and just managed to keep it off our backs.
Then the sun appeared, and the
temperature rocketed. In contrast to this my health plummeted exponentially. I
hadn't eaten sufficiently, and this combined with the heat and the extra effort
to outrun the rain gave me a bit of a wobble, I was borderline bonking. We
pulled over for a few minutes to cool down and I rummaged around and found a
few snacks to get me going again. Ten minutes later I was back into kilter and
we rolled the final fifteen kilometres into Trinco Beach and the enchanting
east coast surf. As a Surfer's paradise Trinco had plenty of food options, our
accommodation, The Jungle Vistha Beach, was simple, affordable, and perfectly
sufficient; it was a palm trees and hammocks kind of a place, just how I like
it. A little paddle in the surf and a belly full of delicious Sri Lankan curry
put the day to bed nicely.
Our route from Trincomolee to
Pasikuda turned in to a bigger mileage day quite by accident. We headed out on
to the road full of the joys of the previous days cakewalk, it just so happened
that we hit the road in the wrong direction. Fortunately a friendly local
turned us around after about 7.5kms and so the damage was minimal, and we
hightailed it back to where we should've been.
The temperature was an unforgiving
34+ all day and we were beset with the now familiar headwinds making progress
harder than it should have been.
For a while we cruised along close
the coastline, crossing long bridges, and enjoying the views of beautiful
lagoons and lush mangrove, before hitting some blustery weather. The wind
picked up and the rain came down. To be fair it wasn't much of a storm, it
lasted little more than ten minutes, and was pleasantly cool for a change.
Phil had his bad patch between 40 and
70km. Mine came a little later when the temperature rocketed after the rainstorm.
From 70-100kms I completely imploded, my energy seemed to drain away and my
head felt like it might explode at any second. Fortunately it was on the most
desolate stretch of road imaginable with no services or shelter; not even a
muddy buffalo pool to wallow in and alleviate my torment.
I backed off a little, let Phil drift
slowly off into the distance, and suffered in silence.
When, at last, a village appeared, I
spotted Phil waiting patiently in the shade at a small roadside restaurant and
I rolled slowly to a halt. I found a tap round the back, flopped to my knees,
and spent a good ten minutes with the water gurgling deliciously over my head.
A sharp intake of fluids and food
pulled me back from the light, and the sheer delight of a little pot of Creamoo
yoghurt (one of my favourite treats in Sri Lanka) put a little cherry on the
top. I was back in the game.
Did I say "Back
in the game"? Well not entirely, it was still pretty hard going;
accumulated fatigue, sunburn, dehydration, exposure, etc all make life tougher
than it should be. With only about 30kms left for the day and the promise of a
smashing air-conditioned room and a hearty meal to come we soldiered on; only
to be betrayed by Google Maps barely a kilometre or two from paradise.
We turned off the
highway and down a dirt road towards a causeway that cut right across Pasikuda
Bay, a welcome little short cut. Only it didn't. The causeway was none
existent. We retraced our steps and trundled into town a short while later. We
bumbled around for quite some time, wobbling down myriad side streets with
little idea of where we where; the 4G had conveniently disappeared. A further
six kilometres down the road, and with more than a hint of relief, we flicked
down the kickstands and chugged down a welcome drink in the air-conditioned
reception of the fabulous Pasikuda Beach Resort.
The Pasikuda Beach
Resort was trail-magic at its finest. Phil had scored us a free room and free
food via our friends at LSR (Lanka Sportreisen - they do the logistics for
Rumble in the Jungle). It was great to enjoy a bit of pampered luxury rather
than scratting around for cheap digs and cheaper food.
 |
| Luxury breakfast. |
I arose early, walked down to the beach, made friends with a couple of stray
dogs, and tried to grab a few sunrise images before the light became too harsh.
We gorged on a mighty
breakfast, then slowly creaked our way out into the heat of the day, and boy
was it hot. We were wise to creak out slowly, it turned out to be one of the
hardest days of the whole trip.
For 149kms we were
brutalised by a relentless sun, not a single cloud appeared in the entire sky
for the entire day. It was bonkers.
We were perhaps the
only tourists in Sri Lanka wishing for clouds.
The terrain,
thankfully, was kind to us. The roads were very flat, and smooth as silk, as we
wound our way through beautiful stretches of mangrove and jungle. A couple of
major towns made for an unpleasant interlude, with choking fumes belching from
a thousand cars, each one honking its horn incessantly. We didn't bother to
pause for tea until we escaped the melee.
For a while we picked
up a peloton of enthusiastic kids who, from time to time, would try to goad us
into racing. Much to their disappointment we were far too knackered for that
particular game.
The last 25kms had us
climbing quite a bit, just what you need after a bruising 125kms of purgatory,
it was the final nail in the coffin of an already arduous day. Misery doesn't
last forever though.
In the delightful surf
town of Arugam Bay we swam in the sea, treated ourselves to pizza, and washed
it down with an ice-cold beer.
We crawled into our
beds early, completely spent.
I liked Arugam Bay; it had that laid-back backpacker vibe. It was the sort of town that you'd visit for a couple of days and end up staying for a week.
Alas we didn't have the
luxury of a spare week and so we continued our relentless march south, like
swallows on the autumn winds.
Actually that's not strictly true; we headed inland to the west then south west then south today. Initially Phil's plan was to cycle into the highlands to a town called Ella. After a little deliberation we agreed that this might be a tad foolish and decided to follow Phil's reserve route to Kuda Oya, hopefully skipping about 30 or 40 kilometres of pushing our steel pigs uphill.
The route ahead was still
uncharted territory and we knew that it was probably further, but it looked
like the lesser of two evils.
It was an up and down
kind of a day, mostly up with the occasional short down - how does that work?
For the first 45 kilometres we climbed ever so steadily, barely noticing the
gradual ascent into the hills. The weather, although still ridiculously hot
obviously, was less troublesome than of late; the welcome shade of dense jungle
helping us out here and there. I spotted a lot more interesting and varied
wildlife too; Cranes and Egrets grazed nonchalantly around rice paddies, the
occasional Peacock poked its head above the vegetation, and Monkeys hollered
from the tops of ancient tangled trees. I find it oddly thrilling spotting
Peacocks in the wild, in the UK they are completely ornamental and are often
only seen in the gardens of the great houses.
In the Lahugala
National Park I was thrilled again at the potential of spotting wild elephants
roaming freely, all the signs were there - broken trees, footprints, a well-used
bathing hole - but it wasn't to be.
In the meantime my
mudguards fell off. The front one became dislodged and rolled forward onto the
tyre a couple of times, defiantly slowing my forward motion. Indeed, had it not
been for the considerable weight of the bike, and the equally ridiculous
wheelbase, I might well have been unceremoniously ejected over the handlebars.
Small mercies and all that. I eventually took the hint and removed it. Phil
tittered remorselessly at my misfortune.
Prudently I checked
the security of the rear one too and found it to be in no better state, so I
removed that one also and jammed them in behind my handlebar bag for safe
keeping. Phil tittered some more.
I had been bemoaning
the drag on the bike for a day or two and regularly squeezed my tyres to check
if they were going down. I wasn't sure if it was my tired legs or soft tyres,
or both, that were the problem. Unfortunately modern Schrader and Presta valves
haven't yet made it to rural Sri Lanka so our regular bike pump didn't fit. A
small motorbike/bicycle repair shop/shack at the side of the road came to the
rescue and I swapped with the proprietor two nearly new mudguards for a blast
on his compressor. With firmer tyres and a reduced payload I set sail once
again with renewed vigour.
From around 45 to 110
kilometres was were the more sustained climbing took place, no pushing but
certainly no tea party either. We circumnavigated around the base of a massive
mountain; we had seen it coming from a long way off and at that point had no
idea whether we would be going around it or over it. The road was particularly
undulating and steep so it felt like we were going over it at times. At this
point my bike seemingly took on a life of its own, the back end was all over
the shop and it just felt like constantly hard work. An investigation during a well-timed
tea break revealed the problem, one of my seat stays had a bolt missing.
Bizarrely the seat stays were bolted on and I may, or may not, have caused this
problem when I removed the rear mudguard. It was a bit of a situation and some
out-of-the-box thinking was required. Phil had a brainwave and suggested using
my remaining front brake pad to bolt it together. It was out-of-the-box alright
but it worked a treat. I was, once more, back in the game. On we rolled.
In Buttala (about 90kms) we struck gold. Trail magic at its most glorious. In Sri Lanka every full moon is a public holiday and each one is celebrated with a little festival called Poya. During Poya many villages have stalls and hand out free food or drink to anyone passing by.
In Buttala it was ice
cream being handed out by nurses from the local hospital. Two of my favourite
things - nurses in uniform, and ice cream.
We may have lingered
awhile. Three ice creams later we reluctantly took to the road for the last leg
of the day. (I preferred the legs in Buttala).
 |
| Nurses and Ice Cream - Dilly dilly. |
The sun set over the
distant mountains in a stunning blaze of pink and orange.
The
Cicadas were in fine voice that evening and I was lulled to sleep by a
beautiful cacophony of
rapturous chirruping.
Today, although
relatively short at around 95kms, felt harder than it should have. Maybe the
anticipation made the clocks go slower and the miles seem longer. The ever-present
wind made its usual appearance, the climbs were plentiful albeit punchy rather
than painful, resupply stops were notably absent for long periods, and my bike
broke down once more. We took an alternative route on quiet back roads for
quite a while before labouring on the busier highways, the roads around the
impressive cricket stadium were massive but virtually deserted, save for a
wandering herd of buffalo and the odd truck belching out noxious black smoke,
and our final run in to Tangalle meandered along a neglected canal towpath with
only a monitor lizard munching on carrion for company, and a final-final
delightful ribbon of hidden singletrack lead us to the crashing waves and
roaring surf of the majestic Indian Ocean.
En-route we had
stopped briefly, for reasons that escape me now, chatted with curious locals,
and patted a friendly dog. It was here that Phil spotted, curled up in the
middle of the road, a little waif, a small brown puppy - flea ridden &
mangy, and looking for all the world like it wouldn't survive for very long
without help. We couldn't do much for her at the time but Phil pledged to
return the next day to rescue her.
In Sinhalese tea
with milk is kiri tea.
We tried rolling the
R's. We tried kicking the K's and accentuating the T's. Nothing. Bafflement.
Stares. Confusion.
We would repeat the
words kiri tea over and over again until eventually the proprietor would
exclaim "Ahh, kiri tea!" and bring us out a nice fresh pot. We never
did get to bottom of the problem.
In
Tangalle we met up with Phil's partner (and my
friend) Corinne and stayed in a groovy little beach-side place that they knew.
The very next day Phil, good to his word, hopped in a tuk-tuk with Corinne and
endeavoured to track down the little puppy some sixty or so kilometres away. To
cut a long story short we ended up with a new friend "Hari", and Phil
and Corinne even managed to find her a loving home.
 |
| Hari <3 |
It was this poor little wretch, and my itchy feet, that provided the impetus
for another bash at riding a long way quickly.
I decided to
continue the journey, all the way back to where we began, and try and raise a
bit of extra cash to help support Hari and her new owners.
 |
| One last effort; for Hari. |
And so it came to pass that I rolled my
bike from its resting place in that soft white sand and cruised another 247kms
to Colombo Fort Railway Station.
I then gave away my bike to a kid
less fortunate than me - and good riddance to the bloody thing. I
will keep hold of the memories of riding the length of Sri Lanka with my friend
though, if you don't mind.
 |
| West coast again. |
 |
| A familiar spot to lay my head. The Harmony in Hikkaduwa. |
 |
| Escaping the intense traffic on the way into Colombo. |
 |
| Colombo Fort Railway Station. 1011kms later. |
 |
| Shortly after this moment I gave it away. |
You can see more from Helping Paws here:
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Thank you for looking, see you soon.
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Consume less, live more. Plant more trees.
Consume less, live more. Plant more trees.
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