Breakfast in a bakery and then on to the already hot road. The heat definitely feels more oppressive these days. But it might be that I'm getting tired of it. Maybe even a little tired of being on the bike, too. Too many uninteresting roads in the north; I'm missing those deserted roads through the southern countryside. And, perhaps, the novelty of Sri Lanka is starting to wear off.

I passed a local on a bike and he sped up to chat. It always feels special when this occurs. He was an older gentleman (though not relative to me!) and surprised me with a little English. When I commiserated about the Sri Lankan economy and mentioned "Government bad?" he agreed. "Canada government bad. Same" I said. "Same!" and he laughed delightedly.

The morning ride was on a quiet B-road. Mainly short-haul farm workers on their creaking single-speeds. Or school-children in immaculate white shirts, but still on creaking bikes. Bikes are everywhere, it seems that everyone uses one, but they seemed shocked that they might be used for the longer distances that I'm using mine for.

I saw a number of rooves (roofs seems to be the American spelling so, on principle…) painted this way, reminders of the not so long ago war. The paintwork is fairly well preserved, considering the war has been over for twenty years. I also saw more evidence of de-mining work. A sign with Sri Lanka and US flag on it. And a side road that seemed to be marked along both sides with half metre high stakes. A reminder to not wander too far off the beaten track...

And then back at Elephant Pass. I had passed 'combined' (army and police) checkpoints earlier in the day, and now again at the Pass, very important for the role it played in the war.

Somehow I managed to miss the site of the terrorist bulldozer and the memorial monument showing four hands holding up the island of Sri Lanka. I must have been riding with my head down. Maybe it was the section where I was counting down from one thousand in decrements of seven.

(This exercise is reputedly a test for dementia although I suspect it is only for the first few numbers, not all the way down. And, I suspect, it is something of a challenge for many a person. And I'm an overweight seventy-something mad dog Englishman, riding my bicycle in the midday sun: is that not a sufficient indication of dementia?)

Low energy, slow moving, so it promised to be a very long day to Vavauniya. Main road, uninspiring landscape. Then a hotel hove into sight. Jaffna Gateway. Rooms. Say no more.

The room was not particularly comfortable, nor particularly uncomfortable. I spent the afternoon horizontal (the bed was the only furniture), staring at the ceiling tiles or playing Sudoku on my phone, out of the heat and resting. Satisfied with my decision to cut short the day and happy enough.

More of the same

I have noticed that some town signs have exaggerated elevations. By as much a 200 m. My phone GPS and my cycle computer correlate reasonably well (generally within two or three metres) but 'official' road signs can differ from my on-board technology by an improbable amount.

A recovery day in Vavuniya. Shave and a hair cut. And a short wander about.

A day on the A29. Although an A-road, it doesn't see the same traffic as the A9 down from Jaffna so more pleasant. Some forest, too, which is nice.

Many of the bus-stops are adorned with a combination of military art and seemingly obscure characters.

Horowpothana seemed a lively enough small town built up around a road junction. Not a surfeit of accommodation options, though. Fortunately, one of the two places that I had found on the map previously did exist and had rooms (maybe the other one existed too, but I couldn't find it).

The Diyakata Pehana Resort was another example of a former grandiose establishment fallen upon hard times. The entrance hall, designed for magnificently opulent wedding receptions, was cavernous and empty. There was only an older lady in attendance, who wanted to keep my passport overnight, and who seemed quite proud to be 70. A dark, gloomy room with dark blue walls and few working light bulbs. Clean enough. A walk into town for a minimal dinner. Paratha and a small bowl of chicken curry. A turn about town: clothing shops displaying mens' shirts and ladies' dresses. A couple of bakeries. Quite vibrant in the early evening.

A pre-school on the outskirts of Horowupothana

I turned north before entering Trincomalee, to check out a reasonable looking hotel. At the same time, I received a WhatsApp from Madu in Colombo: Was I in Trincomalee yet? In a couple of hours! But she had bad news. There is an English couple, Steve and Sheila, who stay with Madu quite often. After ten years in India, they have recently arranged residence in Sri Lanka, and rent a house near Trincomalee. It had been suggested that I contact them, maybe stay for a night, but with one a heavy drinker and the other a heavy smoker, I wasn't that excited. The bad news: Sheila had passed away in the night. Madu was coming to Trincomalee, probably that evening.

That was a couple of days ago. I haven't heard anything since.

At the beach