At breakfast, before setting off, Silva – the chef – complained of the heat. And it did feel hotter, more oppressive, but I put this down to me just being tired of it. I wasn't hugely excited about getting back on the bike for a day in the sun.

I noticed my back tyre a bit soft so I stopped to add some air. A local insisted on helping, adding about twenty strokes to my previous forty. Then I was heading for town, Trincomalee, and a bank. I was pretty much cleaned out.

The first ATM was not functioning so I carried on and found another. Then, Komoot's rerouting had me on steep, sandy back lanes. Not great, so I retreated to the tarmac and retraced my route, having seen little of Trinco, and found the A15 that would take me south.

The riding was tough, hot. But that was me rather than the road. I stopped to eat a snack (two chicken buns that I had picked up earlier) in the middle of the day, in the shade of a banyan tree. My water bottles in the panniers had heated up so it seemed prudent to eat my lunch while it was still relatively fresh.

Next to my shady banyan, a Hindu temple was under construction. No one was in evidence as I wandered about.

My plan for the evening was to stay at the Rose Lagoon Hotel, on the south side of Varakai. It would make for a long day. Before commiting myself to that last thirty kilometres, I phoned the hotel but no-one picked up. A mobile number mentioned on their website either no longer existed or was turned off. So, should I turn left and take a minor road where there was reputedly a hotel? I sent a Whatsapp message to the Rose Lagoon, decided to risk it, and carried on; if I stopped too soon, I would probably have to break my journey again before reaching Batticaloa.

My weather app told me it was 33C but 'feels like 42C'

Roadside shack proprietors, where I stopped for fizzy, sweet but, most importantly, cold drinks informed that it was hot. No one seemed to be moving quickly or expending unnecessary energy.

A WhatsApp message, from the owner of the Rose Lagoon, apologising for not being able to answer the phone but he was at the hospital and the hotel was closed. I asked if there were altenatives and, yes, a new hotel and also rooms at the army camp.

It was almost dark when I arrived at the Beacon Hotel. No answer to my knock so I opened the gate and wheeled in. Completely deserted. I went to a building at the rear and knocked on the door. No one. And no vehicle. Army camp it is!

Only it wasn't. When I arrived, there was a convenience store and a sign for rooms but they were fully booked! How can that be? Everywhere else I've stayed, I've been pretty much the only guest. Is it to be a night in a field, I wondered.

Rather than ride off into the dark, I hung around while lots of discussions in Sinhala considered options. No, I said, the Rose Lagoon was closed tonight and there was nobody at the Beacon. A local offered to show me a room 500 m back up the road so we cycled off into the dark. Back to the Beacon, which still resembled the Marie Celeste. My helper shrugged his head and went home – and I returned to the army camp.

More discussions ensued but nothing I could follow. There was finger pointing in various directions as a small crowd tried to solve my dilemma. Phone calls were made. I stocked up on water for whatever the night would bring. Then I was told to wait for five minutes. Some time later, a man (a soldier, apparently, but out of uniform) arrived on a motorcycle and led me back to the Beacon, which was now lit up. With a security man on guard outside. We went into the grounds, and more conversations I wasn't privy to determined, apparently, that the manager had gone home and he had the key; the hotel was closed. So I turned my back on the Beacon for the third time.

Time was passing. I was tired and hungry with any benefit from two chicken buns long since evaporated. At the army camp,again, more phone calls, and the phone was passed to me. I spoke to a man in English who apologised and said that his Beach Cottage wasn't available but he'd check about a place next door and see whether they would accept a walk-in. Hang tight.

Success. I had somewhere to sleep. I wasn't exactly sure where but my friend on the motorcycle would guide me. I'll be slow, I warned, on my bike without lights in the dark. But his friend, a commando (I learned later), decided he would ride my bike! I wasn't sure what to make of this but arguing the toss with a commando didn't seem the most sensible plan so I straddled the back of the motorcycle. The three of us went south for a few kilometres, past the empty Rose Lagoon Hotel, to a road junction. Where someone from the place I was about to stay at waited to lead me the final couple of kilometres. But the road was, apparently, dangerous and I would have to stay on the motor cycle pillion. A narrow lane, then road works – a single 'lane' of crushed, tamped and watered gravel – and a truck coming towards us. People were working on the road, a large rubber-tyred vehicle vibrating and compacting the gravel. We had to take to the ditch to get by but managed without mishap and continued to a home. The man, a Canadian who had lived in Toronto for 24 years, who had arranged my accommodation checked that everything was alright. His wife, who was in the shadows but may have been Sri Lankan, had just arrived from Toronto.

And, fifty metres on, an open gate to Shillativu Lodge. I thanked my two army friends (the commando had done well on the bike; I had quickly explained the gears to him but I'm not sure he had changed gear) and gave them a few dollars for beer. Then unloaded my bike into a very pleasant room. A cup of tea was provided, but I'd have to go without dinner. There were two workers and me. The 'girls' hadn't left any food; there was only one meal for the two of them.

The most expensive stay of my trip to Sri Lanka and no dinner! Well, I did have a packet of ginger snaps and plenty of water.

Breakfast was pleasant enough but those dry coconut roti are increasingly hard to get down. Waves crashing not too far away; the (presumably) private beach adjoining looked very pleasant. Loungers. Shade. Water. But it was not to be, I felt the need to move on. The beach in Batti would come with a much cheaper price tag. (That said, the 'expensive' hotel came to about Canadian $40, less than I expected to routinely pay in Spain in May and June.)

Back on the freshly compacted gravel 'road' until I caught up with the road crew. There was (just) room to get by the compacting vehicle but I had to drop off the gravel and take to the sandy edge to get past the parked water truck. Then I was free to proceed and soon came to the main road.

I had to do it, of course: retrace the route to the army camp. It wouldn't do to have a gap, however small, in my Sri Lankan circumnavigation. Wasted kilometres, perhaps, but …

Six kilometres from my lodgings, I was back at the army camp convenience store. Was this for the fourth, fifth or sixth time? I sat in the shade and had some cold Coca Cola, my poison of choice on this trip. Cold, and it felt like it cleaned the dry mouth. For a short while.

Then I turned back south and got into the day. I was feeling tired from the day before, and a little nauseous. Breakfast, perhaps. Or just the heat. I already knew the day would be a struggle.

It was just a slog. Hot riding. Sore behind. My expensive saddle was not performing as well as its price and advertising suggested it should. Weary, weary legs. I kept my head down and tried to get on with it but it was a rare shade tree that I didn't halt beneath.

I passed a local on a bike, and then he passed me. He indicated it was too hot to be outside on a bike. No argument from me on that score. I stopped for a cold drink at a roadside shack that, surprisingly, had a CCTV feed showing the road outside. The proprietor, slumped in his chair, complained about the heat and watched the lack of activity outside his establishment. Pretty much mirrored on the inside.

I was now heading south in the same area that I had travelled north in, on my ride back to Colombo almost two months ago. But, on that trip, coming north, I had been on a quiet, pleasant road along the coast, a little to the east. So I headed in that direction until I was away from the traffic that had been building the closer I came to Batticaloa. I should have made that diversion earlier; the riding was nicer, the views better, some shady pine trees and little traffic.

Then I was in Batti, over the bridge, and turning back north to Suresh and the Naval Beach Villa. Home. Shower, and a tuktuk out to dinner. A couple of beers. Much deserved. I reckon.

What to do now? I've finished the loop. I can hang out here, for a week and get a train to Colombo in time for New Year and, then, my flight to the UK. I definitely need some rest.

Day 1

Hot hanging out in the room. I'm just paying for AC at night. The sea is pleasant but an hour of bobbing around is sufficient. A chance to catch up on this blog. Tuktuk to dinner again – why not? C$2 each way and I'm supporting the local economy ;)

I chatted with Suresh's wife, visiting from Colombo where their daughter goes to college. The weather is unseasonably hot. Weather patterns are changing (the are still some remnants of el Nino). The hot season shouldn't start until May or June. And even that is not as hot as we've been having it. That explains the common refrain about the heat from the locals.

Day 2

No, I can't hang out doing nothing for a week. The accmmodation is a little too rudimentary for that. The rooms at the Riviera Resort, where I've been dining, are reasonably priced, on the lagoon, have WiFi and AC. But it's away from the beach and I'd like a daily swim. My body feels a little less shattered today. Maybe I have some riding left in me.

Much of the day was spent planning and scheming. Figuring out a route back to Colombo. I fancied a southern sweep, seeing no reason to repeat my previous ride from Batti to Colombo. That ride hadn't been so exciting. Although it would give me the opportunity to visit some cultural sites I hadn't made it to yet.

The southern sweep would be quite close to my earlier riding along the south coast and, possibly, not really have much new to offer apart from more sweat, exercise and a little weight loss. I knew what I had to do, really, although I'd been avoiding it; I had to go up into the hills. To tea country. A different horizon, hills and a jagged skyline. It would be a test for my knees, too, before embarking on my strenuous riding in Spain.

I planned an easy day: 50-ish flat kilometres to a hotel. I phoned the hotel and reserved a room. Andther, similar day would get me to a town that had several hotels. There I could decide: ride up to Badulla and take the train, again, to Kandy; or ride directly towards Kandy. Directly to Kandy would take two days despite being not such a huge distance. The elevation gain would be the problem. There is a hotel after about 35 km – and 1000 m of elevation gain. Do I have a plan?

Back on the road tomorrow!