After bread, eggs and tea I was on my way, back down the peninsula, over the bridge into Batti and turning west. Where things went awry. My route indicated straight on – but the sign said "Airport" and the closed gates with a couple of armed soldiers on guard seemed to suggest otherwise. I turned left, with the majority of the traffic, and Wahoo rerouted me, showing a lengthier way on a reasonable-looking road. But I lost the traffic and my suggested road degenerated into gravel, then a track, and finally a path. A murder of crows squawked that I had no business there and I was inclined to agree.

The path narrowed, along a slim dyke with a lake on one side and dry paddy fields on the other. The lake was pretty, the path less so. It disappeared for a while where a drainage entered from the fields, and I dropped down and pushed across a slimy creek. The water felt hot. Pushing up the other side, something felt wrong with one of my Chacos sandals, the right one, and I looked down to see that the outside strap at the back had detached from the sole and was flapping uselessly.

This was a potential problem, these Chacos being the only footwear I had in Sri Lanka. I continued through the dry fields, up onto the path for a while with a road in sight in the near distance. Some walking, some riding, one slow motion fall into the dirt with the bike almost on top of me. Mmm, not the most auspicious of starts – maybe staying in Batti and swimming daily, with good food and access to beer, had been the better plan? Up to the road and right, courtesy of my rerouting, and back towards Batti. A sign indicating the airport was not encouraging - this whole detour had been to get around the airport.

I pressed on until I found myself back on terrain I had cycled almost an hour before; my software wanted me to go around (and around?) again. No, I don't think so! I headed back to where the original obstacle – the gate, the airport, the armed guards – and took the other option. It was quite pleasant, a narrow road or causeway between lakes, an incongruous 'Stop' sign on a stretch with no intersections in sight, and carried on until I decided a closer look at the map would be sensible.

With the sun so high in the sky, my sense of direction can be suspect. Wrong again, turn around, retrace the part of the route I'd ridden after my paddy field sojourn, and continue on the road I should have been on in the first place. Wahoo, or Komoot, or whatever had sent me right (wrongly) when left would have been right (correct). Too much time and energy wasted and the sun was baking. It was the hottest day so far.

It was a nice, quiet landscape. With few shade trees. But those that there were, were fully utilised as I took whatever time out of the sun that I could justify. I had plenty of water with me but it heated up quickly in my black panniers and was very warm so I did stop at roadside places that looked to have refrigerators.

Cycling with a broken sandal was surprisingly unproblematic, once my foot was planted on the pedal. The well-contoured supportive foot bed certainly helped. Walking worked too although not as well; it felt like walking in one sandal and one flipflop.

Towards the end of the day, I braked for another cold water stop. And my rear brake complained mightily; something was wrong. I inhaled a litre of pleasantly cool water and set to work. I couldn't see much – my all-purpose prescription sunglasses are not particularly good for close up even when they are clean, and they were nothing like clean – but the rear wheel would not spin. I just backed off the brake pads until the wheel spun (almost) freely. There was precious little downhill to worry about and a good front brake should suffice.

My hotel was mildly disappointing, considering its (relatively) upmarket price. But I did get dinner, and an opportunity to replace my rear brake pads. They were worn and the spring that separated them had failed.

Back on the still relatively quiet road and starting to gain a little elevation. More beautiful large trees.

My rear brake required a bit of attention. The lever was squishy, not engaging until fully retracted and consequently without much stopping power. A quick and simple fix: a quick rotation of the adjustment bolts on each side of the caliper and on I went. (Maybe too quick and simple; I should have verified that the wheel still spun freely but my 'wrenching' skills are not highly developed.)

A sign caught my eye. It was hot, I was tired and the sign made me laugh. A little, at least. So I stopped for a photo. And noticed what looked like water bottles in the adjacent store.

Only they weren't water bottles. They were automotive fluid of some kind; it was a motor cycle repair shop. A man was attacking the steering of a motorcycle with a hammer and screwdriver. Yes, they had water but none cold. But he jumped on (a different) bike and roared across the road and down a bit, returning with a litre of nice, cold aqua for me to imbibe in front of a growing audience. A smiling mum who had arrived on a scooter with her shy little boy. Wanderers by, come to share in the excitement or a foreign visitor.

The day seemed long. And harder than it should have? I made it to the tongue-twisting town of Mahiyanganaya and settled in to the pleasant New Rest Hotel. They fed me. And I slept well.

7th April, 2024. Mahiyanganaya - ?
(18.0 km, 682 m, 1992.2 km to date)

This was to be the tough one. Up, seriously up, into the hills. (But only 'seriously' due to the combination of loaded bike, tropical temperatures, elevation gain and septagenaria) A shortish day (34 km) was planned because of the almost 1100 m of elevation gain. I had reserved a room, for two nights, accordingly. Thinking a rest day might be in order before continuing to Kandy, another trying day, longer but a little less elevation to contend with.

Almost immediately: a bridge over a river; elephants downstream.

The first five kilometres were quite flat but I could feel the effects of the last two days. My bounce-back-ability seems to be a little deflated.

Then the climbing started. Not too bad, much of it in the region of 3%. Grades that I had cruised up in the past but not so today. Plodding onward, upward, passing women standing at the side of the road who watched and laughed. Really. Nothing malicious, just crazy foreigners. I stopped frequently, wherever there was shade, and the tarmac around me changed colour as sweat dripped off me. But I was making progress, much slower than I'd hoped, but I was gaining elevation. At first, I'd felt nauseous – too much breakfast? – and then I began to feel hungry, that I was running on empty.

At a cold-water-purchasing-stop, just for the hell of it, I checked my rear wheel. I spun it, and it quickly came to a halt. Had I been adding to my burden unnecessarily yesterday and today? It looked like when I did a quick adjustment to the pads, I should have checked the results more carefully. It looked like by disc rotor was not centred between the brake pads. One pad had been rubbing on the disc as I rode. Hardly enough to notice but maybe that's why yesterday took so much out of me? I tightened one side, and loosened the other, until the brake levers seemed to have the right amount of play, and the wheel spun freely when the levers were released.

I began to set myself little goals: 200 more metres elevation before two o'clock! Then had to adjust the goals downward. Making me realise that getting to my accommodation before dark was increasingly unlikely.

I stopped for some biscuits and nuts. I had drunk more than four litres of water since starting but was too dry-mouthed for the biscuits. I'd chew a bit, swallow some water and the biscuit with it. Then I started to walk. For a break. Then back on the bike but my legs immediately felt tired, my thighs no energy. Back walking again, as the other rear strap on my sandal started to loosen more. I tightened to buckle and noticed that this strap was quickly making its way out of the sandal sole now that it was not attached to the other that had come loose a couple of days ago. One sandal and one flip-flop. Slow progress.

This road was known as "18-Bend Road" for the switchbacks/hairpins. I passed the last of the eighteen (Number 1 Bend), feeling some measure of accomplishment. But knowing I wouldn't/couldn't make it today.

Around another bend, I saw a man and his son washing a tuktuk in a stream. A quick decision. I approached, pointed at the bike and then at the tuktuk, and mentioned the name of my lodgings. The name didn't mean anything to him. I mentioned "Hunnasgyria" and the son seemed to recognise the place despite my no doubt mangled pronunciation. A price was agreed (3000/-, about C$12 for 15 km), my panniers loaded behind the seat, me and the lad perched on the seat as the bike was backed in, before we tried to get comfortable.

There were fleeting glances of views that I could have pointed my camera at but we were all tightly wedged and on a mission. Bendy roads, mainly up, then up and down through Ududumbara and on to the locked gate of the Knuckles Range Bungalow. I had specified a six o'clock arrival time and it was not yet four. I paid off the driver, with a tip for the son, and called the owner to announce that I was early.

Knuckles Range Bungalow

At breakfast, on the verandah outside my room, I noticed a green lizard – well-camouflaged in the grass – also breakfasting. On passing insects too small for me to see. Its body was about 10 cm in length but its tail stretched for an impressive 30 cm or so.

My old friends that have cycled with me in Canada, England, The Netherlands, Germany, Czech Republic, France and Spain have finally had enough. Repair, I'm sure, is possible at home but they are need resoling too. Repairs have to be sent in to the company in the States so it's simpler and cost-effective to get a new pair. They are ordered (Amazon, unfortunately, but everywhere else would have taken too long) and should arrive in Greenwich before my ride in Spain at the beginning of May.

The rear straps are independent of the front straps. But the two rear straps, left and right, are – or were – connected together and threaded through the sole. Maybe an ingenious local cobbler could fashion a way to thread one strap back through the sole and stitch it to the other strap, thereby effecting a repair. But I'm not in a town at the moment, esconsed away at Knuckles Range Bungalow. Maybe the hotel housekeeper could try to get them fixed when he goes in? I'll have to enquire.

What to do? My legs are (still) very tired from the uphill efforts and the day to Kandy is easily as hard as what I managed before I escaped into a tuktuk: as much elevation gain and two to three times the horizontal. Then at least a couple of days to Nugegoda, with the long urban haul into the crowded capital. Alternatively, I could recognise that there is nothing (more) for me to prove: I could rest up, read, relax here and try to arrange a ride for me and Broadie to the Leisure Home in time for the Buddhist New Year. Why not?