| Bike Tours UK 
Joined: Dec 18, 2008
Posts: 726
So, after having left the sprogs behind (yes, I know, we are cruel parents), we arrived in the heat and humidity of Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital city. The long flight there was split at approximately the half-way point for a one-hour booze buying break in Bahrain. Glad to escape the confines of the plane, we arrived to the usual confusion of taxi touts and people wanting to be your “friend” just outside the airport. As this was a package deal, it was actually quite pleasant to be able to get straight on a bus, and be driven to our hotel, just a short distance up the coast in Negombo.
The first thing that struck me on looking out of the bus window, was the tremendous volume of traffic on the coast road. The guide books do suggest that it is most unpleasant to cycle along this road –and I can confirm that the same applies to motorcycling. Pollution levels are high, and the sheer volume of heavy traffic causes gridlock, and with every vehicle competing to gain a few places in the line, progress for two-wheelers really is quite hazardous. Make sure you take an International Drivers Licence with you, otherwise you may be forced to come back along this road into Colombo to get one, before you can hire a vehicle. Avoid Colombo if you can. (sometimes bombs go off!)
We finally arrived at the Goldi Sands Hotel, with all the smart-casual, matching suit-cased, package tourist types. At the ubiquitous “Welcome Meeting” we managed to appall our holiday Rep, and the other guests no doubt, by announcing that actually, we weren’t staying long, and much against her advice, we were to leave this comfy hotel, hire a motorcycle and set off into the wilds of the Sri Lankan mountains for 5 or 6 days. Holiday Reps, of course, don’t like this at all – you’re a big risk to them, and besides, they just want to sell their bus tours to the usual tourist attractions. All you need is a “Rough Guide to Sri Lanka”, some wheels, and a sense of adventure, then you can go off and make your own agenda.
The very next day we set off in search of a suitable bike to hire. The guide book had suggested a particular place to try, so we jumped in a taxi to go and find it. The driver had other ideas. His “brother” could get us a bike instead, so off we went in an-hour long wild goose chase, going from hovel to hovel to try and track down his elusive relative. This kind of thing can be quite exasperating, but on occasions it can result in a decent bike being found, albeit privately owned, with no paperwork and no official hire agreement. In accepting a machine like this, you are primed to tell the police if stopped, “I have borrowed the bike from a friend” Implicit in this, is the fact that you’re not supposed to have paid your “friend” any money – as this type of “rental” is no doubt illegal. Anyway, on this particular occasion, this amble around the backwaters of Negombo turned out to be a complete waste of time – so the taxi eventually took us to Alma Tours where there were a number of machines to choose from. There were two Honda XL250s or a Kawasaki KDX200 to choose from. Luckily, I was able to test ride these, and the Kawasaki turned out to have quite manic, peaky 2-Stroke engine performance, totally bald tyres, a rock hard seat and no luggage rack. It would have been a painful proposition for two-up touring. The newer of the Hondas had a luggage rack, a slightly more comfy seat and it’s engine, though “softer”, had more torque and would pull more smoothly up the mountains. I made the guy swap the bald rear tyre first though, for the one on the other Honda. I was disappointed that he would not swap the totally squared-off front knobbly, because he said “it still had two weeks’ life left”.
There is a blanket capacity limit of 250cc for motorcycles in Sri Lanka, so that is all that we could rent. To be honest, a 250 is just fine, considering the degraded state of some of the roads - ours did become very cramped and uncomfortable after anything more than an hour in the saddle though.
Apparently Goldwing Tours in Colombo had an old GS1000 for hire, and even a Goldwing. These would have been fairly pointless on the mountain tracks however, and they must have been expensive to hire. We reckon a Trailie was well suited to our trip.
I cannot remember the daily hire charge for our 250, but it seemed reasonable at the time. The only scary thing was, they wanted us to leave a £100 deposit in cash. We did so, and left it in pounds sterling, as we didn’t want to be left with a whole stack of Sri Lankan rupees (3 or 4 months wages in their terms), just hours before our return flight to the UK when we returned the bike.
By now, it was a bit late in the day to set off on our trip, so we returned to our hotel (on our new bike of course!) to drink several large Lion beers (the local brew) and make final preparations and route plans for an early start the next day. The plan was to see as much of the island as possible in the 5 or 6 days we had left. The North of the island (and some of the east) was out of bounds due to the war taking place there (oh, the travel agent didn’t tell you that bit? well there’s a surprise), so our tour was to be mainly the central areas and hill country. We were going to the Sigiriya Temple first, then to Kandy, then up to the hills after that.
We did in fact make a good and early start so we would have plenty time to see the temple. The adventure has begun!
As I described before, the main coast road was a nasty place to be, so we intended to navigate ourselves along the quiet back roads, to increase our life expectancy somewhat. Signposting is minimal, and written signs were mostly in undecipherable Seylanese script, so we chose our general direction by using a compass and referring to the position of the sun in the sky. Don’t laugh, this compass and sun thing usually works quite well. Only this time – it didn’t. We got lost. For a while we carried on, in blind faith amongst the palm trees and paddy fields in a broadly Northern direction we thought. After two hours or so, to eventually discover that you are back to a place not far from your start point is a bit frustrating to say the least. Villages don’t have their place names marked, shops don’t have the equivalent of “Camberwick Village Stores” marked over the door, and asking for directions doesn’t help much either. Even though English is pretty widely understood, our pronunciation of place names on the map just brought howls of laughter, and if you show them the map and point where you want to go, they just looked blank and bemused. The local villagers have no concept of what this grubby bit of paper with coloured lines drawn over it, is supposed to represent. They haven’t seen a map before and haven’t a clue how to use it.
Then we had puncture number one. Miles from anywhere, way off our intended route, in blazing midday heat. In these conditions, pushing a bike with a flat tyre is no fun. It’s made a bit easier, if you run the engine, engage first gear, and walk alongside the machine, but even so, in these extremely humid conditions, it’s a draining experience. For riding in these climates, I generally wear tough boots (not full length bike boots, but more of a lightweight walking boot), jeans, denim shirt with the sleeves rolled down and cuffs buttoned and leather summer gloves. In this way you do have some skin protection in case of a tumble. By all means, take all your bike leathers – but I bet you wouldn’t wear them in this heat!
Luckily there is a puncture repair shop in just about every village, and as this is the most densely populated country in Asia, you’re never more than a mile or so to the next place of habitation in the hot lowland areas. (Sri Lanka, formerly known as Ceylon, is about as big as Ireland with 18 million people living there). When you get a puncture, local people just appear from nowhere and if you point to your flat tyre, they normally indicate the direction of the nearest repair shop – in much the same way as the markers beside our motorways point out the direction to walk to the nearest emergency phone.
This first repair shop was an absolute gem. The “mechanic” propped up the bike with some rocks, and without even removing the rear wheel, popped the tyre off the rim, to liberate the inner tube. He located the two fresh punctures, hidden amongst around a dozen previous repairs on this tube! The next bit was the clever part. Out came a home-made contraption consisting of a clamp and an old lorry piston. He placed the tube into the clamp, then places a ball of sticky rubber stuff onto the holed area, then screws down the crown of the piston to squeeze it all together. (Maybe you need to see the picture!) He then part fills the inverted piston with paraffin and sets it alight. This heats the piston crown, which, along with the pressure from the clamp, vulcanizes your repair. Magic! Each repair took around 20 minutes.
While this was going on, half the village population turned out to watch. Not the repair, which they must have seen hundreds of times, but these strange, white sweating people who scored high on the list of novelty things when you live in a jungly area where no tourists ever go. The local teacher came along to practice his English on us. They fed us local produce; fruit and bread, and advised me strongly not to stand just where I happened to be. They gave us a tour of the local bakery, I don’t know why, but you just follow and nod and smile in situations like this. When the puncture job was completed, our mechanic said the charge was usually ten pence, but as we were now his friends, there was no charge. We gratefully forced around 50 pence into his hand and prepared to leave. There was a distinct, loud “thud” as we put our helmets back on. A coconut had just fallen from the tree and struck the non-recommended spot where I was standing just a few moments earlier. Such events can prove fatal we were told!
An hour or more delayed, but it was a great experience, and now we were happy to be back on the road again. And such good value. Until the patch came off just 10km down the road and we had a flat tyre again.
This time, the next repair shop actually resembled more what you’d expect a proper garage to look like. They even had an old vintage Triumph leaned against the workshop wall. This time they fitted a new inner tube, and it only cost a couple of quid, so at least now we wouldn’t have to worry about punctures again.
By now, we were quickly running out of time. What with getting lost, and having two punctures, the chances of getting to the Sigiriya Temple before nightfall were slim indeed. We decided to give it a miss and re-routed towards Kandy instead. We had yet another puncture on the way there, and didn’t arrive in Kandy until late afternoon. As in the case of riding Enfields in Goa, you soon get to recoginse that tell-tale wobbly puncture feeling, as you begin to lose control of your machine, and its best to stop rather soon before you fall off, or totally shag your flat tyre! Just a few kilometers short of Kandy we were hit by a Monsoon downpour of rain, so we arrived very grubby, wet and disheveled. Total journey time from Negombo had been a gruelling 8 hours (mainly due to the three punctures), and as the crow flies the distance was only about 70 kilometres (40 miles)!
After this test of endurance (no, really, it was an endurance test – two largish people, carrying a rucksack on a little 250), Clare decided we needed a nice hotel. The Rough Guide suggested the Hotel Suisse looked good, so we made our way round to its lakeside location just an easy stroll from downtown Kandy. This opulent place turned out to be just about the finest hotel in Kandy. As we rode up the drive, dripping wet and covered in road grime, we saw the marble colonnades and polished floors and thought, “hey, this is way too posh for us, lets go somewhere else”. But at this moment, just as I was doing a u-turn to beat a hasty retreat, an immaculately dressed commissionaire appeared at the door and with white-gloved hands and beaming smile beckoned us towards the foyer. He made us most welcome and even went to park the motorbike for us! (You’ve never get this in any British establishment would you?) Two wet and bedraggled figures squeaked and sloshed their way across the polished marble floor of the foyer and asked two important questions. “Do you have any rooms free?” and, “Do you accept Visa?” Responses of the affirmative kind, had us signed up for two nights of luxury at $55 USD per night (about £30 at the time). Worth every penny – a well recommended place. We normally choose pretty down-market, budget locations, but after the trauma of that first day (in hindsight it was great fun actually), this splendid establishment made a very welcome change for the better. There was even an outdoor pool here, and we had a spacious bedroom adjacent to the Mountbatten Suite, where a full size painting of the late Lord stood for all to admire. Amidst the splendour of the polished wooden floors, the elaborate chandeliers and the magnificent dining room, I felt rather scruffy in dirty jeans and muddy walking boots. Despite American tourists strolling around in hideous Hawaiian shirts and baggy Bermuda shorts, I felt us Brits should set an example and dress for dinner! We nipped down to the local market and had a change of clothes manufactured from scratch within the hour. I chose the material and had some light cotton Chino-style trousers made to measure for around £6, and a bespoke silk shirt made up by a local tailor for somewhat extra. I’d even taken my “Guinness” tie with me in case of occasions like this, so we proudly went to dinner in our new clothes and ate like kings. An elderly gentleman with a stiff upper lip and a suit sat at the next table. He and his wife explained that they’d been coming every year to this hotel for the last 40 years. It must have something going for it!
Seriously, you don’t have to get dressed up at all, but it just seemed a nice thing to do on this occasion.
After our day’s R&R (did Temple of the Tooth etc) we checked out and set out for Nuwara Eliya, about 80 kilometres (50 miles) away. This journey passed without any major incidents. We set off amongst pleasant scenery, past peasants ploughing paddy fields, still using traditional devices drawn along by bullocks. We soon left all this behind and began the twisty ascent of 1400 metres to cooler climates. This challenging route takes you amongst the many tea plantations which Ceylon was famous for. We stopped and had a tour of one – Laboulekelle, or something. We drank some tea and bought some to take home – some of still sits unused in the pantry. This twisty ascent is all well and good, but sometimes you do get stuck behind a bus or truck, belching out huge quantities of black diesel fumes on these steep hill climbs. You need to take a deep breath, give it full throttle and nail the Trailie past these noisy unsilenced beasts, bearing in mind that the brakes and tyres on these bikes aint too good, as the next hairpin bend approaches.
On arrival in Nuwara Eliya, quite by chance we once again finished up in excellent accommodation. We stayed at The Ceybank Rest, an old Colonial house, now run by the Bank of Ceylon. Not as grand as the Hotel Suisse, but impressive all the same, and we got a large room with balcony for a price I can’t remember, but it wasn’t much – about £10 perhaps.
The best discovery in Nuwara Eliya was the Lion Beer pub! Owned and run by the Lion Brewer, you can get really good, hand-pulled beer here. Not just the usual Lager-type Lion beer, but Guinness and Lion Stout as well. The Lion Stout was excellent, and at 7.5 % abv, soon made your legs go all wobbly! We got talking to the one other “tourist” like us in there, shared several plates of chips and tomato sauce, and whiled away the whole afternoon chatting and drinking beer. We expected this place to be a bit of a naff tourist attraction, and only intended to give it a quick visit. It wasn’t touristy at all. It’s pretty much like a traditional English pub. We sat there in the dim bar, surrounded by men drinking beer (99% locals) and watching them watch cricket on TV. It’s a bit of a “man thing”, there aren’t many women in there – but you are not made unwelcome at all. There isn’t even a very obvious ladies toilet. When my wife, Clare, felt the urge to go (as is so often the case, after several pints of Stout), she had to go to the bar and ask for a key, to a special room with cobwebs on the door, it’s so seldom used! At the end of the afternoon, we emerged into the fading daylight and made our way back to the Ceybank Rest. I think we had a very suspect, poor quality curry on the way back, at the only restaurant we could find open. Also check – I seem to remember that this Lion Bar, doesn’t open in the evening - so make sure you visit during the day. I think they even do Tee shirts – I wish I’d bought one.
The next day, with slight hangovers, we checked out and headed up to the high elevated plateau of the Horton Plains. This was not a long journey, and it was pleasantly cool, as the road climbs to over 2000 metres altitude. We hardly saw a soul up here. We stopped briefly to talk to a French couple, also on a rented bike who were just on their way back down. Shortly after this, we came the closest we got to crashing the bike! We were cruising along a level road in the National Park, not a great distance from our final destination, the Farr Inn. It was overcast and cool, and we were riding at about 40mph between forests at each side of the road. Suddenly two large dogs came bounding out of the trees to my right, and ran almost straight under my front wheel as they crossed the road. They continued to run almost alongside the bike to our left hand side, when I realized by their feline profile and long flowing tails with a “bobble” on the end – they weren’t big dogs – THEY WERE LEOPARDS! Before we had time to take it in, they were gone, vanished amongst the trees to our left. What an amazing sight!
We soon arrived at the Farr Inn – once an exclusive hunting lodge, where the wealthy Brits came to shoot elephants – now a rather expensive and shoddy guesthouse with intermittent electricity and surging lights, with poor food and no heating. It’s saving grace is it’s convenience – it’s the ONLY place to stay on the Horton Plains. We checked in and couldn’t stop gabbling about the leopards we’d just seen. The staff and manager came over and shook our hands in congratulations. It is a rare thing indeed to get so close to leopards; there are a number of pairs resident in the park, but they are rarely spotted, even by the people who live here.
I had hoped to go Trail Riding on the Horton plains, but rightly so I suppose, it’s pedestrians only. So, we spent a pleasant afternoon walking the 3 miles or so to World’s End (each way). This is a 700 metre drop-off, with views right the way to the coast if the weather is clear. The Sri Lankans think this place is amazing, and many of them make the effort to visit here. It’s OK, but to be honest, it’s not vastly different to any views you get in the English Lake District. Certainly it’s nothing like the terrain we passed through in the lowlands at the start of our journey, so if the paddy fields are all you’re used to, then this place really is something special.
We returned to the Farr Inn by a different route, pulling in some averagely attractive waterfalls on the way back. It was a pleasant excursion, similar to a walking trip in the Yorkshire Dales or other National Park back home – we didn’t see any more exotic beasts!
That evening it rained and became quite cold. We had to wear every single item of clothing we had with us (not much, because on the whole, Sri Lanka is a very HOT place). I wore 7 layers, mainly tee-shirts and my new silk shirt, and I was still cold. We sat alone in the dining room of this “hotel” as we were the only guests that night. The evening meal was of poor quality and wasn’t hot enough, although I recall the service was quite attentive and courteous. To make matters worse, it was disproportionately expensive here, and we could only afford one bottle of Lion beer between us, with the little money we had left.
The waiter, however, did make one seemingly absurd suggestion. He asked, “would Sir being taking a game drive after dinner?”
“What! on a motorbike?” I protested,
“yes Sir, the motorbike is very useful, the headlamp attracts the animals and lights up their eyes”
We returned to our cold room and finished off the small quantity of Gin which we had left from the stock we’d brought with us from Bahrain. The “Game Drive” idea started to become more and more appealing. After all, it was better than sitting here shivering in this cold room, with no more Gin left.
We started the bike, and fiddled around for a while because the headlamp wouldn’t work at first We set off into the darkness, in drizzling rain, armed only with a camera and a Maglite torch. On each occasion when the headlamp temporarily went out, we made slow progress into the unknown by the dim light of our pocket torch!
Sure enough, after just a few kilometers, dozens and dozens of pairs of yellow eyes appeared at each side of the road. Some were attached to small creatures, some were attached to larger, taller creatures – the exact species could not be ascertained in the blackness. One thing was for sure, these eyes, with beasts unknown behind them, didn’t back away as we approached. They just sopped and stared as we passed. You could see each pair of eyes follow your every move. Weird. Then, just ahead of us, very close, right by the side of the road, were a pair of yellow eyes attached to some low, crouching creature, which eyed our approach. As we slowly drew near, it stayed put, defiantly holding its ground, even when I revved the engine hard in a bid to scare it away. We had no idea what this beast might be, and decided to not go any closer to it. But, I just had to take a photograph of it. The flashgun would light it up, and at least when we got home (if we got home alive) we’d have a picture to let us know what it was. I first turned the bike around, and asked Clare to keep the engine running in case we needed a quick getaway. Clare was not entirely happy with this arrangement as I got off the bike and approached the creature on foot. With trembling hands, I attempted to preset the focus, and calibrate the flashgun in the darkness. What a buzz! Trying to capture on film some fearless killer, crouched, and waiting to pounce (maybe?), really really gets the adrenalin flowing I can tell you! One quick snap; a click; a burst of flashlight, and we were out of there as fast as a little XL250 could carry us. (Just wait until you see the photo!)
The next day brought weather just like an English Summer back home – low cloud and rain. So we wore every single item of clothing we had topped off with a cheap cagoule each. Not as good as proper bike waterproofs, but easy to pack and light to carry, and these were perfectly adequate for the only two short occasions in five days that we needed them.
As we descended past Adams Peak, ever downwards out of the mountains, the weather soon became very hot again. It’s not until you stop moving do you realize how overdressed you are. We headed back towards Negombo taking pretty much the most direct route we could find, but not going back via Nuwara Eliya and Kandy from what I remember. Every time we stopped more and more clothing was peeled off until we finished up in just jeans and tee-shirts.
We had another, final, puncture when we picked up a large rusty nail. We sweated buckets during the 3km push that was required this time to find the nearest garage. Once again, we feared we wouldn’t make it back before nightfall, but we really had to push on, because we only had one day left to get the bike back, then fly back to Blighty. In the end it was one epic, uncomfortable 6 hour journey back to the coast. It was all downhill, dropping from 7500 feet of altitude, back down to sea level. Despite quite good roads most of the way back, we only averaged about 30 kilometres per hour whilst riding. This doesn’t include the stops, the repairs and the pushy bits. The slow average speed was due mainly to craps tyres, and smooth polished or sun-melted road surfaces. You just daren’t take the bends too fast, despite my getting used to a slight drifting, as the rubber started to let go whilst cornering. You also often get stuck behind buses and large commercial vehicles, which though you may not believe me, can be quite hard to get past.
Just think how this poor daily mileage rate compares to the 400 to 500 miles per day you can manage on a fast sports-tourer across Europe. Towards the end of a six hour ride on a trail bike, your backside really hurts, and the swimming pool and cold beers of the Goldi Sands are a most welcome reward when you finally make it back.
Quick Tips
Try and avoid the Monsoons (Sri Lanka gets hit by TWO)
Helmets are compulsory, take your own. The open-faced ones we got with the bike were really grotty and made your scalp itch – so we wore a bit of cloth or a hankerchief over our heads first to make a barrier.
If using an open-faced lid, you’ll need sunglasses or goggles as well.
Take some thin, leather summer gloves.
Take some basic tools – Swiss army knife, screwdrivers, adjustable spanner and pliers perhaps. Maybe some string or wire for tying on bits that fall off.
Take some puncture repair kits. (push bike ones would do I think)
Take your proper motorbike gear along if you wish, but I bet you won’t wear it ‘cos it’s too hot - and then how are you going to carry it? A good compromise is tough denim jeans, denim shirt and walking boots, then you’ve got at least some protection against gravel rash if you slide off!
In case of rain – a cheap nasty cagoule works fine. The rain soon stops, it’s not cold rain (at low altitude anyway) and expensive Goretex materials don’t work in hot humid conditions anyway.
A map and a compass as well – many small roads are not marked, or not in a fashion that you would recognize anyway!
International driving licence.
Insurance – your holiday insurance may not like you riding motorcycles. Also, I really don’t know how much valid cover you get when you hire a bike there, so ride very defensively – act carefully, like you’re NOT covered, and maybe you’ll survive. Be aware you could be riding at your own risk.
We heard horror stories of people hiring major rental Co cars (eg Avis or the like), although it’s not common, and tales that locals have been known to throw their old grannies under the wheels, just so they can claim the insurance money from the hire companies.
Bill Roughton Bike Tours UK
[ This message was edited by: Adventuremagnet on 18/12/2008 18:39 ] |
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Bike Tours UK Joined: Dec 18, 2008
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Some more photos
Dressing for our night time "game drive".
The waiter suggested a "game drive" was in order after dinner. "What, even on a motorbike?" I asked.
"yes sir".
OK - it seemed like a good idea after a few Gin & Tonics.
Sri Lanka is stinking hot - but up on the Horton Plains, at night, it's NOT.
Here we are, in our room at The Farr Inn, putting on every single layer of clothing we had, before venturing out on the bike, in the dark, in search of Leopards.
I think I wore 3 T-shirts, 2 shirts and a vest - then put the nasty blue cagoule over the top. Not very warm - but might deflect Leopard bites?
Bill Roughton Bike Tours UK | |
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Bike Tours UK Joined: Dec 18, 2008
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Setting of for the "game drive".
The headlamp of our crappy old XL250 was intermittent, at best.
So we used a small Maglite torch instead to light our way through the jungle
and onto the high plains. Obviuosly, top speeds were somewhat limited.
Bill Roughton Bike Tours UK | Advertisement  |
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Bike Tours UK Joined: Dec 18, 2008
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This one is the biggest anti-climax.
We stopped, quite terrified, as there was some kind of beast crouched down at the roadside, staring at us.
We had no idea what it was, bu tit wasn't backing off - and we'd seen Leopards earlier in the day - so was a it a Big Cat waiting to pounce on us?
I turned the bike round (pointing in the direction of a hasty retreat), and asked Clare to keep the engine revving, while I fired off a (camera) shot into the darkness.
Then we raced off back to our icebox room at the Inn.
I couldn't wait to have the film developed when we got back to the UK, to see what the beast may be.
Have a look at the attached photo. You may be disappointed. Look to the
left fifth of the photo, just to the left of th esmallest shrub. You'll see two ghostly yellow eyes looking at me.
IT MAY WELL HAVE BEEN A LEOPARD - we'll never know.
We went back the next day to the same spot, in misty morning daylight. At
this spot, the bank dropped away to a field on the right, about 5 or 6 feet
below road level. The field was full of cattle. Maybe it was just a cow
the night before, whose eyes would have been at about roadside level? The
Leopard possibility makes a better story however.
I'm going back with same wife & kids next July, some 12 years after. We're going to hire a car and revisit the same places. Hopefully with fewer punctures next time.
Bill Roughton
Bike Tours UK
www.biketours-uk.com
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Adventuremagnet  Joined: Jul 01, 2008
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