Riding around a city which you don’t know is the perfect way to explore and get a feel for a place. Exposed to the sights, sounds and scents in a way that a vehicle-based tourist can only dream of, a tour by bike, even if low on the gravel quota, is the perfect way to start your day. Of course, if you can also magic-up an unplanned encounter with a group of local riders then so much the better. Olly heads out on a pre-dawn ride into Sri Lanka’s capital city, Colombo and falls completely under its spell.
Olly’s trip to Sri Lanka wouldn’t have been possible without the incredibly generous support of Sri Lankan Airlines.
"All this metaphorical bottom-sniffing of a new ‘pack’ of fellow cyclists takes mere seconds."
“How much do you weigh? And you run what pressure in your tyres? That sounds way too soft to us. Have you considered pumping your tyres up more?” When you roll up next to a group of cyclists who clearly know each other well, there’s an unwritten code of subliminal behaviour that you probably follow, even if you do it subconsciously. A code which would make an anthropologist nod, as they recognise a shared set of ‘tribal’ characteristics. Obviously, you start by saying hello, even if you don’t have a language in common. Next, you check out your fellow riders’ bikes. You look at what they’re wearing (and perhaps more importantly, the level of panache with which they are wearing it). You read the subtle body language symbols to try and identify a pecking order. You attempt to calculate how you would fit in with the group (if at all). All this metaphorical bottom-sniffing of a new ‘pack’ of fellow cyclists takes mere seconds, but I suspect we all go through the process.
"They checked a couple of times that I was really only running 27 psi (1.8 bar)."
I broke the ice with the Colombo Saturday 6am group by asking if any of them spoke English, as my Sinhala was limited to a spectacularly pathetic four words. A number of the group did, so we started with some small talk – I mentioned how much I loved the aesthetics of their bikes, they asked where I came from in the UK and what I was doing in Sri Lanka. A few of the group started closely inspecting my bike. What was it made from? What did I think of the carbon wheels? Did I like disc brakes? And then the crunch moment – one of them squeezed my tyres and practically jumped back in shock. Did I always run them that soft? Although none of them had tried it, some of them knew about running tyres tubeless and they nodded when I explained that I was also using rim liners, even if they were just being polite. They checked a couple of times that I was really only running 27 psi. Surely that was way too soft? If I’m honest, I hadn’t checked them before I set off that morning, so they might have even been a few psi less, but that’s not so unusual for a gravel bike. It was definitely not common for the bikes of the Saturday 6am club though.
Wherever you go in the world, somebody, somewhere will be a fan of cycling. Not riding a bike for utility, but actually cycling just for the love of it. Colombo, the capital city of Sri Lanka, has a population of nearly 800,000 but it’s hot and humid most of the year. It’s also, perhaps like many rapidly growing urban centre, not intrinsically bike friendly – there’s heavy traffic, multi-lane one-way systems, a high number of street dogs and shall we say a slightly less rigid adherence to lane discipline than you might otherwise be used to. That probably sounds sub-optimal as a destination for a bike ride. But the flip side is the proximity of the city to the Indian Ocean, some stunning (if well dispersed) colonial era architecture and, if you search carefully, some incredibly beautifully boulevards lined with ancient, shade-giving Banyan trees.
"When my alarm went off at 5am, the temptation to turn it off, roll over and go back to sleep was strong."
When my alarm went off at 5am, the temptation to turn it off, roll over and go back to sleep was strong, but I had an intuition that the ungodly hour of my wake-up call would be worth it. I had prepped my bike and laid out my cycling kit the night before – anything to make the process of getting out the door a little more straightforward (and to give myself less excuse for not going ahead with my planned ride). The cleats of my SPD shoes clip clopping on the polished marble floor tiles as I was making my way across the lobby of the upmarket hotel in which I was exceedingly fortunate to be staying, was an eye-opening experience. It was devoid of customers, but surprisingly busy with early-morning staff, all of whom without exception offered a cheery greeting. None batted an eyelid at my strange appearance, clad in cycling kit rather than the slightly more stylish sense of dress normally on display in their lobby.
The sun was due to rise at 6am, but by that time I wanted to be riding along Colombo Plan Road, a paved road which traces a route due north/south, the waves of the adjacent Laccadive Sea practically spilling onto the roadside pavement. There was initially barely enough light to see by, but with some miraculous sense of intuition, when I was packing before I left the UK, I threw in some emergency blinky lights. Clipping a rear one onto my seatpost, I figured that at least the drivers of the sporadictuktuks and early morning taxis would be aware of my presence.
"The early-morning drivers were courteous in the extreme and gave me way more room than I would have been afforded in a city in the UK."
Riding through a large city, blue pre-dawn light filtering between the giant concrete and glass towers, is an oddly satisfying sensation. You are hyper-aware of your surroundings. The colours of the occasional flashing neon street signs seem more piercing. Amber flashing traffic lights (proceed, but with caution) helped smooth my passage. The early-morning drivers were courteous in the extreme and gave me way more room than I would have been afforded in a city in the UK. I traced a pre-planned route that I had created the night before, my Wahoo regularly signalling turns and junctions. At points, I had six lanes of one-way system to negotiate, but with the roads practically to myself, my lane discipline was a little less rigid than I would have maintained back home.
As I made a sharp right turn onto Saint Anthony’s Mawatha, I noticed up ahead the distinctive figure of a fellow cyclist, lycra clad, riding a drop bar bike and running a rear flashing light. He was riding slowly and as I passed, I proffered a cheery wave. A slightly quizzical look on his face, he didn’t return my greeting, but there was a subtle head nod of acknowledgment. In the whole of my journey down through Sri Lanka, this was the first “sport” cyclist that I had encountered.
"My tyre dip was destined to stay completely metaphorical for risk of being washed out into the ocean."
My initial destination was nearly five kilometers down the arrow-straight Colombo Plan Road. I had noticed a small urban beach marked on the map and figured that metaphorically dipping my tyres in the ocean would be an appropriate way to finish my gravel tour of Sri Lanka, having done the same on the north-east coast at the start of my trip. With some high energy waves hurling themselves onto the foreshore, my tyre dip was destined to stay completely metaphorical for risk of being washed out into the ocean – never an ideal way to finish a trip!
"The cranes of Colombo’s port were picked out in silhouette on the skyline like some form of modern-day mechanical dinosaur."
As I turned tail and set course for Viharamahadevi Park, located to the south-east of my hotel, the light levels had started to increase and the colours, albeit muted courtesy of some gathering tropical storm clouds, were incredible. I hopped off my bike momentarily and crossed over the deserted double-track railway line, which at this point ran between the road and the ocean, to gain a better view. To the north, the cranes of Colombo’s port were picked out in silhouette on the skyline like some form of modern-day mechanical dinosaur. To the south, residential and commercial development stretched as far as the eye could see. You wouldn’t say that either was beautiful in a traditional manner, but the combination of the sound of waves crashing onto the rocks, salt-laden mist, stunning pre-dawn light and the near-total absence of people meant that standing there was a surprisingly awe-inspiring experience.
As I remounted and pedalled back northwards, something interesting happened. Although it was only just after 6am, I began to spot ever-growing numbers of cyclists riding both north and south on the coast road. There was a variety of speed, bike choice, attire and experience level, but they were 99% cyclists out for the joy of just riding a bike, rather than using a bicycle as a means of transport.
"I had seen on the map that it contained a cycle track and I was intrigued as to what it comprised."
My reason for heading for Viharamahadevi Park, was that I had seen on the map that it contained a cycle track and I was intrigued as to what it comprised. My route to get to the park was somewhat circuitous – I had planned to use as many small residential streets as I could, rather than the wider multi-lane boulevards. As I headed north and east, the sights and sounds of the city waking up were all around me – a lonely bell tolled at a Catholic church. Neighbours passed greetings to each other as they stood in the street, some still wearing their nightwear. Delicious smells wafted from a few of the homes that I rode close to.
After some time spent meandering down narrow roads, I emerged onto a much wider street and traversed via a pedestrian crossing to enter the park itself. The cycle track was immediately obvious – a roughly two-metre wide concrete path, with one-way arrows painted on its surface in faded white paint. I set off, following the prescribed direction of travel, but the track was too sinuous and uneven in surface to get much speed or flow. It wove a circuitous route around the perimeter of the park, the surface texture ever changing. While the track was peaceful courtesy of it being hard-segregated from the adjacent road, it wasn’t quite what I had hoped for.
Just as the cycle track dipped down to cross a minor road leading into the park, I spotted a sport cyclist tear past on the adjacent multi-lane road. Intrigued, I joined the road to follow in their wake. As we turned a corner and started to head east, a beautiful, low, golden light bathed the road and cast long dramatic shadows onto the smooth tarmac surface. As we rode along, I checked the map on my bike computer and realised that the road followed exactly the perimeter of the park. Although I had initially planned to follow the route of the designated cycle track, the chance to ride with a fellow cyclist seemed like the better option.
"I folded myself into a more aerodynamic position and pedalled slightly harder."
As I rode alongside and nodded a greeting, we were both overtaken by a third rider, this time one going at a much higher speed and clad in eye-catching white shorts and a red & blue jersey. The competitive instinct in me kicked in and I set off in hot pursuit. After a short, spirited chase I managed to catch Mr White shorts and then eased my way past. Apart from a nod of acknowledgment, there wasn’t anything else in the way of communication, so I folded myself into a more aerodynamic position and pedalled slightly harder. I wasn’t trying to be macho, but I thought I would see what Mr White shorts had in his legs. As I glanced round shortly afterwards it was clear that he had a hell of lot more in his legs than I had bargained for – he was absolutely glued to my back wheel, his hands grasping a set of centrally mounted handlebar extensions to allow him to gain a lower, more aero position. At this point, the previously immaculate road surface was punctuated by a small section of damaged tarmac and as I hit it, the grip I had on my phone proved to be more tenuous that I had thought and my phone clattered noisily on to the tarmac. I waved a hand of apology, swerved left out of the path of Mr White shorts and pulled over to retrieve it, now lying face down in the road. By some miracle the phone itself was unscathed, although the rubber casing looked somewhat the worse for wear!
I pedalled on, somewhat chastened by my own stupidity and rode past the Colombo Town Hall building, which is modelled on the Capitol building in Washington DC, USA. As I made a left hand turn to continue to follow the course of the park, I noticed a gaggle of riders on the pavement to my left, looking as though they had gathered for the start of a club ride. I waved in acknowledgement and continued on my circuit of the park, this time staying on the road (rather than on the cycle track) and trying to avoid dropping anything onto the ground! Eventually, after quite a hard chase, I caught Mr White shorts and the other rider again and we continued to circle the park as a trio. As soon as we grouped up, it became obvious that this was a regular occurrence. Local riders were obviously using the combination of extremely limited traffic and a great road surface to put in some early morning fast-paced circuits around the park. Ironically, they were avoiding the designated cycle track and using the much faster and smoother road instead.
After completing another circuit, my journalistic instincts took over and I decided I should stop and try and find out some more about the group. As I signalled to peel off, Mr White shorts continued on, still pedalling at an impressive rate and using his ‘spinaci’ aero bars. I stopped, nodded a greeting, got my breath back and then started a conversation. Two of the group spoke good English, so I was able to find out more about them and their incredible bikes. It turned out that they met almost every Saturday at 6am and did fast-paced laps of the park together.
I was intrigued to realise that all bar two were riding very unusual (to my eye) looking roadster bikes. They had incredibly long wheelbases, über-slack geometry and perhaps most unusually, they were using rod brakes. After some further questioning, it turned out the bikes all dated from the 1950s and 60s and were mainly built by Raleigh in the UK. The owners had maintained, restored and modified them to try and give them some extra speed. They were all set up as fixed gear bikes (without a freewheel) and most had some beautiful individual touches. Many had 'spinaci' bars (which date from the early 1990s) bolted onto the original handlebars and all the riders were running road clipless pedals.
As I stood admiring their bikes, Mr White shorts finished another lap and came to join us, leaning his bike carefully against a park lamppost. His machine was by far my favourite. It had been lovingly resprayed in a beautiful turquoise colour, complete with what looked like hand painted graphics. All the chrome work had been re-plated and it glistened in the early morning light. He had fitted a lightweight fluted seatpost and a racing saddle. There were the apparently de-rigeur 'spinaci' bars, fitted as low as possible to allow him to get into a good position and he had sourced from somewhere some iridescent, translucent plastic grips, colour coordinated neatly with the bar tape on his ‘spinaci’ bars. It was a work of art and he clearly was extremely proud of it.
"He was soon back, a big smile on his face."
I initially thought that my bike in comparison, albeit with the patina of being well-travelled, must have looked like something from the space age to them. Interestingly though, none of them noticed (or commented on, anyway) the double-decker bars, the split seatpost or the electronic gears. The main source of their fascination was how soft my tyre pressures were! They all tapped the frame and wheels appreciatively with a fingernail (a seemingly universal test of how “good” a bike is). One of the group, who spoke the best English, was roughly my height (and seemed the most intrigued by my Canyon), so I offered to lend it to him to take for a circuit of the park. As he rode off into the distance, unfortunately unable to clip in, thanks to the mis-match in our preferred pedal set-ups, I did momentarily think that perhaps I had been foolhardy - even though my bike is quite travel worn, it’s still worth a mind-boggingly large amount of money in comparison to an average Sri Lankan salary. I needn’t have worried though – he was soon back, a big smile on his face.
"I realised that tuktuks made very good impromptu dernys."
By this time, although it was still early, the sun was getting higher and the temperature was rising. I decided it was time to head back to the hotel, so I bade farewell to my new-found friends and set off on the final part of my loop. In comparison to the day before, when we had driven through chaotic traffic in this same area en-route to the hotel, this morning was still remarkably quiet. The traffic was limited to a few ancient Lanka Ashok Leyland public busses, an occasional car and the omni-present tuktuk. When I had previously ridden in busier urban areas, I was too busy focussing on staying safe to really notice, but on this quiet Saturday morning, I realised that tuktuks made very good impromptu dernys. They are not the cleanest vehicles and their drivers are not always the smoothest, but I could match their acceleration from a standing start at traffic lights and just about keep up on the flat. I spent a few happy minutes doing some tuktuk-assisted sprint training along some of the wider boulevards which took me back towards my hotel.
As with any good urban cycling route, I had to make a few last minute on-the-fly changes as I neared the hotel. What I hadn’t appreciated when planning my route was that some of the narrow residential streets that I had selected to use were actually inside a military area and were therefore off limits. The quality of the digital mapping available had been of a consistently high standard, but I obviously hadn’t zoomed in enough to spot the perimeter wall. The heavily armed soldiers manning a guard post soon dissuaded me from trying to use a couple of the back lanes I had chosen. I diverted, following my nose and discovered a beautiful alleyway, complete with flowering plants and small, shade-giving trees. Technically it was really a pavement and numerous residents popped out of the houses at intervals along its length. I rode very gently and managed to avoid attracting the unwanted attention of one of the soldiers in the guard tower that I passed close to!
"I clip-clopped across the lobby for the second time that morning."
After a little route wiggling, I rode up the drive to the front of the hotel and stepped off my bike. Greeted warmly by the security staff and white-gloved doorman, I pushed my bike into the cool, air-conditioned lobby. I always think the manner in which hotel staff treat their guests, irrespective of how oddly dressed they are, or their outwardly obvious level of affluence is a good test of the quality of a hotel. The staff at the Cinnamon Grand passed with flying colours and not one gave me an odd look or made me feel unconformable as I clip-clopped across the lobby for the second time that morning.
"I had experienced Colombo in a way that the vast majority of other visitors would never see."
Of the 25 kilometres that my loop comprised, barely a few hundred metres included anything close to typical gravel bike terrain. Despite that, it seemed like the perfect way to finish my trip. I had experienced Colombo in a way that the vast majority of other visitors would never see, spent some time meeting some local riders and getting to know more about Colombo’s cycling scene and I’d managed to push my fitness a little with some tuktuk-paced sprinting. I finished my ride with a big grin on my face and a huge sense of achievement and you can’t ask for more than that from a ride.
If this has whetted your appetite for visiting the amzing island of Sri Lanka, the really easy way for you to do so is to sign up for Ride Sri Lanka 2025, a luxury multi-stage gravel riding event which will take participants to some of the finest bits of the island.
Olly’s trip to Sri Lanka wouldn’t have been possible without the incredibly generous support of Sri Lankan Airlines. They operate regular direct flights between London and Colombo and are one of the most cycling-friendly airlines we've ever had the pleasure of travelling with!