Nouadhibou to Nouakchott, Mauritania
200 miles / 320 km
Wx: Clear skies, mild.

Yaaaaawn. Surprisingly the infested slab of foam on the floor of our ‘cell’ wasn’t as comfortable as you might think. It was a cold and uncomfortable sleep interrupted too soon by music blarring from some Mosque nearby. But seriously where else would you want to be?

Today is the no shit serious desert bit. Mauritania is essentially all desert, the big ‘Laurence of Arabia, sweeping sand dunes’ type desert that the word Sahara conjures up. The plan for today is to leave Nouadhibou and head for Nouakchott, the capital of Mauritania. It sounds pretty straight forward but there are a couple of catches.

Firstly, we can’t make the distance on a single tank of gas and nobody is really sure if we will be able to find any reliable petrol between here and there. There is a petrol station halfway between, but as we have found out that is no guarantee there is any petrol

Secondly, this is supposedly the most dangerous part of the trip. There are apparently roaming gangs of bandits in Mauritania which doesn’t sound like too much fun. In fact the 2008 Dakar rally was cancelled altogether due to safety concerns around the Mauritania sections. Screw it, let’s go!

As we head out of town we stop off to see the bay, which is infamous for holding the largest ships graveyard in the world. There are over 100 ships that have been abandoned to rust in this graveyard. In the early morning light and stillness the place appears quite eerie.

The Ship Graveyard

Then we gas up and head back out of town for our journey south to Nouakchott. As we are leaving town we spot the ore train heading in the opposite direction. Since it is the longest train in the world we all stop to have a look this morning.

Once we get away from the town we are treated to some spectacular sweeping desert landscapes with wavy sand dunes stretching to the horizon in every direction. These views are only broken by the ever increasing number of military checkpoints. What they are checking for out in the middle of nowhere is anybody’s guess.

Sand As Far As The Eye Can See

A Little Break

However, it seems we have broken the code on how to get through the checkpoints quickly (finally). Since most of the guards only speak broken English, if any at all, when they ask for something like your papers you simply start rambling quickly in English on some completely unrelated topic. They seem to get frustrated quickly and rather than trying to make themselves understood they will wave you straight through. Genius.

As we push south in small groups a couple of us come upon a very dodgy looking petrol station, but having leaned the lesson to never pass up an opportunity we pull in. Some of the others press on ahead to the unconfirmed station halfway along that we have heard rumours about. Matt, Dave, Rick and I decide to give this one a go. You know what they say ‘a bird in the hand is worth two dying of thirst in the middle of the stinking hot desert’.

We ask the fine young men manning the station if the have any unleaded petrol, although all we see are diesel pumps, which Dave has so generously demonstrated are not good for you. ‘Yes’ they exclaim and proceed to pull out a couple of seriously suspect looking plastic jugs which, they assure us, contain unleaded. What the hell it is supposed to be an adventure right? So we barter a price and they remove the rag from the top of the jug and begin siphoning the petrol into our bikes.

So Very Dodgy

To my genuine surprise our bikes actually start up and we are away. We continue on for another hour or so and sure enough the fabled petrol station of rumour emerges from the shimmering heat of the road. The others are already waiting there. It is a perfect place to have some lunch and take a break for a while.

We finish lunch and are relaxing, in no great hurry to move on. Dave takes the opportunity to get some sand riding lessons from Jack, the driver of the support vehicle. As Dave missed a few days of the off-road riding on his bug out to Marrakech, he is feeling a bit less confident in the soft stuff than the rest of us.

So Jack takes him across the road to a large expanse of sand and the base of a huge dune to give him some of the finer points. They let some air out of his tyres to give him a bit more grip in the loose sand. Unfortunately, neither of them tweak to the fact that he has tubeless tyres and he ends up popping the bead and sending the tyre flat. Well, he may have a flat tyre, but at least it is in the middle of the Sahara desert under the blazing mid-day sun. LOL. The legend of Disaster Dave continues!

After all transgressions are righted we saddle up for the rest of the ride into Nouakchott. More stretches of open desert. It really is a beautiful sight. I pull away and ride by myself for a while just for a little alone time. I come upon a flock of camels and stop to take a picture. But the camels prove to be a bit shy when you approach them head on, so I pull up a bit and let them cross behind me while a take a picture in my rear view mirror. It turns out to be my favorite shot of the trip.

Shy Camels

As we approach the capital we are amazed by the amount of rubbish everywhere. Trucks are just driving out of the city and dumping it by the side of the road before heading back into town for another load. Odd.

We eventually find our accommodation for the night, dump our stuff, shower and head out to find something to eat for dinner. We happen upon a café and order some food and are entertained by a local who regales us with tales of Mauritania.

On the walk back we are treated to another surreal sight in the street. A Toyota pickup drives past us, and just as it does a huge head swings out of the back towards us. Startled we turn around to see the back of the pick up receding away and in the bed under a large cargo net is a huge camel along for the ride. Hilarious. I love this trip. Can’t wait for tomorrow.

Dakhla, Western Sahara to Nouadhibou, Mauritania
200 miles / 320 km
Wx: Clear skies, mild.

Ahhhh, waking up in a bed, with clean sheets, followed by a real no kidding hot shower. How awesome is that after camping and days and days on the road? However, the ride is starting to take a bit of a toll. My right wrist is swollen and I have lost the feeling in the first two fingers on my right hand. Anyway, downstairs for a proper restaurant breakfast and a bit of a briefing on the day ahead.

We are not planning on doing a lot of kilometres today, because today we will be crossing the border between Moroccan controlled Western Sahara and Mauritania, which supposedly takes a reeeeeally long time. During the fighting for Western Sahara, Morocco used to occupy only the northern two thirds with Mauritania controlling the southern third. However, fighting between the factions ensued and Mauritania was eventually forced to withdraw. Consequently, we have been warned to stick carefully to the planned tracks as this part of Western Sahara is still littered with live minefields.  Woohoo!

We all kit up and head back out of Dakhla, our destination is the border with Mauritania then onto the town of Nouadhibou. We go back through all the police checkpoints we came through yesterday, aaaaagain. We gas up on the outskirts and then head south. It is some stark desert riding through these parts. Long straight roads just surrounded by sand and the odd sign or two warning you about the landmines.

The Long Road

Mind Your Step

We ride all morning for hours through the featureless desert terrain with only the odd military checkpoint. At one point, just to break up the tedium Rick and I venture off the tarmac in to the ‘minefield’ to play a little tag in the loose sand hoping that is all there is.

We all meet up about 20-30 kilometers before the border station so that we can all proceed through together as a group. It makes things much easier. So, we have been told to expect it to take up to 5 hours to get across the border and that is with a fixer on the other side helping us into Mauritania.

Well 5 hours turns out to be pretty accurate. There are three processing points on the Moroccan side alone. We stop at the first one, hand in our paperwork then break out lunch from the truck and eat some sandwiches while we are waiting. I think half the time it is a waiting game. The guards want to make you wait in hope that you will get the shits and just give them a bribe to get things moving along.  We decide to wait them out, this time anyway.

We finally move past the first point to the second, wait, wait, wait. It is at least a little bit interesting to see and meet all the other people trying to get through the border and listen to where they have been and where they are going. On to the third processing point, wait, wait, wait. We are finally done about three and half hours later and that is just to get out Western Sahara/Morocco. We are not even into Mauritania yet. Oh no. that fun is still yet to come.

As we leave the last military boom gate departing Western Saraha / Morocco we move into what is called ‘No Man’s Land’. No Man’s Land is a stretch of sandy desert between the borders of Western Sahara and Mauritania and it is chock full of live landmines (you see they don’t like each other much).

As we move into No Man’s Land our guides are adamant that we stick to the planned path so that nobody accidentally blows up. Since there are hulks of abandoned cars in every direction this seems like a pretty good idea. The only problem is that the path has lots of patches of fairly deep soft sand. A couple guys have some problems especially Dave, whose bigger, heavier bike bogs down and is prone to going over, which he does.

We stop to help Dave get his bike out of the soft sand and then crawl our way over to Mauritania where we meet our ‘fixer’ who is there to grease the wheels at the border and take us into town. Only two processing points on this side so it take about an hour or so and a bribe or two to get through.

After all the fun at the borders it is getting to be late afternoon and we are keen to get onto Nouadhibou before it gets dark. We follow the fixer’s car towards town, passing an absolutely enormous train pulling car after car of iron ore stretching towards the horizon. We later find out (from everyone) that it is the longest train in the world.

We finally approach town and enter one end of what is the main drag. As we pull into the main drag, with the aim of getting across town, everyone’s eyes go as big as saucers. Oh my God, it is just complete and utter mayhem on this road. The road is two lanes either direction separated by a small median strip. But holy shit there is just everything going in every direction; people, bicycles, goats, dogs, sheep, donkeys, scooters, cars, carts. All going at max speed in every direction. It looks like one of Dante’s circles of hell. Traffic hell maybe.

Everyone’s head is on a swivel trying to pick their way through the traffic while not getting blindsided by something coming in another direction. After exchanging glances and ‘holy shit’s with a few other riders I look up ahead to see Mihir almost get wiped out by a goat sprinting across the road.

No sooner, do I take my eyes off of that when I see a black Mercedes coming the wrong way down our side of the road, right at us. The driver has this totally nonchalant ‘yeah, so’ look on his face. As I am weaving around him I look over to avoid something else that I catch out of the corner of my eye. As I look up I am momentarily stunned by the surrealness of it. There in front of me is a donkey with a satellite dish on its back. What the? It takes me a second to process what I am looking at before I shake my head and I’m back to the task at hand of avoiding anything and everything.

A Calmer Stretch Of Nouadhibou Street

We finally, wend our way to our accommodation, which resembles a prison block more than anything else. A walled in courtyard with cells/rooms along two of the walls. We unpack and file into our cells and set up to cook dinner off the truck. Magic Rick vanishes into town to find beer in a country where it is totally illegal. So he does the clever boy, in a Chinese restaurant, in the middle of the Sahara desert in a very strictly Muslim country. Go figure.

Cell Block N

We sit up shooting the shit with another traveler and each other until the cold and the infernal sound of wailing from the minarets drives us into our ‘beds’ for the night. Interesting day, dying to see what happens tomorrow.

Shooting The Shit

Laayoune Desert Camp to Dakhla, Western Sahara
380 miles / 610 km
Wx: Clear skies, mild.

It is going to be a monster mileage day today so we are up early this morning. The population centres are getting further apart as we get into the desert, which means longer stretches between places to stop. And what did we learn yesterday, everyone, repeat after me “never pass up a fuel stop.”

After a quick breakfast from the truck we all saddle up and head out of camp just as the sun is rising over the desert horizon ahead. What a great way to start the day. The plan is to ride the 40 or so kilometres into the town of Laayone, fuel up and head further south into Western Sahara eventually pitching a wilderness camp somewhere just north of the town of Dakhla.

Matt Leaving Camp At Sunrise

Me Riding Up Ahead As We Leave Camp

After joining the road again, we ride off south towards Laayoune. I am keeping a keen eye on the odometer as my low fuel warning light comes on about halfway to town. We eventually make it to a petrol station on the outskirts and everyone breathes a little sigh of relief as this petrol station is bucking the current trend by actually having petrol to sell. Everyone fills up with ‘Sans Plomb’ (even Dave) and we are on our way.

As we ride south we are treated to more stunning views along the costal cliffs. This is only spoiled by the more and more frequent stops for military and police checkpoints sometimes within view of each other. I kid you not. “Papers”, “passport” and for some reason an obsession with everyone’s occupation. Which is a little hard to get across in pigeon French when you have a geologist, a printer and a pilot in the group.

The Long Road

We continue on for the morning stopping every now and then to get off the tarmac and play in the pristine expanses of sand by the side of the road.

Playing In The Sand

We finally make it to Boujdour, which is the only real town on the way to Dakhla. More checkpoints. We gas up and stop for lunch amongst what look to be some decent cafes along the side of the main drag through town. Rick and I search through a few, looking for the thing that looks the least likely to make us violently ill in a few hours. Diarrhoea and motorcycles don’t mix. We settle on some chicken that looks like it has seen some serious grill time.

After lunch we suit up and head south out of town. There are some interesting things to look at along the road out of town. A military base hidden behind a big wall, interesting, wonder what’s in there. Some giant concrete triangle thingos along the beach, interesting, I wonder what they are for. A police man at the side of the road with a radar gun waving his arms at us, interesting, I wonder what he is doing. Bugger!

Yep, Dave and I got done for speeding by the Moroccan police. We are on a rally to Dakar and we got a speeding ticket. A speeding ticket! Now that just doesn’t seem fair now does it. Anyway we pay our ‘fine’ to the nice man and we are on our way.

We spend the rest of the day riding through the wide open expanses of desert, sometimes riding along the cliffs, sometimes venturing away from the coast to be completely surrounded by sand in every direction.

The Coastal Cliffs

Some of us eventually end up at the rendezvous point for the day. A petrol station (with no petrol) about 20 km outside of Dakhla. The plan for the afternoon was to meet up here then we would find a spot to pitch our tents and wilderness camp for the night. As Werner our guide has assured us we don’t want to go into Dakhla as it is ‘a real shithole’.

Well we figure we are about an hour ahead of the others so we need to find some way to amuse ourselves until the others arrive. Someone floats the idea of making a makeshift race track around the mountains of rubbish that have been dumped by the side of the road. As fun as the Rubbish GP sounds, we instead decide to kill some time by going into Dakhla to have a look around.

Approaching Dakhla

After about 3 military checkpoints we finally draw close to the town itself. We come over a hill and are greeted by a beautiful scene of beachy coastline, complete with people camping, frolicking and even kite surfing. Shithole? Really? We continue on through some coastal fog until we come to the town. It looks nice, clean, modern. This place rocks compared to where we have been staying for the past few days.

As we approach the town centre we see a sign for the Sahara Regency – Dakhla, a four star hotel. You can see the light bulbs come on simultaneously above all four of our heads. Let’s go check that out!

We arrive at the hotel and it looks really nice. Thoughts of comfort overwhelm us all. Clean sheets, hot showers, dinner that doesn’t come off the back of a truck. That’s it we are staying here tonight.

Shithole? Really?

We go inside and see by the amount of room keys hanging on the wall behind reception that the place is almost empty. We negotiate a killer deal that includes dinner and breakfast. Awesome. We call the others to inform them of our impromptu mutiny and that we won’t be coming back to camp in rubbish, but they are welcome to join us in the hotel. They don’t put up much of a fight.

We head to the rooftop bar to down some beer and wait for their arrival. Ahhhhh civilisation again. It does have its perks. That is day 11 finished in style.

The Boys Giving Diesel Dave Shit For Getting Done For Speeding

Finishing The Day In Style

Guilmim (Fort Bou Jerif), Morocco to Laayoune, Western Sahara
350 miles / 560 km
Wx: Clear skies, mild.

Well we managed a ‘four to a tent’ night in our Bedouin tents last night with a minimum of snoring from anyone. It doesn’t sound like much, but it is a major accomplishment with this crowd. I crawl outside. The sun is just coming up over a hill to the east and lighting up the bikes. Another beautiful day for riding.

Sunrise At Fort Bou Jerif

Today we are leaving Morocco proper and crossing into Western Sahara.  Western Sahara used to be a Spanish colony back in the day. However, the Spanish pulled out and abandoned the place in 1975. When that happened it was on for young and old and all the neighbouring countries (Morocco, Mauritania and Algeria) rushed in for a land grab and years of fighting ensued.

Ever since a UN sponsored cease fire in 1991 Morocco has controlled most of the territory. However, tension and suspicion still run high in the area and the place in still littered with left over landmines. The trip is about to get a bit more interesting. Giddyup!

We head out of Fort Bou Jerif and back to Guilmim to fill up on petrol before heading south towards Tan Tan. Tan Tan is famous for the statues of the kissing camels that mark the (more or less official) gateway to the Sahara desert. 

The Kissing Camels

We have some more mountains foothills to cross and are treated to more twisty roads and spectacular scenery. Morocco is an absolutely beautiful place and I reckon I could drive around for weeks and weeks and not get tired of the landscape.

As we descend out of the hills to the north of Tan Tan you could see the beginning of the real Sahara. Desert stretching away to the horizon complete with strong winds and blowing sand. We make our way through the horizontally blowing sand, riding with our bikes on an angle, leaning into the wind. Finally we are greeted with the sight of the famous kissing camels as we approach Tan Tan.

You just have to stop and get some cheesy tourist photos with the camels now don’t you? Come on everybody is doing it.

 

 

As we enter Tan Tan we encounter our first military check point. “Papers, Passport”. Things are getting a bit more uptight now that we are getting closer to Western Sahara. We gas up in town, this is the last major centre before our campsite and from here on out fuel becomes a bit more of a consideration as the towns get further and further apart.

We proceed out of Tan Tan along the coast for our last few miles in Morocco. All along this part of the coast the desert pushes right up to the edge of 300 foot cliffs that drop down to the Atlantic. As we ride along the top of the cliffs the views are magic, absolutely magic. Every so often along the cliffs there is a small gathering of huts where the locals will fish off the tops of the cliffs. Amazing.

 
We come across more military checkpoints and finally cross out of Morocco and into Moroccan controlled Western Sahara. We pass through a little town that has a dodgy looking café and a petrol station, but it is a bit before lunch time, we still have half a tank of gas and the map shows another town between here and our stop for the night. So, we decide not to stop and we press on.

Okay that turns out to be a mistake. You see maps of this area prove to be a bit unreliable. Almost as unreliable as the petrol stations in these parts. This is the real Sahara now boys and girls, on your toes.

The Real Sahara Now

As we continue on, the “town” on the map turns out to be just a wide spot in the road. And the petrol station turns out be less of a ‘petrol station’ and more of a plain old ‘station’ as it doesn’t have any petrol… or food… or water… or anything really.

We do a little quick math to see how far we can get on the fuel we have remaining. We could go back to the last station, but then that would put hours, plural, onto the day. We could go forward to the campsite and hope we pass something along the way. We could go past the campsite into the next town, Laayoune, get some petrol and turn around and come back. However, we may not actually make it to Laayoune on the petrol we have, and if there is none there then we are really screwed. Oh yeah and my clutch is starting to get pretty loose and feel pretty dodgy.

So we decide to go to the campsite and hope that there is enough fuel left in the tank in the morning to get us to Laayoune. We get to the turn off to the campsite and are a bit confused and suspicious. There is a sign pointing to our right but no real road and nothing as far as the eye can see in any direction. Really? Down here? After exchanging a few glances we shrug and trundle off across the desert in the direction the sign points.

After about 15 minutes of tentative riding through nothing with a capital NO we come over a rise and find the ‘camp’. It is a few building and semi-permanent tents in the middle of frikkin nowhere. I mean WTF? Why would you put anything here of all places?  You would have closer neighbours if you lived on the moon.  But hey, we are hungry, tired and almost out of petrol so it’s, “My what a lovely place you have here”

Really Just Nothing And Nowhere

Matt Cops Some Zs While We Wait For Everyone Else To Catch Up
 

We beg some food as we haven’t had any lunch, but all the owner has is bread and sardines. Oh yeah, and beer, score. Yummy.  The rest of the troupe shows up about 45 minutes later. We unload the truck and set about cooking dinner. Huuuungry. After a feed and a little small talk, we all wander off to our tents, worn out from the day. I fall asleep to the sound of wind howling outside my tent. How awesome is this trip!?!?

Marrakech  to Guilmim (Fort Bou Jerif), Morocco
390 miles / 624 km
Wx: Clear skies, cool.

Day 9 and I am anxious to get back on the bike after yesterdays rest day. The plan is to head west towards the Atlantic coast then turn south towards the southern border of Morocco. Today is our last full day in Morocco as tomorrow we cross into Western Sahara.

Since there are a lot of miles to cover today it is going to be a 7:15 am start. I am up early, once again trying to defy the laws of physics by stuffing 100L of stuff into and 80L bag. This takes some time due to the fact that everything seems to have exploded all over the room.

After a quick breakfast off the back of the truck we load up the bikes and get ready to ride. I set off with ‘Pencil Pete’ and ‘Big Al’ for the morning as we roar out of camp, eager to get back on the road. After, what by now is the seemingly obligatory wrong turn, we quickly find the right road to follow and we head out of Marrakech. We all need to gas up before hitting the open road so we decide to head for the outskirts of the city and do it there before we get too far away from civilization.

After riding for about 20 minutes we pull into a petrol station and fill up, grab some snacks for the road and get ready to go. Click, click, click, click, click. Shit. Pete’s battery is dead and his bike won’t start. We borrow what passes for jumper cables in these parts (big long wires with no clips on the ends) and try to jump the bike, try to push start the bike, but it is no use, we can’t get it started again.

We manage to send a text through to the support vehicle to let them know where we are and that we need help. They respond, letting us know that they are just leaving camp now so it will be at least a half an hour before they get there. Bugger.  I go up to roadside and sit and watch for the 4×4.

I have been sitting, dejected, on the side of the road for about 10 minutes when Dave, Rick and Matt ride by and keep on going. Jealous, I am tempted to go with them, but you never leave your wingman, everyone knows this, so I continue to wait with Pete for the support vehicle.

I would find out later that the other three guys were about to have some drama of their own anyway. They continued up the road for another couple hundred meters before stopping for petrol themselves at a different filling station. As it turns out Dave ended up accidentally putting Diesel in the tank of his (own) bike, all the time wondering why the locals were shouting and waving their hands. Thus the legend of ‘Diesel Dave’ was born.

The Legend Of Diesel Dave is Born

Well the support vehicle eventually showed up and they had a spare battery on the truck which they whipped out and activated. But, we had to wait around for another 20 or so minutes for the new battery to build up a charge. So by now we have probably wasted about an hour and a half and only gone about 30 kms. Great. Only 590 more to go today.

Back on the road again the we head west then south-west towards the town of Agadir. During the mornings ride we are descending out of the Atlas mountains once again and are treated to more spectacular views and the twisting and turning roads we have grown to love so much.

As we descend out of the foothills and into the coastal plains near Agadir it becomes noticeably warmer. In fact, it is the first time for the whole trip is has actually been warm. It is a nice change, now it is starting to feel like Africa. We stop in Agadir for lunch and some petrol before heading south through Tiznit and on to Guilmim.

There are long stretches of straight road through here and all the aches and pains that seemed to disappear during yesterdays rest day come creeping back. Although we have all now started to find different, more comfortable riding positions for the long stretches in the saddle. I don’t mind the long stretches so much, it gives your mind a chance to wander and it becomes almost like meditation. No worries, nothing to think about, just living in the moment. The road, the bike and you.

We finally arrive in the town of Guilmim. Our destination for the night is actually about 40 Kms out of town at a campsite with Bedouin tents near the old French outpost of Fort Bou Jerif. We finally make it to the campsite and park our selves at the campsite restaurant. Rick already has the beers waiting, bless his heart.

After A Long Day Of Riding

 

Bedouin Tents

Fort Bou Jerif

 

Rest Day

Today is a scheduled rest day in Marrakech to rest tired bodies and service battered bikes

My ‘rest’ day begins about 5:00 am with a God awful racket. Bashing, stumbling, voices and general buffoonery. At first I think some donkeys have gotten loose in the compound. After I fight back the fog of sleep I realise I was close, not donkeys but, jack-asses. It is just Rick and Matt stumbling around in their tent (next to mine) having only just now returned from their big night out in Marrakech. I am very glad I came home when I did. Roll over, back to sleep.

I finally get up about 7:30 am and revel in a hot shower before heading to the little campsite restaurant for the ever popular ‘petite dejeuner’. At breakfast I meet Pete and we decide to grab a taxi and head into town to check out the Medina and the markets.

After arriving at the main square where we had dinner last night we find things in a much more subdued state. We grab a fresh squeezed orange juice from one of the street vendors and make a plan. We need to figure out how a couple of knuckle heads like us are going to get around the narrow closed in alleyways of the market place without getting horribley lost. Pete has a guide book which makes us feel better, but I am pretty sure we are going to get lost anyway.

The markets or ‘souks’ are situated in the old section of town called the Medina. They are a series of twisting and turning narrow alleyways that criss-cross back over themselves. The tops of the alleyways are covered to keep the heat out which makes keeping your bearings all that much more difficult. Different sections specialise in different products; rugs, spices, clothes, jewellery, and there is always a lively atmosphere of bargaining going on.

The Souks

Rug Souks

Spice Markets

We wander through the souks taking in the scene and trying to come up with some inspired gift ideas for our friends. It makes it a bit tougher when you are on a motorcycle and can’t carry much. We eventually stop in a little café for some of the obligatory mint tea Morocco is well known for, yum.  The café has two absolutely gorgeous waitresses working there, a welcome change since up until now the only women we have seen have been in the full Muslim garb.

Mint Tea

Next to the café is an old barber shop that looks like it has been there since the early Mesozoic era, as does the barber. So on a whim I decide I am going to give him a bit of business and get him to shave my head with a straight razor (don’t ask me why, I think the tea was spiked). After a bit of pigeon French and a bit of sign language I think he understands what I am after. After he does my head he gets to work on my 7 day growth. Quite nerve-racking having a straight razor scraped across your jugular by someone you don’t know and who doesn’t speak the same language. At any rate I walk out of the shop with a bit less drag than when I walked in. That has got to worth a couple extra Km/hr back on the road.

Going For The Low Drag Look

We walk around the souks a bit more looking at this and that and I buy a pair of Ray Ban knock offs, since I was dumb enough to forget my sunglasses back in Spain. Then we decide to walk into the new part of the city and see what this less touristy, more ‘real’ part of the city is like.

Wow, what a difference! All the locals are decked out in the stylish western clothes, there are western shops and there is something very different that I can’t put my finger on at first. I eventually figure it out, it is the fact that nobody is hassling me every 10 feet to buy something. I get the impression that this is where most of the locals hang out and that the Medina is just a bit ‘put on’ for the benefit of the tourists.

We eventually head back to camp. I do a bit of laundry since just about everything I have is filthy by now. It is a pleasant sunny afternoon and I decide to take a dip in the pool. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! It turns out to be so cold that it is nearly life threatening and I am out quickly while I still some of the feeling in my limbs.

We have some dinner while Rick and Matt regale us with tales of atrocities from the night before. A pleasant day of rest, but I am already itching to get back on the bike and twist the throttle wide open.

When last we left our heros, Werner (our guide) was flying over the handle bars of his bike as we watched in shock and horror….

We start our bikes and race across the bridge to the other side. That looked like a really bad fall. As we are crossing the bridge Wern stands up looking a bit shaken, swearing, but largely unhurt. Thank God. As we get a bit closer we can see what went horribly wrong. Concealed behind the embankment, and not visible from our vantage point on the other side, is a concrete irrigation ditch. One that is exactly the width of a BMW front tyre.

As Wern came over the embankment his front tyre went into the ditch bringing it to an instant stop. However, there was still a lot of momentum on the bike which meant the back end shot up into the air like a bucking bronco, sending Wern flying and smashing the wind screen on the opposite side of the ditch.

After assurances from Wern that he is alright (surprisingly) we set about trying to get the bike out of the ditch. It takes three of us to muscle it out and get it to level ground. Amazingly the rim is not dented and the front forks are not bent. Man, these BMWs can take a beating! About the only thing wrong with the bike is the completely smashed windscreen, which we can easily live without.

Meanwhile, Wern is pacing back and forth admonishing himself in a stern South African accent, saying how ‘he should know better’ and ‘it was dumb to listen to us’. I have to agree with him there, it is pretty dumb to listen to us. Hell, I wouldn’t even listen to us.

After Niall the mechanic has a look over the bike and Wern collects himself we set off again down the piste. It continues to wind along the river bed through a few villages before heading up into the foothills. We climb higher and higher in elevation along switchbacks. It appears they are in the process of building a proper road through here, although we don’t see anyone working (a constant theme throughout Morocco). There is evidence of blasting and a fresh layer of loose shale rock on the path however, which makes things a bit interesting. We finally arrive at the top of the ridge line and decide to break for lunch while we have such a spectacular view.

 
Great Spot For Lunch

After lunch we continue along the piste. We patiently wait at each cross-roads as Wern trundles off in the wrong direction, stops when he realises nobody is following him, returns to the rest of the group and we head off in the right direction. To everyone’s surprise we actually make it to Ouazazarte without getting hideously lost. We find the rest of the group (who had taken the tarmac route) waiting for us at a pretty flash petrol station. We fuel up, throw some rubbish petrol station snacks down our throats, hydrate with some drinks, whack the side mirrors back on the bikes and get ready to press off for Marrakech. A long way to go yet and we still have to cross the Anti Atlas mountains.

We continue on the tarmac towards the Anti Atlas mountain range. As we approach the foothills the air gets noticeably cooler and we can see the snow covered peaks in the distance. Time to stop and rug up in the cold weather gear before pressing on.

 

The mountain crossing is spectacular. Amazing scenery with blind hairpin turns, switchbacks, and winding curves that seem to go forever. If God himself hand made the perfect motorcycle road and dropped in on earth this would probably be it. Okay, he probably would have put in more guard rails and fewer half-blind retarded truck drivers, but this is still pretty close.

The winding roads go higher and higher into the snow capped peaks. The twisting and turning roads with sheer drop-offs demand a lot of concentration, but it is great fun. We finally reach the top and start to descend down the other side passing small villages as we go only to start back up again. Another ascent back to elevation has more spectacular scenery on offer, made even more colourful by the rich rays of the late afternoon sun.

Anti Atlas Mountains

Finally across the mountains we descend into the valley on the other side. It gets noticeably warmer as we stop for fuel and strip off the cold weather kit. Not far now, only about another hour or so and we should be into Marrakech for a well deserved rest day for us and the bikes.

We make our way into the hectic twisting streets of Marrakech. It feels so odd to have all these people around after being out in the wilderness for the last few days. We weave our way through the city traffic to our campground. When we arrive we find they have permanently erected tents with proper beds, toilets and hot showers, more like canvas cabins really. Luxury!!!! Matt and Rick are already there and have the beer waiting.

After a proper shower and a bit of a relax we decide to go into the old part of town, the Medina, and have a proper feed after eating off the truck for the last few days. We meet up with Dave and Mihir (who has now been properly checked out and pain-killered up) and head into the centre of town for a meal.

The Medina is the old market place of Marrakech and is buzzing with stalls, music and street performers, very cool. We pick a restaurant overlooking the square and tuck into some food. Rick is not pleased to discover the restaurant serves no alcohol. The waiter explains that we are too close to the mosque and it is not allowed. He wants to go somewhere else but nobody else can be stuffed to move so we eat there.

 The Medina By Night

After dinner the group splits up with some of us (myself included) heading back to camp for a good nights sleep. Some of the other lads decide they are going to stay out and see what kind of nightlife they can scare up. Back to camp and a luxurious sleep on a mattress with real blankets. Snoooooore.

Desert Camp 3 to Marrakech, Morocco
225 miles / 360 km
Wx: Sunny to partly cloudy, cool.

I woke up in my tent after the deep sleep of the righteously tired. Only this time it wasn’t at ridiculous o’clock in the morning it was at 6:30 when my alarm went off. Breakfast at 7:00 and engine start at 7:30. Giddyup.

Last night there was a bit of disagreement within the group. As we having been arriving late everywhere and people are a bit weary after the long stretches of off-road, some folks want to finish this stretch of piste and then stay on the tarmac all the way to Marrakech ensuring an easier ride and a reasonable arrival time in Marrakech. However, the other group wants to do another section of off-road first before joining up with the tarmac run north. We were all looking forward to the rest day on day 8, but we had reached an impasse. No points for guessing which group I was in.

Well this morning we have a plan that makes everybody happy. We will follow the rest of this piste into Foum Zguid then break into two groups. One group will take the tarmac to Ouazazarte while Wern, Myself, Rick, Matt, and Niall in the 4×4 will take another off-road section. Then we will all meet up in Ouazazarte for the run north through the Anti Atlas mountains into Marrakech.

We finish breakfast, mount up and straight onto the piste. We are hammering along in the dirt when we come up over a small rise to find a flock of camels crossing the road (flock is actually the collective noun for a group of camels, who knew). We stop to let them cross as I don’t think running into a camel would be any fun. How cool is this!

Mind The Camels

After about an hour we make it to Foum Zguid and the bitumen. The piste sections are great fun but it is nice to be on the tarmac again where there isn’t the constant jolting and hammering on your wrists and knees.  Here is where we split up into two groups. The other dirt riders and I turn right, crack the throttle and blast north toward Tazenakht where we are going to pick up the beginning of the next piste.

There is more beautiful scenery and fantastic twisty bits along this section of road. Mountains with visible ripples that fold and twist like ribbon. We are enjoying the twisty bits when we come around a blind hair pin to find a car essentially parked in our lane. A quick jink around stops us from slamming into the back of it. Just lucky nobody was coming the other way in the other lane. Never take anything for granted on the roads in Africa.

Very Nice, I Like!

We arrive in Tazenakht, fuel up and shove some snacks down our heads. No time for a leisurely break, lots of ground to cover today before we get to Marrakech. After Wern gets lost another couple times (and takes us through someone’s veggie patch) we finally find the beginning of the piste and we head off into the dirt once more.

The track is great fun. Curvy with undulating hills it runs along a river bed for a while and through a number of small villages. Again just magnificent scenery everywhere you look as we head up valleys hemmed in by high hills. We come to stop next the river bed to wait for the 4×4 to catch up. A beautiful little spot. Who would have thought it would become the scene of one of the funniest and most infamous incidents of the trip.

Wern (the guide), Myself, Rick and Matt are all stopped next to the river bed waiting for the 4×4. The river bed doesn’t have any running water in it but, it does have  fresh mud with green moss growing on top that indicates it hasn’t been waterless for all that long. It would be very difficult to cross without bogging down, lucky for us there is a brand spanking new concrete bridge we can go over.

As we are waiting for the truck to catch up Matt and Rick start goading Wern to ride across the muddy river bed. “Come on, show how good you are Wern”. “Don’t be scared”. But the stoic Wern will have none of it. Matt finally throws in “Ah Wern I remember when you had a set of bollocks” just for good measure. He is not biting and we think no more of it.

Just then the 4×4 comes into sight and Wern, a man suddenly possessed, guns the throttle and shoots off across the river bed through the thick mud without a word.  We watch in surprise as he slips and slides but maintains control. It looks like he is going to make it!

Just as he is cresting the embankment on the far side the brake lights come full on and there is a furious attempt to stop. It is not to be. Wern’s front tyre goes over the other side of the embankment and comes to a hideously sudden stop. The back tyre comes up almost vertical and all we can see is the underside of the bike (now standing vertically on the front wheel) and the soles of Wern’s boot as he sails over the handle bars. Holy shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To be continued….

Tazzerine Camp to Desert Camp 3, Morocco
125 miles / 200 km
Wx: Scattered clouds, cool.

I wake up feeling a bit muddled (damn Rick and his cursed beer finding ability). It is just after 6:00am and nobody seems to be stirring yet. Good. That means I get first go at the showers, luxury. The ‘hot showers’ the camp owners told us about turn out to be lukewarm but hey I’ll take it. Having hot water doesn’t seem to be a priority anywhere here in Morocco and I haven’t had anything but cold water (or no water) since we left Ceuta. Today is going to be a good day.

During a light breakfast off the back of the 4×4 we talk about the plan for the day. Today we are going off-road all day. Just down the road from our campsite there is a piste that goes cross country to the town of Zagora, where we will have a break before proceeding down another piste and wilderness camping for the night. Awesome.

We pack up and then begin making our way through the narrow winding streets that lead out of the village. Unfortunately, as we get close to the outskirts of the village the narrow winding streets turn into, sandy narrow winding streets. Dave, with his much bigger bike, struggles with the soft sand and restricted space and drops his bike a couple times. He is not so happy with the way the day is beginning.

Video – Leaving Tazzarine

We finally get out of town an into some open space. There is still some soft sand about but it should be easier to negotiate with a bit more room to manoeuvre. We cross a tarmac road and head off down a piste that starts going uphill. As I look down at all the sharp jagged rocks that make up the path I try to pick the best line through them all as I as I bounce and jostle over the rocky uneven surface. I think to myself, this is more difficult riding than I was anticipating. The looks on everyone faces says the same thing. Dave drops his bike again and we stop to help him pick it up and wait for the 4×4 to catch up.

Leaving Tazzarine (albeit in the wrong direction)

It is about now that some of the guys with the fancy GPS’ are talking amongst themselves, shaking their heads and pointing to the south. Yep, Wern has taken the wrong path again. It is at this point that we decide that all navigation from now on will be done by committee and nobody is going to be blindly following Wern anymore. After a bit of discussion and a look at a map (surprise, surprise, aren’t they handy) we all concur this is the wrong spot and the piste we want starts off about 30 Kms to the south, down the tarmac road we just crossed. Everybody turn around and picks their way back down to the road.

After we all make our way back to the road and regroup, we head off south. However, Dave, after having dropped his bike about three times now and dinged it up on the rocks, is missing his sense of humour and is somewhat less cheery than the rest of us.

We eventually make our way to the beginning of the piste, a fact that we are sure to confirm with the locals before we set off. Here at the beginning of the piste Dave decides he has had enough of dropping his bike and has decided he is going to skip this section and take the tarmac to Marrakech and meet us there in two days time.  About the same time Mihir (who has been riding in the 4×4) is growing concerned about the persistent pain in his ribs. It is decided that he will ride pillion with Dave to Marrakech and get checked out by a doctor, get some rest and hopefully will be ready to go again by day 9 when we all plan to pull out of Marrakech.

Ruins Near The Start Of The Piste

As Dave and Mihir get their gear off the truck and Dave refits his panniers to his bike a large crowd of locals start to gather again. Pete decides he is going to try his favourite trick again which is handing out some of the bazillion ‘Canada’ emblazoned pencils he has brought to give away.  The rest of us are getting a bit jack of this by now because all it does is turn the kids into a screaming, mental pack of ferals and usually doubles the size if the crowd in about 5 minutes. We give Pete the challenge that he can give them away, but must make all the children line up in a nice orderly fashion to receive their pencils. To our surprise he actually does it.

Finally all packed up, Dave and Mihir take off back up the Tarmac road we just came down and the rest of us head down the Piste. The initial stretches are very rocky and tough going in some places but, nowhere near as difficult as the first (wrong) trail we headed down. After about 20 minutes we drop down off the rocky hills into an open desert plain. This gives us the opportunity to spread out and pick up some speed. Fantastic!

The Right Piste – Finally

Soon we are all standing on pegs fanging it across this wide open landscape, surrounded on all sides by high mountains. Beautiful scenery in every direction. The wind whistling through my helmet as we bash over the small hills and dunes. This is exactly why I came on this trip and is even more fun than I was expecting. Magic!

Video – Coming In For A Break

Fanging It Across The Open Plain

The landscape turns rocky again and starts to look very much like the surface of Mars, with nothing around as far as the eye can see. We stop in the middle of absolutely nowhere for a bit of a break and some lunch. No sooner had we stopped and started to unpack the food from the 4×4 when a local woman carrying a baby appeared, seemingly from thin air.  How do they do that?  Unlike most of the others we had come across she did not start begging straight away. She had probably just come over to see if we were real and not something her imagination had concocted to fill the Mars-scape.

Lunch Break

After lunch we continued to smash and bash our way towards Zagora. I am really starting to get the hang of the off-road stuff now, even bottoming out the suspension from time to time. Man, these BMWs can take a beating. As we arrive in Zagora we pass a guy pulling a train of camels. How cool! We are out in the middle of it now. We fill up the tanks with petrol and find a coffee shop for a well earned break and some goooood Moroccan coffee.

Entering Zagora

 

Coffee Break In Zagora

After our little break it is back at it again as we head out of Zagora back into the desert wilderness towards Foum Zguid. About half an hour into it I hit  a patch of soft sand and do a spectacular face plant as I come off the bike and it crashes to the ground.  After picking up the bike it won’t start. Niall the mechanic to the rescue. Turns out there is about 40 pounds of sand in the ignition assembly. Once that is cleaned out we are away and running again.

This piste turns out to be more rocky moonscape, which is very jarring on the wrists and a darn good workout for the legs. We continue on until late afternoon. It is starting to look a little dark and foreboding as some clouds and a number of rain showers start to roll in on the horizon. Best find a place to camp for the night.

We eventually find a spot that appears to have slightly fewer rocks than the rest of the surrounding terrain. We quickly start to pitch our tents in case the rain decides to roll in. Once again a couple locals appear in the middle of nowhere to check us out. Amazing.

Looks Like  A Good Place To Camp

With the tents pitched it is time for some dinner. It is my turn to cook tonight. We get out the cooking gear and I whip up a Spag Bol which is quickly devoured by all the hungry riders.

Exhausted I am in my sleeping bag and asleep by about 8:30pm I think.  Out like a light after a hard days riding. Gotta love it!

Desert Camp 1 to Camp 2, Morocco
200 miles / 320 km
Wx: Scattered clouds, cool. Nice

Thanks to my body clock I am once again awake before dawn. Well that and the fact that I am lying on some very hard uncomfortable ground and am busting to add a bit of moisture to the arid plains of Morocco. Knowing any attempt to get back to sleep is futile I wriggle my way out of the tent and set up a camp chair, put the iPod in and watch the sun rise over the dunes of Erg Chebbi. I am actually starting to become grateful for the whole jet lag thing.

Sunrise At Erg Chebbi

The original plan for today was to take the bitumen to a campsite at the beginning of our first extended off-road section. Then start the off-road riding tomorrow. However, since we are all doing pretty well picking up the dirt riding techniques the plan has changed a bit. We are going to spend the morning doing a bit more training work here then move about 100 km up the road and start a piste (an off-road trail) at a spot much earlier than planned and wilderness camp along the way somewhere.

After breakfast we all headed off into our dirt and sand playground to hone our newly acquired skills as off-road riding legends (well at least in our own minds anyway). All of us except “Two-Dogs” Mihir, whose ribs are really starting to hurt and has decided that the bouncing and jostling of off-road riding is decidedly NOT what the doctor ordered. Pete, who seems to have brought an entire pharmacy with him from Canada, helps out with a few magic pills.

More power-slides, fun and mayhem in the dunes this morning and I manage to stay upright the entire time. “Great success” (said in best Borat accent). What have we learned this morning (Al I’m talking to you)? Never stop in the sand. If you have to stop, pick somewhere hard packed. And if you do have to stop in the sand for some reason, don’t. Why? Because once you stop the bike sinks in like it grew there from a seed and it take about 3 people to push the thing out again under power.

 No Stopping In The Sand!

As we pack up camp at about 11:30 a camel shepherd (herder?) wanders over from tending his camels and gawks at us as if we have just fallen from outer space or something. I guess there is not a lot of distraction for a camel dude stuck in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, we finish striking camp and loading the bikes and we blast back toward Rissani for more fuel and supplies before heading off for the start of the piste.

We enter Rissani, yet again, and do a lap of the town to the petrol station on the other side. With the bikes filled up quickly we are going to strike out for the trail while the 4×4 finishes fuelling and stocking up with supplies. They will meet up with us at the beginning of the piste and we will wait for them there as the rule is no going off-road without the 4×4 following behind, as it has all the first-aid equipment and the Sat-phone.

Well we all hop on the bikes and follow Wern our (cough) guide as he proceeds to set off in completely the wrong direction. The dirt road we have set off down actually takes us back around Rissani aaagain, but at least this time it is by a different route. Turns out this track actually just takes us on a big loop around the outside of the town, which we then have to go through aaagain to end up back where we started about 25 minutes ago. We have been around Rissani so many time now we have taken to referring to this part of the trip as the ‘Rissani 500’.

Pit Stop During The ‘Rissani 500′

Not sure if the 4×4 followed us on our tortuously circuitous route or in fact took the right road out of town, we wait for a little while be the side of the road to see if they appear behind us. When they don’t, we try to call them on the mobile. No dice, nobody’s phone seem to be working too well in this part of Morocco.

After a while we decide they must have taken the correct road out of town (even without the help of a guide, what do you know). We decide to burn up the road to the turn off and see if they are waiting for us there. Vroom, vroom, let’s go!

We make the 50 km run up the road to the turn off to the piste pretty quickly and pull off the road at the designated GPS waypoint. No 4×4. Bugger!

Well, we didn’t pass them along the way so that means either they did take the wrong road out of town like we did, or they have gone down the piste ahead of us which wasn’t the game plan. Since we are not supposed to go down the piste without the 4×4 that means we have to wait here until things get sorted out. Wern is now getting officially stressed out.

Then out of nowhere about 15 kids appear. What the? Where did they come from? They are all swarming about with their hands out reciting some well practiced lines in French; “You give me money”, “You give me food”, “You give me cigarette”. It happens a lot whenever we stop for more than a few minutes. You would think we would find it humorous or endearing by now. Nope, not so much.

Wern has wandered to the top of the highest hill, a few kids in tow, to see if he can get a mobile signal. No luck. Then we try texting back to the UK on one of the other guys mobiles, to try and get someone in the UK to call the 4×4. Still no dice. Several hours pass (veeeeery slowly). The kids won’t go away. My sense of humour is once more starting to fail.

Just as we are all about to say ‘F*#k It’ and take the tarmac to our original destination for the day, without the 4×4, it comes trundling back up the piste wondering where we are. They had proceeded down the piste without us, got a few Kms down, hadn’t seen us and decided to wait for us there. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Well we are all together now. After wasting hours in headless confusion we now don’t have time to go down this bit of piste because it will put us too far behind for the distance we have to cover tomorrow. We decide to stick to the tarmac and fang it to the next town which was our original destination anyway. Except now it is late afternoon and we have a lot of kilometres to cover. Let’s get to it!

We ride of several hours into the steadily lowering sun, the scenery is pleasant and the air starts to grow cold again. I am starting to think this whole ‘Africa is hot’ thing is a bunch of bullshit. By late afternoon we pull into Tazzarine and fuel up and have a quick coffee to warm up. They make great coffee in Morocco!

Now with everyone fuelled up we have to find our campsite, about 20 Km out of town, soon or we will be pitching our tents in the dark. As Wern struggles to find the correct way out of town we wind our way through some narrow dirt streets of the outer village. Okay, we are all pretty sure by this point that Wern doesn’t know where he is going and Rich has suddenly disappeared from the group. As we all stop to let Wern go ahead and get his bearings Rich catches up and says he had ducked into a campsite we past. It has fixed Bedouin tents, mattresses, toilets and a hot shower (well tepid as it turns out, but still good) and it is cheap. And best of all….we know where it is.

When Wern returns we tell him of the mutiny and all set off back to Rich’s campsite. Great Success! It is just getting dark as we all arrive and unpack the bikes, euphoric that we don’t have to pitch tents. Rich sets off with a couple others in search of beer. No easy trick in a Muslim country, but as it turns out Rich has a knack for it. He returns with too many and after dinner we sink them as he regales us with his seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge of bizarre sexual fetishes and slang terms. Earning him the nickname “Rickipedia”.

Time for bed, first big off-road section tomorrow. Day 5 done and dusted.

Unpacking My Gear. Maybe I Can Find My Sense Of Humor Again

Bedouin Tents

L to R : Matt, “Two-Dogs” Mihir (looking like the pain killers work), Me, Dave