Morocco 2

I rode through the evening light, softened to pink by a haze of Saharan dust suspended like fog in the warm Southerly wind. I was nearing Erfoud and the spiritual start of my desert adventures. From here I’d tackle the little country roads and unpaved pistes that network this area on the edge of the Sahara. I was a little apprehensive, I have to admit. Graphic images of Tuareg nomads finding my bleached skeleton, scattered by vultures, far off track, a bony hand clutching onto death an empty water bottle, kept popping into my head.

The next day I headed out to Alnif , and from there left the tarmac and on towards the Jebel Gaiz. Passing through little villages I eventually passed out into the Hamada. The higher the track got the drier the surroundings became. Soon there appeared to be little vegetation of any sort. It got hotter as I gained altitude, but the track was good quality and I made good time. Not far from the top of Tizi’n-Boujou, however, there was a diminutive oasis. A tiny palmerie secreted up here away from the valleys, the sudden green was a shock and a little reminder that life can flourish in the most bizarre places.
The top of the pass afforded fantastic views across to the Atlas and I rattled down the long descent well pleased with the days efforts. Hitting the tarmac again I roared on, jubilant, to Todra Gorge to spend a couple of days relaxing in it’s cool and pleasant depths.

The road to Nekob across Tizi-n’Tazazert was longer, rougher and no less spectacular. Again that cobalt sky soared across the arid mountains which stretched on forever, belying the palmeries and settlements in the valleys, assuring the witness that nothing grew, no rain fell and the sun beat down always.
From the pass the views were sublime, from 2200m I looked down on the desert and, like with all great vistas, felt purely insignificant.
The piste, although mainly good, had it’s tough sections. On one difficult decent, crawling down in first, I lost control. As I toppled I remember looking down, from what seemed an outrageous height, at the rocks in the ditch by the track and thinking. ‘They look hard!’ Then I hit them, and they weren’t too bad.
I was winded and the pannier with my laptop in took a hefty thump, denting the side. (I nervously started the laptop up as soon as I got to my hotel, it seems fine!) I was pretty tired by the time I reached Agdz but hugely satisfied with what I felt was a really amazing day.

South East again and along the beautiful winding road that joins Tansikht and Er-Rissani. The sun beats down and the dust cakes the bike and me, turning us the same colour as the desert. I have to stop to reattach the bash plate that has come loose from vibration and it’s a sweaty affair. Towards evening the high dunes of Erg Chebbi appear on the horizon. I spend the night in a kasbah, the moon is extraordinarily bright, and the stars, as I sit on the roof drinking warm beer (but it’s nectar!) remind me that you ain’t seen the stars till you’ve seen them from the desert.

I ride south of Erg Chebbi, towards Algeria. The trails vary from smooth, hard packed clay, through rocky boulders to soft sand. I get my first taste of real sand riding where the only way through is to power on in a straight line. It’s a bit unnerving at first. As you feel the front wheel sliding sideways the instinct is to hit the brakes, but instead you have to twist the throttle. The bike surges forward and drives the front wheel through. There’s always a bit of a sigh of relief as you hit firmer ground on the other side. It’s all damn good fun and I stop for lunch on an expansive chott (salt pan) about 20km from the border.
Later in the day I head back to Erg Chebbi to explore the dunes and hills. Its great fun exploring off the trails, just riding over the rocky, then sandy desert. Topping out on rises and looking about, seeing what lies on the other side of that outcrop or this dune.
I feel I’ve earned my couscous and Flag Speciale tonight. Tomorrow I head north, away from the Sahara and back to Europe.