I know that things on the world horizon aren't too dandy at the moment and perhaps forgive me for breaking the doom, but here is a little story of a funny, unexclusive and normal travel to places far away, of rich culture and accepting people. Theres no room on the pillion seat for you, my clothes and a nice bottle of Glenmorangie given to me by a dear friend take that place, but, let me tell you the tale....
Feche-feche after doing the Bolivian marching dust. Anyway, enough of that...
Day 1 13 October 2025
This trip has been a long time coming and over the years I have been learning a little about the art of telling a story. The first one being, don’t start too early and don’t bleeding go on. I have been guilty of this indiscretion on many a blog, with months of tedious planning explained and falafafl gone on about. We have dispended with that.
What you really want to know is what catastrophe I have run headlong into and so far, apart from Portsmouth, I must disappoint you and say so far, plain sailing. The bike parked up on level 5 next to about 20 Triumph Trophy lard-mobiles (they are a British version of a Goldwing) which are obviously out to Spain for a press launch. I hope the VAA (very angry airbed) doesn’t fall on them and the resulting domino effect turns the ship over. I have a moderately decent pint and suppose I will need to explain with the briefest of synopsis that I can muster.
It’s been a couple of years since a big bike trip, and the itch has not gone away. However, life has been hard for the family of recent and I appeared to have developed a rather elderly, flabby and shagged out body. I needed to find someone or something to blame for this, but I was presented with an unsurmountable challenge on that point. However, a reasonable diet and laying off the booze might just drop a stone over a few months, so why not give it a go. Think - gloomy rest of existence sliding into familiar safe, boring all inclusive, cruise, nightmare of other British people on holiday scenario and I was fairly toned in to getting ready to do my own thing. Just for me. I am a good man, provide for my family and step up and beyond when need falls at my feet, but I know what I am, and once in while I need to disconnect, and then do being this very special version of Dave. Me.
Given that I also owned an incredibly capable bike, my T7, the Very Angry Airbed (VAA), as I had named her, I had the wings and I need to push myself to see something different and spark some things in my mind. I had planned this trip about 6 months before, with a little dream that I could wake up in the Sahara on my birthday. However, my dear mother-in-law Pauline was taken very ill a few weeks before and the writing was on the wall so I couldn’t and wouldn’t. My mother-in-law Pauline had been the perfect mother-in-law. She was headstrong and canny. You could not get a badly hit ball past her. However, she treated me like a son and was a joy to be around. Dementia had treater her awfully in her final few years and the heartbreak of that was very hard to take for all of the family. I very much miss Pauline and I dedicate this journal to her. Given a chance, she would have been a world explorer far braver than I.
The trip is simple, 2 day ferry to Santander, 1000km across Spain, cross to Maroc, down to Marrakech, over the Atlas mountains to Ouarzazate, (no, that is not how you say it) and then the southern desert crossings with a couple of nights camping in the desert, to feel like a proper nomad. On to Merzouga where I may go all touristy and take a camel trek into the dunes, and then a slow boat home over the Atlas through some of the less travelled pistes of the Anti-Atlas. Over the High Atlas with a few days in Tangier. Here, I can buy a carpet and, as long as I chose the correct merchant, pick one up that will fly me back home. I may need to let the carpet do this by Itself and retrace my steps on the bike but, as everyone knows, I am a total sucker for mysticism.
I’ve fitted the absolute minimal road legal off-road tyres to VAA and ridden down here at embarrassingly low speeds to avoid wearing my knobs out. You can giggle at that, I may make reference to it in further points. My knobs are for grip in low traction surfaces and are not well suited to high friction surfaces at speed and will wear quickly, becoming tiny little barely visible knobs if I use them at speed. Just so you understand. So far my knobs have coped very well despite some invariably fast highway friction. We continue. So the challenges. Well, language, roadside eating routfinding and accommodation. All challenges but not too hard if you make the effort. Pigeon French that I do with much skill will get the through most things and you are not going to get the squitters from a brochette cooked for you in front of your eyes by the road unlike a 4-day recycled fish buffet you get on them cruise prison ship things.
Anyway, I’ve got a long trip ahead so will write some more tomorrow. However, at this point the singer is going and is clearly one of those got to episode 6 of X factor and screeched the ceiling down on Simon Cowell head. I’m off to my bunk in level 7 where I can hear the constant ring of car alarms, from the car decks. Bless those twats with their precious cars and limited mental capacity. Is Moby dick going to steal your garbage car? I’m not a fan of cars at the moment.
Day 3 15 October 2025
I have had a bit of a history with ferries, getting up too late and all sorts of disasters like laving 700 euros in my cabin and other things. I talked it through with the staff the night before and everything went smoothly.
It was weired coming into Santander at 8am in the morning, it was still dark! Its what happens when you run European time but are most certainly a long way west of the Meridian. Not my problem.
Passport control was a breeze with all the bikes pushing to the front like we always do. They don’t allow it in the UK but some things are just to be expected in Europe.
This was going to be a killer, 650km to get past the middle of Spain. It was colder than I thought it would be but there was a mist clinging to the mountains. City traffic soon fell away and that usual relaxed feeling of driving on Spanish motorways soon fell into place. There is just so little traffic you could set yourself any speed and maintain it indefinitely. I was going well below the speed limit of 120 to try to conserve my tyres. The knob thing we have already discussed.
The road got higher and higher, still in the mist but little flecks of blue occasionally seen high above. A few minutes later, out we popped into glorious sunshine, it felt quite joyous.
Not that it had got any warmer, the sun’s effects were somewhat dulled by the altitude, some of the passes showing over 1100m above sea level. I was driving well over the height of Snowdon! When I stopped for a little break the bike’s air temperature gauge was showing 6 degrees and I was not feeling very warm at all.
However, moving further south the elevation was slowly lost and getting further inland the temperatures began to warm considerably. By the afternoon I was needing to stop every 100km for a quick break because my bum was on fire.
At 4pm I rolled into Merida, 650 km form Santander and the air temperature was 30 degrees. I had all of my vents open on my jacket and helmet but still it wasn’t quite comfortable.
I had booked into quite a nice hotel which had secure parking which meant that I left most of the stuff on the bike. Tomorrow I would need to be away sharpish to get my Tangier ferry.
After a shower I walked into town. This place is a UNESCO world heritage site because of all of the roman buildings in it. I crossed the Roman bridge which was improbably long, over 800m and had a wander around town checking out the rather large Roman buildings.
It was beer o’clock so I took a seat at a town square café bar, probably the most expensive place to get a beer but I was on holiday, so damned it. I had a nice Estrella Galicia and some olives, probably local ones as there were trees everywhere. When I got the bill it was 4 Euros. I do like Spain.
My main reason for coming into town was to find somewhere to eat. Nowhere was opening for food until 8pm and with a rather needful desire to eat at more like 6, I decided to walk back to the hotel and drop into a supermarket to pick something up. The Spanish have their dinner so late, they barely have time to belch and fart until it is time for breakfast.
Oh well! Bread and cheese in my room it was, but both were nice. Time for a good sleep for part 2 of Spain tomorrow!
Thursday 16th October
There could be no lie in today despite some parts of my body complaining severely. I had to be places at specific times and I had set up my sat nav for a bit of military precision which was quite annoying to be honest. I could not help but try to be minute perfect and things like having to stop for fuel at the wrong place started me doing painful mental gymnastics to work out if I was still on time.
I had set off a little earlier than I needed and at 8.30 it was only twilight. It was really weird. A high cloud hung in the sky and it was only just warm enough to get moving fast on the motorway. With it not being too hot, hopefully my knobs would not shrivel.
It brightened up eventually and still before schedule, I came down from the high plains and got around Serville with its incredibly impressive bridge over the river and increased heat.
It was not too long that my body was complaining so I stopped off at a servo for a coffee and finish off some cheese and bread that I would not be able to take to Maroc. It was clear that I was going to make it in time and a good bet that I would be rather too early.
Parking the bike next to a palm tree I thought it was time to test my professional knowledge. The Palm tree was easy (Palm tree innit). A smaller one next to it was a bit harder, but I guessed at something in the Oleacea family. However next was a bit of a dead give away. A really old pollarded olive with olives on it! Olives were no longer in jars, they were on trees, ready to be picked!
Exhausted from that, It was back on the road over the hills to Algeciras. The winds here a ferocious, blowing out of the Mediterranean into the Atlantic. There were a few sketchy moments, one blowing me in to a groove in the road which started off a tank slapper which steadily got worse. Touch of the rear and everything was good. However, I notched down the speed as it now looked like I was going to be embarrassing early.
I needed to waste some time so after filling up to the brim with fuel I went into Lidl and picked up my fave biscuits and a bottle of wine for my first night on another continent. Now there is a thought!
I resigned myself to heading to the port after that as there was nothing else I could think off doing and traffic around here was fairly free and easy with the rules of the road. Most of Spain had boasted exceptional driving in manners and sensible driving. Round here, the rules of the road had turned into guidance.
No one was going to T-bone me on the port car park so, I tuned up 3 hours early. I was parked in a little bay all by myself and spent a long time watching the AML ferry board and head off, the DFDS ferry come in, offload and fill up and go. Then it was the Transmedditereana ferry’s turn. Eventually the Balearia ferry came in late. Of course, my ferry! It was a bit tiresome, but I now had biscuits.
By this time there were a few cars in the queue and we were given the go ahead to go through all of the checks which were very straightforward. I was first on and by the looks of things would be first off. To get to the Morocco border control first would be very useful as this can take some time!
First off was the on-board passport control (don’t ask me why they do it this way) where you fill out a fiche (that sounds like a now defunct Mc Donalds item) and get asked personal questions. To make life easier I lied about it not being my first time in Marocco as that was under a different passport and It could take some time to get my vehicle import number, so I just got a new one. When asked for my occupation, I lied again and said I was a forester. It was close enough.
We went past the Rock of Gibraltar and it looked like it had blown up.Probalby something to do with Brexit.
I think a few of the people rowing the boat had tiered themselves out as it was getting later and later and still no sign of Africa.
I got chatting to an Icelandic couple who were on a 10-day trip around Morocco. They were really interested in what I was doing. She was pregnant with their first child so were doing something adventurous before children put the breaks on such things. However, all she could do was sleep with her head on a table at the moment! The roller-coaster ride of pregnancy!
The ferry finally docked and after the lorry blocking the way moved , I was waved off second and promptly stopped by the police. Passport out and then a look at my map on the tank bag. They get very pissy if they can see anything to suggest that Western Sahara isn’t theirs even though they did invade it in the 1960 when it was part of Mauritania It was not viewable so I escaped it being confiscated.
I was forgetting that I was coming into a Kingdon which is pretty authoritarian, although funnily enough, the UK has over the past few years fallen in the freedom index to the same level as Morocco, so perhaps I should not be too judgey. Or not!
Then it was to customs and security check. This is where the wrong attitude can really get you into trouble, so I put on the most incident face I could, got all my documents ready to hand to the officer promptly and parked up, only for the drug sniffer hound to go absolutely berserk at the bike. I thought it was time for the rubber glove but the lady with the dog just smiled at me and took it off to somewhere less motorbikey. The Icelanders ended up parked next to me and we again found lots of things to talk about.
My innocent face worked a treat and out came my passport, vehicle documents and temporary vehicle import licence. Off with the innocent face because now I had to deal with the money changers, insurance sellers and mobile phone touts. There was likely to be someone there trying to sell me a flying carpet too.
To be fair it all went well and so it was out onto the road. Starting out onto a dual carriageway which is always a good way to start in a foreign land. There seemed a lot more houses here than last time I was here, but this is prime real estate. I then ended up reaching the toll road. Here’s something I’ve never come across before. Scanning for anything to give me a clue, I missed the ticket dispenser and parked on the wrong side. Seeing the ticket peaking out of the machine shouting ‘Oi dick’ead’ at me, I got off the bike and walked over to retrieve it. Just for fun the machine pulled it back in within 2 feet of it. Bugger.
I pressed the ticket button again but nothing. The help intercom was silent, probably giggling away somewhere unknown. I was a bit stuck here with no easy ways out. Perhaps pacing around might help and it did! Walking back I managed to trip some sort of sensor and a ticket appeared and I jumped at it like someone fielding at International cricket. In ownership of a ticket (Precious), I now found the barrier rise and as I got on the bike just as it dropped back down again. Double bugger.
I was very lucky that some French 4x4 ers saw what was happening as they approached and got a ticket behind me. Knowing our time would be very limited, when the barrier raised, I gave it the absolute beans and we both got through. I may had done some severe damage to my knobs in doing so, but needs must. I gave them the thumbs up for their kindness. That is what it is all about.
Not far down the motorway it was time to turn off and paying for the toll, about 90p was a much easier affair because it was conduced with a human being.
The hotel was next to the huge Renault factory, and I happened to arrive just a shift change time. Miles of traffic coming out of the factory with policemen directing traffic with whistles and stern hand moments. Good job I was going the other way!
The hotel was very nice, I was made to feel very special, a night-watchman is looking over my bike and everyone else’s vehicles, I was given a nice meal and a bottle of Casablanca beer, ‘The spirit of Morocco’. I will be considering that one long and hard as sleep comes over me tonight.
Tomorrow is my last day of long motorway miles, down the toll road to El Jadida. Once there, the fun can really begin. I think a bit of beach riding is in order!
Friday 17 October 2025
I had been suffering on the road so didn’t get up quite so early but thought it best to move when the cleaning lady came into the room and scuttled out. Perhaps I should have locked the door!
Onto the motorway and collecting my toll ticket I trundled off around Tangier and was soon confronted with some rather shocking driving. Motorcycles appear to be things to bully around rather than give some space to and some people got so close they really needed to be putting a condom on.
At one stage I was overtaking a coach which had a police escort and the car was so close behind the motorcycle cop turned around and pointed at the driver, by this time I had slid in behind the copper because I thought I was about to get driven over. The car just sped off. The cop and I shrugged shoulders and carried on. Today was going to be potentially long.
I went to my tank bag for a drink and the wind whisked away my toll ticket. Bugger. I was not going to stop for it although there were plenty of people walking up and down the side of the motorway. One chap was even in the fast lane.
I could moan on about the motorway but most of the time it was far quieter than the Spanish motorways so it was just a matter of grinding out the KMs.
At the next toll booth I explained my situation and was told there would have to be a fine of not having a ticket by paying for the entire section. I thought it best no to say that I had actually done the whole section just in case a top up fine would be added. Toll tickets going in a much safer place from now on.
I stopped at a servo for lunch, the temperature had risen quite a lot and shade was needed to eat my baguette which no one at the shop could believed that I didn’t want a coffee with. I think I have become quite dehydrated so lots of water was the order of the day.
The afternoon when on and I finally got off the motorway and the chap at the last toll ticket booth gave me a huge smile and said ‘bon journee’ which was just what I needed.
Into El Jadida which is a bit of a seaside tourist resort. There were palm lined streets and I felt very much like Donkey coming into Never-Never Land in Shrek 2.
I booked into my hotel room as was allowed to park right outside the door of the hotel so it could have an eye on it. I wasn’t talking any chances though so I locked it up and put the alarm on it.
My room looked out over the sea but mainly into to branches of a nearby palm. It was great.
I had a little walk around the old Portuguese town but I could see that my sugars were falling and I needed food.
I ate at the hotel and decided that a good rest was needed after travelling over 1800km over the past few days. I turned in early.
Day 6 Saturday 18 October 2025
I had been got down a little yesterday by the long journey and the constant views of people living in real poverty by the side of the motorway. Tiny little run-down shacks and the people growing vegetables and maybe the odd sheep goat or donkey tied up on a rope scratching away at the earth.
It made me fell incredibly rich and well of which comparatively to most of the world I am, but also remined me of the inequality which we all face. I’m sure no one worked harder than those farmers but opportunity and good fortune had no way of reaching them. Most of us are born and raised into our good or bad fortune.
I woke in a better mood and this was doubled by a massive breakfast, only half of which I could eat.
Packing up and getting on the road was easy and although the town was busy once out on the road I settled down to a fairly good pace, now on twin track main roads going between 80 to 100km per hour.
There were still lots of farms by the road, but they seemed to be more productive, the houses appeared to be in good order, and many had cars or at least donkeys. I would love to see a donkey smile but that is just an aside.
The road soon reached the coast but no tracks could be found to the sand when it was here. There were often cliffs into the sea.
Every now and again, we would reach a town and it being Saturday there were a few markets on and with them spilling on the main street, everything went haywire the possibility of getting T-boned by a wheelbarrow, grew exponentially. The cars sometimes got in on the act to stop to look at goods or attempted to drive up to a stall holder and do a drive-thru type of transaction. It was quite funny, but some people really got their hair off about it.
Soon into the busy port town of Safi where I stopped and has my first freshy squeezed orange juice. The oranges were squeezed before my eyes. I think this holiday is going to be generally very healthy! I could have walked into the old town but the quicker I got to Marrakech the better because best time was in the evening.
So on we went. Clearly a lot of infrastructure improvement is going on and the wh
ole road and a big pipeline is being installed. However, instead of doing a bit at a time, virtually the entire 150km road had roadworks of one kind or another going on. This slowed things down as we were often forced off the road by roadworks and ancient trucks slowed to a walking pace so as to not do damage to their geriatric suspension.
It wasn’t long before we got to the outskirts of Marrakech and things began to get very fruity on the roads. Roundabouts seemed to stop working as did the side of roads peds travelled on. There was some top class ped action, for which I have decided to award marks depending upon the level of outrageousness.
5 points texting while in very heavy traffic
10 points more than 2 using it at the same time
15 points carrying stepladders while riding solo
20 points carrying 3m+ ladders while riding solo
50 points carrying a twin tub washing machine strapped to your back
I know the last entry is an excessive amount of points and the adjudicators will need to have their deliberations but it was a sight of pure joy although perhaps a few points might need to be deducted because on of the top covers must have blown off.
I didn’t get beeped at too much so must have been doing fairly well and eventually got off the main road and down the street I needed for the riad I had booked. The streets narrowed, and narrowed, and narrowed until they got to the width of a fiat 500 with no wing mirrors. I was hoping that I was not having to do a u turn. I was the confronted by a Dokker, more on those later, but a 3-wheel motorcycle with a flat bed on the back. That was one hell of a squeeze!
I was looking for No 100, but things ran out at 105. Bugger. (I think there is going to be 1 Bugger! every day). I stopped and asked some workmen and they showed me past where they were working to a discreet little door.
The place inside was quite old fashioned but being out of the way, was in a quiet area, mainly residential but with a few riads. The chap that run it was a very hospitable old man and his daughter, I think things were a bit sparse, but it was all good. I had to get my bike away from the builders so took it to a secure parking place that for 7 Euros would lock it up overnight. I was impressed by their security so didn’t even bother to lock VAA up. I hope I don’t come to regret that!
After a shower and a cool down I headed into town to the world famous Jemaa el Fna square in the centre of the city. Of course, half of it was being dug up but the other half was just mellowing at this point. My blood sugar monitor stated to beep that I was low so a fruit juice it was. Not freshly squeezed this time and clearly watered down. That was to be expected.
Things in the square would be much more interesting later on, so it was a dive into the myriad of souks. And wow, was it not a myriad. Everything was there from tourist tat to home furnishings, jewellery, street food, restaurants, clothing and anything else you could think off. It was heaving with occasional scooters buzzing though, the odd wheelbarrow and cart. It all happened quite smoothly which was a great surprise. I was expecting to find severely injured people round every corner with on of the above on top of a pedestrian. It is clearly the will of Allah that the souks see no one getting run over.
Back to the Jemaa and to try a restaurant at 5.30 seemed to be chancing it a bit but I went up to steps of l’ancien café and was welcomed in and they said they were always open for food.
Upstairs there was a great view over the square and I had a Moroccan tea served in the correct way from head height by Simo my waiter and a meatball and egg tagine while watching the storytellers, musicians, henna artists and sellers set up as the light faded.
Things got quite a bit noisier but it really did seem like a lot going on out there. It was time to take a look. I did a video but tried to keep it discrete as the fear was the magic would disappear if you pointed a camera at it!
It was time to get back and crossing the road was pretty terrifying as no one appeared to have the right of way and everyone seemed to have the right of way and crossing 6 lanes of 2-way traffic was a bit hairy.
Heading back down my narrow little street, it struck me that this was a great place to get mugged but it also felt quite safe, you could image a quick shout would open up about 300 doors to see what was going on!
Day 7 Sunday 19 October 2025
It was with a bit of fear that I got up and had my lovely breakfast of, well I don’t know what it was really, a really thin omelette and a couple of pancakes of some kind with cheese, olives, bread and jam. Quite useful as it would happily see me through the day till tea time.
But first I needed to get out of Marrakech, and that was what was giving me the shits. Last night had really worried me and that was just crossing the road.
I went and fetched the bike taking it back through the back streets to the riad. Loading up and saying goodbye to Abdul who had been a very kind host, probably 80 years old but cycling up and down the back streets to make sure I knew where the parking area was and how to get back.
I had had some practice with doing this back street riding and it was completed like a back street hero (bike talk warning – this is the, or was the name of a bike magazine, a bit homo-erotic, leather clad Harley stuff but don’t shoot the messenger).
Onto the roads and I was pleasantly surprised that 9am was not the time for the promenade and it was all quite civilised. I added a new award mark of 17.5 for a back ped passenger trying to negotiate a drugs deal with me waving around the fattest stoogie I have ever seen. I’m sure it was made out of cardboard. Tempted I was not, not that I would ever be.
Funnily enough, given half of all of the worlds cannabis is produce in Morocco in the Rif mountains that I went through 12 years ago and saw the terrible cost it has reeked on the landscape and people there, I was half expecting Marrakech to smell like Bristol (the whole place smells like a bong pipe). Not a wiff, not even once, and to be fair I only got a very slight sniff of it when riding near a housing estate at Tangier. So, I can’t complain about that. Not that I like complaining or anything.
Traffic soon calmed down and there was a steady stream of minibuses and grand taxis taking people from Marrakech to Ouarzazate. The roads were fairly busy but people were generally getting a move on.
And them some mountains, proper mountains pointy tops and all of that. We began to rise and there were a few steeper sections where the more elderly vehicles were somewhat struggling. I joined the will of Allah to give them a helping hand to reach the top and enjoy the free wheel all the way down as long as their 1980 bearings could hold out going over 80kph.
Broken down vehicles littered the roadside as some found that Allah had been asked a bit too much of, for a bit too long. We soon got into some really steep switchbacks and no matter what, even when there was 2 lanes, proper majorly shagged out Renault 19s doing about 25kph would still take the racing line and cut off the easy overtake you had. Not happy but taking it on the cultural chin.
Eventually I reached the top of the Tizi N’Tichka pass at about 2250m high. It was time for a break and I parked up to be pounced upon by mineral sellers, fossil sellers, argan old sellers and even a sticker seller. I do like a good sticker, but his were a bit rubbish so I paid it no attention. I know some people have a torrid time in Maroc because of these people and I know couples have particularly problematic time because they find a way to get between each individual, but alone on a bike it is quite easy. Non merci with a smile and totally ignoring them after that. Even if they have clocked you are from the UK and say they support Manchester United. I don’t think they do any more, Like the entire world, they have all crossed the floor for City but, I can see that situation changing if they aren’t winning constantly. And that is what you need for a team you support!
I went into a café and ordered a coffee, the 30 year old chap who came out to serve me guessed that I was from the UK and we got chatting about just about everything over coffee. He lived 5km away up in the mountains and walks to work staying for 3 days and returns to his family for 2. Turns out what concerns this chap is about the same thing that concerns me at home, everything being sucked upwards to the mega rich. However, we did a bit of shoulder shrugging, and both said, there is very little we can do about it!
He bid me a fond farewell and I headed down the passes other side to soon turn off to a much quieter route towards Telouet where there is famous Kasbah. We will do a joke about the slightly less than mediocre Clash song at some point but you will have to wait. A Kasbah is a Moroccan fort.
It was nice to be on a smaller road, and there was just about nothing on it, carving thought the valley with sedimentary rocks of sharply varying colours going from biscuits white to Ochre red. I’m quite pleased with my range of colours there. I may have to expand on that as times go on.
It was time to go all 20th century and get the map book out. Even though I had plotted it all on the sat nav with the given co-ordinates there is nothing like having the description before you.
So, off the macadam and up through the little village of Anmiter. Route finding through the village was a little difficult but taking it very slow it became obvious. Lots of furious waving from anyone under 16 and this was of course replicated. Out of town the route became obvious but after crossing a dry oued (river) the track took an obvious hairpin track up a mountain side but the track was badly washed out. My friend at the café had told me that there had been exceptional August rains storm which had caused 3 landslides onto the main road making rather interesting detours. It was likely less travelled paths had faired worse.
Well, it was time to give it a go! Up and around the first switchback was OK, as was the second but I knew I was tensing up and on the next turn which was all big rocks, down VAA went. Stupidly I tried to get her upright again without removing the luggage and really knacked myself out to no avail.
Off with the luggage and upright again, loaded up and about a litre of water drunk. Clip clop clip clop, down the track came a chap on a donkey who bid me good day and asked if I was OK. My face must have told a story. He told me that the track was steep and washed out for a good 1km but after that good. He clip clopped off and I did consider trading in VAA for a donkey, but, you make your choices, and I’ve nowhere to keep a donkey at home, although the prospect of getting it to smile had me making difficult choices).
I had been doing a lot of watching the adventure bike off roading expert Chris Birch talking and showing how to ride these big beasts off road and I had been doing some of the practice exercises but clearly not enough, All of a sudden I was hit with 4 different problems at once, hill climbs, rock riding, ruts and starting off with control. I had been doing exercises to deal with just one, but not multiple aspects. I made it to the next switchback, almost made it but again down we went. I was less than halfway up and had drunk over half my water. It was time to get sensible and turn around, if I did get to the plateaux above, there would be no water for at least 65km and I needed a common-sense check at this point. Can you believe it, me?
So, turning around we slipped back down the hill with a few less problems to cope with and a learning curve. Back through the village with some quizzical waves from the kids. And back onto the Ouarzazate tarmac road which to be quite honest was pretty spectacular. Lots of new buildings but others from barely habitable to less than a metre of wall showing where a house once was.
Eventually, It rapidly got busy with lots of vehicles and Chinese tourists walking in the middle of the road, so a bit of a tourist destination that I had no idea of was about to crop up. All of the sudden the crowds disappeared and I wondered why everyone was visiting a rather ordinary town. Perhaps Allah was preserving a Renault 4 or something like that. But no, I looked around and there was a sight. Ait Ben Haddou Kasbah, what a sight, the picture does better than talk.
Not far now, and it was not long till a UFO was flying on the horizon, bright as day, brighter to be honest. It was actually the Solar Park Noor which uses millions of controlled mirrors to reflect the sun simultaneously onto a tower where an egg can be cooked in 0.000000000000000000000000000000001 seconds. There are also other uses. It is the largest of its type in the world and they seem to like it so much they are building more. Make use of what you have in abundance is the lesson hear, I guess.
Rolling int Ouarzazate was the absolute opposite of the day before in Marrakech. Light traffic, unhurried streets, I did 2 u turns across 4 lanes to get to the bank and nobody seemed interested. Pulling up a the Ibis I had prebooked, I was shown a secure parking place for the bike and had a very cold shower because I was in need.
Downstairs I ordered a Casablanca beer and sat down by the pool where the mostly Italian clientele were enjoying. I had dinner in the restaurant and instantly had a good long talk with Mohammad, who was interested in where I came from (Man City fan) and taught me a few Arabic greetings. He said I was clearly a good man which made me feel good. Things like that on a trip are aways something that stay with you.
I also had a glass of Moroccan wine which clearly boasted of its heritage and wasn’t at all bad. There are a few contradictions here, but I think Morocco, on the far edge of the Islamic world, has its own identify it enjoys celebrating and cultivating. Who is not to argue because I have enjoyed it immensely so far.
Tomorrow is out into to desert so not too much wine!
Day 8 Monday 20 October 2025
For the first time I felt like I had been graced a really good night’s sleep, so down to get breakfast and stock up for the day ahead. Being anIbis hotel it was a bit more of a continental feeland I was not so impressed but breakfast by the pool was rather nice. This would be the last bit of luxury for a good week so I best enjoy it.
My first section of the day would be on a main road, up and over the mountains on a brand new road which whizzed me into Agdz.
The roadbooks I had all stated and ended at a fuel station, so zeroing the trip meter here let me know exactly when things were coming up that required attention. However, it was all laid out on my sat nav so there wasn’t much point in getting too excited about the roadbook as I just needed to follow the line. Day 8 came in 3 elements, the first to get to Agdz was here, but the other two had not loaded. Bugger!
I really wanted to do this route as it had no steep sections and I needed to get dialled in, so using the road book it would have to be. All was not quite lost with the sat nav as I could get it to go to waypoints so it was still on.
Turning off the road felt a little nerve tingling as yesterday I got the stuffing knocked out of me very quickly and unceremoniously. Today would hopefully be better. The first section a side-track was a bit rough but it soon joined a better piste. We were going uphill and it steadily got cooler which was quite a welcome and I was soon getting into the groove with choosing lines, knowing when to sit and stand.
Although the odd person on a ped would come by, the need to be entirely self-reliant and treat machine and body well was foremost in my mind. This piste would be 100km long and I needed to persuade myself that I am good for harder things to come.
As ever, the dried out oueds (river beds) were the hardest things to navigate and against all instinct, the good old phrase, ‘if in doubt, power out’ worked bloody well. The bike was working really well and low speeds on the motorways to keep knob height reasonable was now paying off in bucket loads. The bike bit hard into sand, gravel and rocks. If I was going to lose rubber, this was the place for it.
The only time things got dicey was due to user error. Sometimes I wasn’t looking far enough up the trail and an oued would find me in the wrong gear and going too fast or I was sat when I needed the additional control of standing so I could let the bike steer itself and get a general direction from weighting the pegs. It was all good fun!
Eventually, after about 2.5 hours we reached macadam again and it is always nice to be reacquainted with that which gives consistent grip. A few kms later on I came across a few camels chomping away on some acacia trees that have some of the fiercest spikes on them. They must have a strong digestive system!
By this time the temperature was showing at 33 degrees and after arriving at Foam Zguid, I had decided that was not going to do this part of the desert crossing. It was just too hot and it would only take a few bike drops to really knacker me out so I rode into the campsite in the town and set up the tent.
It was time for a proper cup of tea, something that I have not had since being in Africa. Oh the joy even with dried milk. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a dust storm blew up and started to throw chairs about. The tent looked like it was going to go missing because the pegs were in sand so I dived into it and shut the door. As soon as I was in it, the wind dropped and it became still. Well wow oh wow! There was now a lot of sediment in my tea but it was not wasted!
My tent was under some date palms and it was interesting to see them up close not in the way that you see them in Lidl, in a box and a pouse brown colour.
I had my usual camping chow of dried packet pasta, sweetcorn and tinned meat. It was a good lot of grub and I was very hungry because today had been a busy day.
Then it went dark and I carried on with my blog on the camp chair whilst enjoying the peace fo the night waiting for the temperature to drop to a point where going to bed was possible. It is currently 24 degrees!
Day 9 Tuesday 21 October 2025
Without the need to speed anywhere, I didn’t get up too early and as I packed away it was interesting to see a chap removing dates from the tree with a ladder. I’m learning a lot about this date business, also the fact that there is a disease killing many trees. It is quite apparent as you travel around the south.
I was going to take the ‘desert highway, the main road that runs from east to west at the south of the country for some way to get to the halfway mark of my desert crossing. Here I would join it and after 60km or so, find somewhere to camp out.
The first half of the journey was fairly uneventful, the usual traffic incidents and kiddies waving. Once at the fuel station to begin the piste, I got myself ready for the long haul. The guidebook described it as a meaty 280km desert crossing, but I was as ready as I could be.
Turning off the road and into the first village I was confronted by some sort of parade, with lots of blokes dressed in the brightest white and the dude at the front waving a sword about. I think I was just going to hang back and enjoy the parade. However, a chap at the back saw me and started pushing his fellow celebraters out of the way to let me past which I did but I gave the greatest bow possible to the leader of the group, the one with the sword because who was going to argue?
It wasn’t long before the black top was left behind, and a very agreeable gravel track began rising into the mountains. It was not long before I was waved down at a military checkpoint and my passport details taken. We are only a few miles from the Algerian border and relations between the two countries have never thawed since something I best not talk about until I am out of the country! Tourists are shooed away from the border and checked to make sure they aren’t spies.
With that formality over, the track continued to rise up towards the lip of the Tafena crater. This was my first possible wild camping site but I had made good time so I was going to push on further to another spot I had seen on Google Earth.
Over the lip of the crater with was about 3 miles wide and 10 miles long, it was amazing think how it had been made by a not particularly large asteroid. On descending into it I saw a couple of motorbikes coming my way and given I had not seen any similar adventure riders, I slowed down and stopped to greet them. We talked out what we were doing and when I quizzed them on what was ahead, sand being my biggest worry, they seemed no-plussed by this but made reference to tricky rock steps up ahead. I wondered where these would be, but on we went.
My next stop was the well in the middle of the crater and as I approached I could see that three kids were hanging around it. Where did they live? I don’t know because there doesn’t appear to be a house in 10km. These kids materialise and disappear like some kind of quantum fluctuation.
I told them I would give them some money if they filled my water bottles for me, they clearly needed some dental treatment and for the sake of 50p, it think it really made their day. Of course, they had to ruin it by asking for bonbons and stylos but I had to deny them that.
Legend has it that in the 1980’s when they were trying to get the Paris Dakar rally organised, cars would drive around southern Morocco throwing out pens and sweets at any passing kiddie and it is now de-rigor for any Moroccan child to beg for bon bons and stylos. I don’t even know if it is true or not!
Rising out of the lip of the crater and nearing the top I came across what the bikers had been taking about. There were quite a few polished rock steps that could cause quite a stink. They weren’t too high to need a wheelie to get over but once over, there was a lot of flat polished rock with if you accelerated on you would know intense pain. To get over these required momentum and parking about 2 metres from the steps meant there was no way to generate it. Paddling back down the steep slope was not fun, but now I had a run up.
Gassing it to a moderate amount on the run up and then once the front wheel had hit the step pulling the clutch meant that I just rolled over the slippy surface and once on a more mixed surface we could carry on as before. Another steep section of loose rock with steps approached and this needed a foot recce. Yep, doable but confidence was needed and I wasn’t entirely brimming with that at the moment. We were a long way from anywhere! However, expending lots of beans appeared to do the trick and up to the top of the crater’s lip I came and began the rough decent down. Everything was ratting but the momentum was free so I wasn’t too inclined to put the dampers on it too much and use the brakes. Then I ran into some camels!
Back on the flat, the trail become a bit more sandy which was much smoother but needed a constant good technique and keen concentration. Coming towards me was a solo bike traveller and it would be most rude not to shut off engines and have a chat.
He was a young French dude riding an older version of my bike and he appeared to have done many miles. He was on a 3-month trip and I could see that he knew exactly what he was doing. Funny how every person I have come across doing off road bike overlanding is riding either my model of bike or the model before it! Clearly the best bike in the world.
We swapped notes on the route ahead for each of up. He had had trouble with san,d feche-feche, apparently but I think he had taken the bog standard route which did not head to the lost city.
On I went and it got more and more sandy and I knew that I really should be finding somewhere to camp as even the military checkpoints had turned in for the night. I could see a pink fort that was on the road-book, the last checkpoint before it opened out into much more open desert so I would get past this and set up camp. I suppose complacency got me and I tanked into some very soft sand way too fast with the front end tucking and a jolly good dismount with a roll onto the feet. I would have given me a 5.5 for that.
Bugger. there was a good 10m of deep sand to cross so off with the luggage right the bike and get it across. It was amazing how much throttle was needed to get the thing moving but made it we did. Quite a lot of energy burnt but had I not fallen off I would not have seen the well tucked away in the trees. I loaded myself up to the lidfulls with water and this meant that I could have a very happy camp without worrying about water consumption. I think I was using more water than the bike was using fuel!
The chap at the waypoint opened the door of the fort, dressed in his civies and waved me though. Algerian spies only ever work during office hours, everyone knows that. Indeed, the desert did open out, mainly rocks with some sandy sections. After about 10km I spotted a place a few 100m from the track and headed over. It was ideal. Apart from the little spiky balls.
Everywhere you looked there were thousands of sharp spikey balls the size of a pea, if you gripped them hard they gave a sharp pain but touched softy, they were ok. They were the sort of thing that would happily put a hole in my blow up sleeping mat. I got over that by putting my boking gear on the ground sheet which had hundreds of spikey things in it now and the sleeping mat on that.
After setting camp, it was time to cook, noodles tonight with the rest of the tinned meat and veg I had opened yesterday. It was not long for the sun to go down, being closer to the equator sunset happens quicker than in the UK and soon it was pitch black dark and silent. The flys that come out when the sun is beginning to go down had gone and it was oh so quiet. I could hear nothing which is a most unusual thing. As the night when on the occasional Secada might be heard.
I was having a lot of difficulty in working out the stars. All the consultations were either not there or in the wrong place. because of the dust in the sky those close to the horizon could not be seen, but the milky way like the sky’s Mohican hair cut was burning bright across the middle of the sky.
Now would have been great time for a bit of the whiskey I had brought, but I had made up my mind to be up early and be away before dawn to make the best use of the cool of the day. Tomorrow was going to be a hard day and fully refreshed and able was the requirement.
Day 9 Wednesday 23 October 2025
I had slept quite well without any interruptions apart from the deafening silence. An owl tooted a few times but that was about it. Getting up a 6am, in what appeared to be the dead of the night, normal morning duties like making tea and packing things away was not so easy by torchlight.
Venus, the morning star made an appearance and the sky began to lighten heralding the new day.
Morning ablutions did not need a hole digging with the little trowel I had brought. A little rock cairn marked the only thing I was leaving behind. Things got temporarily out of control then I used far too much petrol to burn my bog paper, a few finger hairs and eyebrows going along with it.
Before the sun was up, I was on my way tootling down the track which dropped down to a basin. After a few hours thing began to get sandy again and what must be a weakness of mine to not look far enough up the track saw me unprepared for a sandy section. I tired to power out but I was pulling on my handlebars too much and swinging from side to side the bike came down and trapped my foot under it. That hurt.
Getting back upright again, it was clear that I had hurt my foot and it was painful to stand on. I got the bike back upright but all thought the morning I had not been feeling 100%. There was a lot of effort needing to be spent and reading the roadbook, the hardest sections were not too far ahead. I knew it was the right thing to do to cut my losses as there was a track not far away that turned into a macadam road so I could bypass this section. It was sad not to go and see the lost city, but it has clearly been found, so not the end of the world!
I didn’t want to run out of puff and have to spend another night in the desert with unknown places to get water and my ability to ride was somewhat diminished by my foot. And the heat as well, it was 11am and 33 degrees!
So eventually, back onto the desert highway. What was most interesting was this was a fossil rich area and they were being sold everywhere. I tired to find the place that seems as honest as possible and I really didn’t want to bother with the whole haggling over the price thing. I managed to be lucky because this chap was a real enthusiast who chipped away at rocks to reveal these ancient marvels. I was quite impressed that in French he really explained how things were done and what bits were what on the fossils, and that I managed to understand him! When I asked how much, the price seemed reasonable and I guess that is all you need to pay. I probably paid too much as I got a free bottle of cold water too which was most welcome, It was up to 35 degrees.
A little later I was given the opportunity to go and see some rock carvings that I was going to miss out on if I was doing the desert crossing so taking a side track I ended up at a place that I could only describe as baking. I had to get my hat out as I knew that thinning hair would not be able to prevent sunburn on the bonce.
The rock carvings were interesting, animals long gone from this part of the world, giraffe, lions and rhinoceros all carved by unknown people about 2000 years ago. The chap who was looking after them said that a lot of people don’t respect them and either try to steal them or vandalise them. I could see this as some friend of humanity had tried to calve a union jack on one of them. There really is not hope for some people!
Next it was a visit to Gara Medoaur which has been used in so many films and adverts I was most surprised to find it virtually without people in it. Of recent probably best known for the bond film Spectre where good old Bloefeld lived. I was giving it the Sean Connery accent ‘So, Bloefeld, this is where you live’ within my helmet for the whole 3km to get there off the road.
Back onto the desert highway and down to Merzouga, the only place in Morocco with large dunes and a holiday hot spot. I was going to stop for 2 nights and I needed to do some washing and I needed a rest. Even though I had been living very healthily, I had been using up a lot of energy every day. I had planned to have a go at riding a camel but tomorrow would be purely a chill day.
Arriving at the Haven le Chance campsite which was very nice, I booked in, set up my tent and awning, ate a beef stew which you rehydrated, that was bloody good, and then enjoyed a bit of that whiskey by the pool.
Day 11 Thursday 23 October 2025
Today I was going to do as little as possible so up late when it got too hot to be in a tent, about 8.30am. A pleasant sit down and lots of cups of tea dried full fat milk, no sugar gave me time to think on what to do
Around me the Berbers were cutting the dates and fronds from the palm trees and I enjoyed watchng. All done which an evil curved blade hatchet but with great accuracy. I was encouraged to have a taste of a dates and it was actually very pleasant, so very sweet. I’ve always avoided dates in the UK as they just seem totally pouse. However, off the tree and yellow/orange they were quite a novelty. Not too many though! I didn’t want the experience to get all squittery.
It was wash-day now and of course there were no plugs to go in plug holes so I emptied my waterproof travel bag filled it up with water, the single shot washing powered and got all Mrs Tiggywinkle.
Today, as was every day, was a good drying day too so I adorned as many date parm trees with my socks, pants and t-shirts as possible. These things stank before but were no emanating pleasant smells. Bag turned inside out to dry for 10 mins and then it retained is business as usual.
I was purposefully trying to rest my foot which had hurt through the night although I was kept awake much more by wild dogs constantly barking. So it was time for mid-morning Moroccan tree. Poured just once this time but still with a bit of theatrics. I got to work on the blog and just enjoyed the quietness by the pool. Every now and again the feral cats would have a bust up and the temptation was sore to loft them into the pool but that would not be cricket would it? In fact it would be a sport that has not yet been invented with set rules and I was unwilling to start that ball rolling as it would likely paint me in a bad light. It did make me giggle a bit though.
It was time to mend the bike now. I had managed to snap the screen of by accident when it was on its side and it was hanging off in a bit of a bedraggled way. Out with the turbo fag lighter and a bit of plastic welding done and all was new. It has been done a few times now and I think I really need to buy new bits but clearly that will be the last time I think about that until I snap it off again!
Lunch was fast approaching and an omelette Berber with pomme frites was ordered. Everything you order in Maroc is cooked fresh so there is not 20 minutes or 10 minutes waiting time. It was to arrive in an hour so another mint tea would while away that time before grub time.
When it came it was quite a site to behold, the omelette was in a tadjine dish and the chips were like the ones your nana made you. It was very nice as lunch had been a very small or forgotten after though most days.
The rest of the afternoon was spent charging up batteries and kicking work things on the laptop into the long grass. I am such a professional.
I cooked myself some of the usual pasta and sauce meals and then spent the rest of the night by the pool talking to Julie and Harry on the phone.
Day 12 Friday 24 October 2025
Right time to get moving again. I had things to see.
My foot was still swollen so I have to give it some extra space in the boot. But I had fairly reasonable movement of it. It was some pretty horrid colours! Changing up a gear was problematic so it was best to do this with the whole foot. It did not look slick, put it that way!
Leaving Mersouga, I had mixed thoughts. I was with the people out there on the dunes to see the sun rise but not so with the constant noise of bikes, quads and 4x4s ripping around the place. It was a difficult balance, but I guess that I am unlikely to be back.
I extended my heartfelt thanks to the staff at Haven Le Chance because they had been really nice, helpful, kind and good fun.
Out of town it was a short blast up to Efroud where it was market day and totally bonkers and then on to Goulmima through some nice desert surroundings but by this time I was getting a bit fed up of deserts. I was wanting some vertical challenge. Some say I have found this challenge to have been in place all my life, but I am very happy being 5 foot 5 or 5 foot 6 with a blow dry. No one notices me until it is too late!
In Goulmima, I filled up with fuel and set off on my track to the spiral tunnel. Just up the road there was a crowd of people in the road and amongst the twisted remains of a ped was the body of some young lad. People were all around him but there was a lot of blood coming from his head and he seemed very limp. An awful cost to the freedom of powered two wheels. I, like us all would wish him all the best and too his family too.
Car driving is a very dangerous business, and motorcycling a level of danger above that. We balance the risks with the pleasures and necessities of life, but I am always one to wear the best level of protection that I can reasonably afford, even when it gets hot, sweaty and very smelly.
I’ve unsuspectedly been down the road more times that a bin lorry on a bank holiday weekend and every time I have walked away with at the very rare occasion a broken bone, but usually, a bit of bruising, muscle strain and mainly dented pride. This is because I have a high-quality helmet on, an outer suit which is highly abrasion resistant, I have shoulder, back, elbow, hip and knee armour along with heavy duty motorcycle boots.
You can’t always be lucky, but you can swing the odds your way a little.
Out of the town and into the countryside, the road began to gain in hight, and things just felt a little cooler. Things were getting more rural. You could tell this by the amount of covering your average woman was wearing. In the towns there would be a vast variety. In the countryside, virtually all women were covered head to foot but a few miles later the was a girl in a Brazil football strip so perhaps not a time to be too judgemental but Go girl, via Brasilia!
All of a sudden the mountains got all pointy indicating the Rheris gorge was approaching. I had been promised that this and the Imidler gorge beyond would maybe not be as impressive as the more famous gouges but because of their remoteness would not be full of flying carpet salesmen. I proceeded with that hope in mind.
Into the Rheris gorge and the walls soon towered above, at one point it was like thousands of tons or rock had been freeze framed as they fell down the mountain. I didn’t stop for photos, it was time to Foxtrot Oscar at all possible speed. No one was here, which added immensely to the feel of the place.
Eventually out of that gorge, I was entering Amerllagou and saw the 4x4 van whom the lady in it had given me a beer at Merzouga. I waved ferociously but I think they mush have though of me as a bit weak in the head. No worries, I waved.
I stopped for a coffee from a roadside Citroen C15 van with a full barista kit in the rear. I was like Costa coffee in a shagged out 35-year-old van but it cost 6 Dirham (about 50p), did the job and the barista looked over my bike and told me it was ‘fucking cool’. Things in the UK coffee scene need to really change in this sort direction in my humble opinion.
On through the Imider gorge which was equally impressive. These people here know how to be very self-sufficiently. When the world ends in the not so near future this is the place to come. People here get things done.
The road began to get rather quiet and finally at a little village which had an extraordinary number of very demanding kids all yelling for bonbons or stylos, the surface turned to gravel and sand. The start was pretty good and I could tootle along at about 30 to 40kph but with about 8km to get the tunnel some areas were washed out and new tracks had been made. It looked like only a few 4x4s had been down the track. After a few pretty dodgy oued crossings which tested my nerves, I was beginning to lose confidence and questions were poppling into my mind as to where the point of no return was and if there was anything on the other side of the tunnel to take me back to civilisation.
My mind was made up for me when a large section of the track had been washed away and the 4X4 tracks went up into a boulder field. I wasn’t going to do that. However, I had to turn around so first things first, I dropped the bike. Bugger. It took lot of effort to get turned around but now I had a second chance to do those oued crossing a bit better.
I passed some sheep herders on the way back. I can’t believe how massive sheep in the UK are compared to these skin and bone Moroccan varieties.
I now had the awful dilemma on how to approach the village of the damned children. Like a skulking Russian supersonic bomber, I approached slow and where possible out of site although there was always the possibility of some kid on a roof detecting me with early warning radar and scrambling the fighters. Round the corner I came and a whole squadron of fighters immediately launched. ‘Bogies vectoring in at 2 o’clock’. I was performing a high-G turn when detected and was not able to use my speed which was my only real defence. Once out of the corner I hit the afterburner and went to full reheat. Half of the interceptors were now at my 6 o’clock and out of range. However, one or two were still at 2 o’clock and it looked like a dogfight may occur. Fortunately, these bogies were clearly less experienced pilots and slowed before entering the dogfight, hoping for guidance from more experienced pilots now at my 6.
Close call.
Back down the gorges. It was maybe nicer in the afternoon sun as shadows formed across the rock faces.
I managed to give myself a good soaking going though a ford but the coolness of the water was most welcome.
I went around a Moroccan biker whose bike I could not recognise at all and eventually ended up at the riad I had booked the night before. I was given a garage to park in and quite exhausted I fell into the shower and tired not to go to sleep because dinner would be arriving soon.
Getting out of my room I had a little look around and this place was very very nice. I felt like I was making it untidy. Owned by a French lady, it had a lovely peaceful feel to it. I went to get something off the bike and next to it was the bike I had overtaken 30km back!
I later ran into Sean who had rented the Himalayan 650 in Marrakesh. Sean was Irish but had lived in London for a good 30 years. We jibber jabbered all about where we had been, what we liked, bikes and all of that. We had dinner together and it was nice to eat with someone else.
The food was very very good. Cooked by a lovely Moroccan lady who would not be told that her cooking was fantastic. We had eaten far too much of the starter not realising there was a main course coming too. Sean even managed to get a pudding in. That was a step too far for me!
I think we were both pretty wacked so we were off to bed fairly early. The room and surroundings were oh so quiet!
Day13 Saturday 25 October 2025
Sean and I enjoyed breakfast goetehr which was cooked for us with fresh bread. This place was the tops, Riad Chant d’Etoile near Gouldmima if you are ever passing.
Today was going to be a gorge-ous day (I think you may have seen what I did there) and I needed to get a move on but first I was going to do a piste in the Jebel Sarhro, the area which my guide book did a lot of raving about. Here was the home of the Mountain Berbers, the Amazigh, lovely people but you wouldn’t want to cross them. In 1933 they brought the French Foreign Legion (who had a reputation for being hard bastards) to their knees and were only defeated after being staved out.
So down the main road to fill up at Tinghir and we began to fall back into vehicles not giving you the space, tailgating to within mircons and just very little patience. It was like being on the M6.
Off the busy road it became fun, the road rose into the mountains and the geography was very different, I liked this Jebel Sarhro.
Through the little town of Igherm Amazdar, of the Ait Atta Amazigh which was the home of the Berber tribe who lead the 1933 rebellion against the French. Losingthe macadam, the track surface was a very nice compacted gravel passing little farms and gardens of sweetcorn and other veg I couldn’t quite make out.
Things got higher and cooler. The farms, less frequent and the road surface rougher. However, I could see the top and I’m sure there would be a good view from it.
And yes there was. Jebel Sarhro is certainly very different to the rest of Morocco. Big pointy mountains made of more solid looking rock. The book advised that it was better to do it from the north as the decent was quite steep. Not only that the decent appeared to cling to some terrifying cliffs and be no more than 1.5 tracks wide.
Looking on the map book I had about 5km of decent to do through switchbacks carved into a nigh on cliff face. Buggger, I thought this was going to be easy. Oh well, faint heart never impressed the birds, so lets give this a go but the prospect of turning back once started was not on.
The decent took a long time and once or twice I was really scared and had to stop to compose myself. I’ve not been this scared since I went to the blind dentist. Working on slippy surfaces just a couple of metres away from fatal drops makes you sweat. However, I was doing it right, I was in control, and I just needed to keep my nerve. A bit like driving down the M6 really.
The sat nav wasn’t helping much either because the distance to the next waypoint were decreasing at an inordinately slow place. I feared quantum physics was at work here too. Probably when you are shitting yourself so much, a quantum flux occurs which totally buggers up the fabric of time and space. I swore that if I made it down, I would put serious effort into studying it.
However, slowly the valley floor got closer and I began to relax, then a ran wide on a hairpin. I needed to relax AND concentrate. The last hairpin done and a few nasty oueds later I reached the first dwelling since the top, This would at least mean the someone had an interest in keeping the road in passable condition. There was 15km to the next town so just a matter of getting it done with at least energy expended.
Eventually I reached town and the temptation to exit the bike and kiss the black stuff was quite overwhelming but there were some kids there who wanted to wave so duty first.
Back on the road to Tinghir and this time into the world famous Todra Gorge. Yes, it was amazing, you just could not see the top but there were too many people and flying carpet salesmen and people with camels for no obvious reason.
It was over after a few hundred metres and then turned into a normal sort of gorge but suddenly without 1000s of people, flying carpet sellers and nonsensical camels.
The outside was just as good!
It took a whole to get to the top of the gorge. Someone had built a bit a big dam in the hope of catching some water. Not sure how long it has been there for but ti appears, so far to have been only partially successful.
I was going to take a new road over the mountains to the Dades gorge, kind on next door. Before the road was put in place, this route had been quite a test for any overlander as it rose to over 2800m and there were some really horrid sections, of course through the oueds.
Now it was a smooth tarmac road that encouraged you to give it the beans. It did feel like cheating a little bit.
It had only been completed a few years ago but high up there were repairs going on. I guess you can’t build a road at 2800m high and expect it to last very long!
Up, up and up we went and inevitably, down, down and down we went, eventually ending up at the beginning of the Dades gorge.
Well, lets see what this one is like…
Mainly houses and shop but my campsite was about 20km down and some ofthe lanscapes were awesome.
I pulled into the Mountain Berber’s Aubere and Camping and soon settled down as the only camper. It was quite a bit cooler here!
Day 14 Sunday 26 October 2025
I woke a few times in the night thinking, this new and very expensive sleeping bag that I have bought is a bit rubbish. I’m freezing cold. However, getting up for an early morning pee, I checked the thermo on the bike and it said 6 degrees. I thought it was more like 12 degrees. I’ve not been cold in a long time!
As quick a get away as I could, I was in need of getting over the High Atlas Mountains today because rain was coming in and rather than take the few big passes, I was wanting to take the wee routes, paved and unpaved. If I went today, a bit earlier than planned, I would miss the rain. Once over, I could make my mind up on what I would do.
However, I needed to get through the rest of the Dades gorge, the campsite being about in the middle of it.
Starting off within a few metres of the Mountain Berbers Auberge, there were a number of camels, standing at the side of the road. When I looked at them, they looked back with an expression ‘Yeah mate, we haven’t a bloody clue what we are doing here either’.
Through a rather groovy narrow bit, it was much nicer because earlyish in the morning there were no flying carpet salesman or potential flying carpet buyers.
Soon upon the numerous switchbacks most pictures of the Dades seem to depict, it was down following the river for a very long time though many towns, some touristy, some functional with an ever increasing amount of traffic as we got closer to Boumalne Dades. It was almost like Stoke on Trent, one town and village merging into another, There were no oatcake shops though, but occasional herds of goats that you rarely see in Burslem.
Turning off the main tourist route, I was on a road marked with a green line indicating it was a scenic route. No, another 35km of mainly town riding with no interest. Finally, into Kelaat, time was happily marching on and the kms were not. I needed the fuel station.
This trip over the Atlas was going to be long and the guide gave it as 284km. I reconned my bike was happy to do 320-330km to empty but I could not be definite about this. In addition to this climbing up to high altitudes would likely reduce efficiency. I had a little under 1.5 litres in the camping fuel bottle so there was a spare 30km but I was plagued by doubt. As the chap filled the tank, I righted the bike to get the absolute max. putting it back on the side stand to pay, the overflow dribbled so that was the lot! 16 litres.
Out from the town it was immediately into a steady rise through village after village. The road was interesting, suddenly big views would present themselves but always in front of me were mountains!
Every now and again a well rotted Kasbah. I need to do the Sherree thing very soon, but now is not the time.
Throughout my visit to Moroc, I am amazed at the amount of work women have to do. So often in the fields it is the women bent over backwards carrying ridiculous loads, so rarely men. However, for an Islamic country, on the whole women appear to have greater autonomy in public. Face/hair covering, or not, seemed to be entirely acceptable even in the more conservative rural areas.
There would be a number of passes to get over and given the remoteness of the area, I passesd less and less vehicles. The occasional Grand Taxi, either white or yellow that would travel between cites and towns, picking up whoever and with whatever. Often with roof racks full of stuff.
When I was here 12 years ago this service was undertaken almost exclusively by 200 series Mercedes Benz, probably the best car that has ever been or ever will be made, but now I never saw one (as a taxi). This role had now been taken on the by the Dacia Lodgy, a kind of small people carrier. There is not a chance these vehicles will reach the intergalactic starship mileage of the Mercedes, but I guess they still do a good job, probably more space too.
First pass reached, about 2800m up, and coming down it was the big brother, the Grand Taxi (Van). Usually, no space inside for people so they took a seat wherever they could. To be honest, the roof was a good option because there were options to leave because the brakes smelt like a dragster meet, but the views must have been fantastic. About 15kph either going up or down the passes.
Down into a valley and all of that height lost. All of a sudden out here, there were no more peds, no cars, very few houses, occasional cultivated fields, the odd tree and the odd donkey laden up.
Existence out here was hard, fought, won and I imagined, quiet easily lost.
The next pass was a horror, up and up and up till the summit at 3005m above sea level. I’ve never been this high on a motorcycle, unless perhaps when I ate that cheese I found under the cooker.
The temperature had dropped to just pleasant, about 20 degrees but again all of that height was lost and then I was thrust into the town of Tabant, where there was a Sunday market.
This was a Sunday market of biblical proportion all squeezed into a high street of perhaps 20m in width. On both sides were stalls and at least they did not move.
In between cars, dockers, peds, wheelbarrows, carts, pedestrians, donkeys, horses and a lone motorcyclist attempted to get to where they were wanting to go. In between this helpful grandsons blocked the entire road with their transportation so granny could get on board at the slowest possible pace along with 6 shopping bags and a copy of Moroccan OK magazine.
It was best just to laugh, but most important to fill up any space possible in front of you because that is the law in these situations. At one point I was in a traffic queue of a police Duster, two pick ups (proper ones not four seat wannabee type things) a Docker and a donkey. I knew my place behind the donkey.
Out of town it was a goodbye to the people and once again into the people less environment. The macadam ended and it felt like I was really heading into the unknown. I passed no other vehicles and although the trail was easy, I was not entirely sure where it was going to take me. Nerves and doubts began to creep in but way ahead of me ,I could see the coll that would take me out of the valley and although lots of switchbacks, they did not seem too severe.
It was not far from the top off the coll and the road surface had deteriorated but being wide and on the up hill power was my friend and a good line could be achieved. I stopped not far from the top and looking down on me I saw some other bikers, so to abate the loneliness, I took a few switchbacks to join them.
Pulling up to the side of the track, I was not sure of the surface so stayed on the bike. I didn’t want VAA toppling down a couple of switchbacks. The group were some French people with a Moroccan guide. They had some very plush modern motorcycles they had rented in Marrakech which was a surprise as I had only heard that fairly rough bangers were on offer to hire for off road stuff. Times have moved on!
We chatted for some time and I think they were passing comment in French about either the smacked up nature of VAA or their admiration on how both she and I had got here. Either way, I didn’t mind, However, I had to go, I had used over two thirds of my time to get well less than half the distance I was hoping for.
On the way up the next pass a donkey, got the front seat and seemed fairly pleased about it. well done that donkey!
Over the pass and into a different administrative district and back onto somewhat welcome macadam. A junction soon appeared and gave me two options. Continue on the set route which would give a few really good vistas or bail out and get to a known camping site at a reasonable time. I was by this point tired and felt that I could do another 80km quite happily but not another 130km and then have to find somewhere to stop with no real plan.
Option 1 took me slowly down out of the mountains through the Moyne Altas, the Middle Altas, amongst gentler hills and greener outlooks I was heading for Ouzoud, where there was a waterfall of impossible beauty I had visited many years before. I had seen the waterfall once but I knew of a campsite there Camping Zebra which was an ideal place to stop.
Pulling in at the campsite. I was approached by someone I recognised, the same chap running it as before. I said, ‘I remember you’ and he said the same thing. This was not going to be complicated! I set up my tent, had a mint tea, chatted to a French chap who was camped beside me and had a peaceful evening with a good view of the stars.
Day 15 Monday 27 October 2025
Not a huge amount of shut eye had been achieved last night. Creatures of some sort had been sniffing around the tent and at 3pm a massive wild/stray dog fight happened a few metres away from my tent. Intent on shutting them up, I pounded on the side of the tent and told them in no uncertain terms to pipe down. Well, that one blew up in my face because the entire pack now has a new enemy, a big green blobby thing bellowing out and telling them the shut the fuck up!
They then barked at the tent for half an hour. Once they stopped, to add absolute insult to injury, one of them took a piss on the tent. I watched the shadow of the whole thing and kept repeating to myself to say/do nothing.
After all of the sand and gravel have now been dispensed with, it was time to assess knobs. Did I have enough knob to get home. Some knobs were beigin to peel away but there was sufficient height of knob to get back so the whole knob worry situation was alleviated.
Packed away and on the road, the quiet roads of the Moyen Altas, the Middle Atlas were enjoyable and pretty. It was much greener this side of the Atlas with may more trees but few grasses.
Eventually out of the mountains, I descended into the north Moroccan plain. Again mainly agricultural fields and the occasional industrial town but just about everywhere was a bit squalid. Occasional more vibrant towns with some life to them were encountered but I was making slow progress and to be honest, I had had my fill of looking at poverty.
It felt shameful to admit this and perhaps an admission of the weakness of my own personality but when travelling alone sometimes emotions and feelings can get quite a hold of you.
I headed for the motorway and a longer but shorter ride up to my next destination. At the moment it was about survival. So along the quiet toll motorways and managing to miss the majority of the awful roadworks around Casablanca, we circumnavigated Rabat and dropped off the motorway at Kenitra, a city on the coast.
I was needing to shop so into a Carrefour, a French supermarket (didn’t smell like a French supermarket to the honest) and some pasta, sauce, veg and a tin of meat named luncheon meat, the really was unlikely to have pork in it but, what it was who knows. That would have to do.
Having usually stayed in hotels, I had decided to look for apartments because they were cheaper, allowed me to cook for myself and I wanted to see how the whole process worked.
Trying to get in contact with the person to let me in was a bit of a stress on especially after such a long ride but eventually I was parked up in an underground garage, off loaded into a pretty nice room and was cooking my dinner, I could happily live with this especially for 40 Euros.
There was quite a bit of building work going on outside and it did go on until 8pm but all in all it was a happy stay.
Day 16 Tuesday 28 October
Yesterday, had found me in not the best place. Perhaps a little lost and with changing and no clear focus I was fortune to whatever emotion was going to wash over me. Today would be different, there was just one goal and interesting it was also, To get to Tangier and have a good look around this place.
Before I set off it was time to have a look at my knobs. In surprisingly good condition seeing as they had over 4500km of wear. I no longer needed to take care of them and I gave myself credence to give them grief with going as fast as I liked on the motorway. Three was enough knob to get back home whatever.
Having to get back through Kenitra, things were an order of magnitude easier. Morocco is not an early morning kind of place and roads were quiet which was quite nice. I was getting more and more worried that a momentary lack of concentration was going to see me have a crash and create a whole new world of problems.
Of course, a few minutes later as I turned left at a roundabout a chap in his Renault 19 with more dents in it than a Douglas Adams book stared into my eyes and pulled out right in front of me. Banging on the brakes the ABS went bonkers but then I passed over a metal drain cover and it totally released causing panic without the time for expletives. I missed rear of his car with just a few millimetres of clearance.
I made up for the expletives with a long, quite creative and varied rendition all the way to the motorway.
Once on, I settled down, just a few hundred Kms today to Tangier, but I was full of bad vibe apprehension. I was convinced that something would go wrong, Still the motorway ended and diving into the metropolis it was still going well. It was a bit busy, but no one appeared particularly intent on killing me. Just a background level of death is willing to step in at any moment if you don’t realise that petit taxi man is on facebook on his phone.
The first stop was at Carrefour a French supermarket brand, where I knew I could get some pasta, pasta sauce and lets be honest, some wine. In no way did it smell like a French supermarket and perhaps now that day is now over. The shopping was done fairly easy but to get the forbidden fruit, you had to go into the ‘Alchol cave’. In there was a pissed up yeti and Big Foot off his trolley. That was not true but the ‘cave’ was rather empty so I bought a bottle of Moroccan Merlot and a couple of Flag Specials, tiny bottles of strong lager and putting them safely away out of sight in my backpack as I left the place. I did pay for them by the way. All pretty easy and to be honest, buying a four pack of beer in Iceland had felt more like visiting a sex shop but I get the impression that drinking alcohol in Morocco is much more common than the public perception.
My apartment was close to the medina and as I got close, I was not so keen on this. The traffic was a bit bonkers and given the nerves of the previous hours I just wanted to be rid of the bike and get my feet up. After a few dogdy u turns across six lanes of highways, I arrive at the underground car park for the apartment.
The chap running it was a nice dude, shuffling cars and bikes around to make best use of the very limited space he had. Parking me up in a tight spot, I was having trouble getting in contact with the site owner. I was pulled out a seat and told, to keep on trying.
Eventually I was met by the site owner who took me on a long walk to the apartment, I was not in the best physical shape and was soon falling behind. Up the lift which was a bit 1930’s, stretch you hand in the wrong direction and it would be taken off but the wall so of the lift, but to be quite honest, I was happy to take the risk because walking up 4 fights of stairs would have killed me.
2 more trips later and I was fully loaded into my apartment. It was good, with an outside terrace where you could look over the port and medina. Dinner ready and sat with a show,
All of a sudden it began to rain which is not something I has anticipated in Africa, It came down hard and at limes for some time. Another aspect that I had never anticipated. Every day a lesson!
Day 17 Wednesday 29 October 2025
It had rained quite a lot in the night and the day was rather grey with rain threatening. I was wanting to visit the medina to buy some presents and see what tat was available. A cruise ship was parked in the harbour. This would mean that touts and flying carpet salesmen would be at optimal performance level. Although the medina was not far away, my ankle and foot was still sore, although a much better colour and therefore I needed to plan my day so that I was not coming and going. I took my daysack with me to fill up with my tat and set off.
Firstly, it was past the Gran Café de Paris, where spies of every side won and lost the second world war with information and misinformation many years ago. It still had that olde world charm.
Down into the medina, I would not have said it has the same charm as somewhere like Fez as it was much more angled for the tourists but it was fun and already full of tourists, some in large groups following guides with paddle boards others in small groups trying to find their way with maps or looking at their phones. It was these groups that the touts swooped on with pure gold bracelets for 5 euros, knowledge of the best and cheapest carpet (floor and airborne) shops and a personal tour of the medinas secrets.
I was quite lucky, because on my own, limping with a put on 1000-yard stare I was not so easy to read. The few people who approached me were politely told ‘non merci’ and absolutely no interest shown in whatever they were jangling in front oof my face. Interest was quickly lost.
Down to the Petit Socco, a market square in the centre of the medina, I sidled up to a café and ordered a Moroccan breakfast (lets see what this brings) and a mint tea. I’ve got quite into this mint tea thing. Breakfast was brought, pancakes, breads and all sorts of things with jam butter, cheese and some chocolate sauce. Well worth taking a bit of time over and watch the world go by.
Entertainment of different types turned up. A bloke did all sorts of impossible stretches, another chap about 80-year-old got some duff duff music going and played keepy up with a tennis ball. It was a touch bizarre.
So, into the medina and a pretty unsuccessful shop. Down the goldsmith street I saw some nice jewellery that I thought Julie might like but by the look on the face of the lady being the desk, I was not going to be making a purchase, before I said anything she barked ‘it is 18 carat gold’. I asked how much the necklace was and was told 3500 euros. OK. Well if you put a price on these things in the window there would be no need to shout at people.
There was not a price for anything in any window, and I guess the price varied with the dress and attitude of the clientele. I think I paid over the odds for some things but also under the odds for others.
I always try to get our Harry an official national football shirt when on my travels and I thought a Moroccan shirt would be spot on. Most places seemed to be selling knock offs, but I though I would try my hand at a reputable looking sports shop. I asked the owner and he seemed delighted, jumped to his feet and told me to ‘follow’. Down two flights of stairs, it began to feel like an instalment of Raiders of the Lost Arc. Finally, at his stash of Moroccan shirts I could choose from every players number sizes small to xl. Purchase made, it was barely more than the knock off shirts, or maybe the knock off shirt were being sold with extra markup.
Wandering a bit further, it was clear that much of the medina was residential and sometimes felt quite devoid of people. It then began to rain, quite heavy and coming out in just a t-shirt had been a mistake. You have to admire the business sense of Tangerines, because within minutes every street corner had a person with a bin full of umbrellas waving them in front of anyone who was, well, wet. Fair dos.
I made it back to my flay quite wet and changed clothes. A bit of blog writing and dealing with work saw me wait until the rain subsided and venture out again to go and find a seedy bar. All bars in Tangier are seedy but it was to be a learning experience.
Just above the Gran Cafe de Paris was Le Coeur de Tanger which I was told did free tapas. We will have a bit of that. Walking thought a dodgy entrance with a slightly passive aggressive chap staring at me I went up the first flight of stairs and was pounced upon by what appeared to be a welcoming bar man who took my bag off me pulled out a window seat and asked me what I would like to drink. I asked for a Flag Special and he most approved of the choice, opened the bottle before me and poured it into wine glass in a most theatrical manner. He then told me he was going to get some tapas for me….. OK…
It did feel a bit naughty drinking beer looking out over the Sour Meegazine Tanger, a fancy paved park with big cannons as drinking alcohol on the street is illegal but when in Rome, don’t be Roman as nobody has ever said.
All around me Moroccan men quietly sat drinking their beer or wine fiddling with their phones or watched a TV with a dubbed Dave Attenborough documentary on it. Tapas came, Moroccan salad, fried chicken and bread. It was really good. You don’t get that at Weatherspoon’s.
After my first Flag Special, I was quite getting into this so ordered another and this time the bar man poured it from a stupid height while winking at me. This guy loves his job. You don’t get that at Weatherspoon’s.
I was just enjoying looking out at the hussle and bussle of the street below and the vast variety of people coming and going. Some very uptight, others very relaxed. It was nice to see.
A little later a big fish was put in front of me and at this point I had to tell the barman that I was not ready for any more tapas. I was beginning to worry that I was going to be made a pauper in Tangier. However one last 240ml of Flag Special before I went and this was poured into the glass from behind the barmans head. I gave him a little clap. You don’t get that at Weatherspoon’s. The bill eventually came and all for 3 Flag Specials and it wasn’t particularly expensive. I guess you do get that at Wetherspoons.
Back to the apartment, I made arrangements with the chap in the garaged to get going early in the morning and got my bags packed. I needed to be at the port at no later than 8am for my 10am sailing.
Dinner, rain, more rain and off to bed!
Day 18 Thursday 30 October 2025
It was up early and going at it with gusto. Lots of ferrying stuff onto the bike and once loaded I was subject to a telephone call that told me there was a totally unexpected charge of 7 Euro for the car park. I had had e-fucking-nough of Tangier. Get me out of here please!
Into the port on nice empty roads which was a bit of blessing but I soon found out that ferry was now at 11am not 10am. What to do? Drink coffee and people watch. People came and go, but what was quite apparent was people came, booked for their ferry and missed it because passport, security, immigration and secondary checks slowed everything up.
I joined the queue, well before I was suggested to and saw plenty of people miss their ferry.
I had to leave VAA so she could be x-rayed by a van moving up and down the security area. If she gets cancer, I will have words with Morocco security.
Finally, it was in the queue to get onto the boat and as I was the first bike I was first on. Let’s get things right people. Onto the deck it was wet and the front end skidded out and without a painful foot down and rescue it would have been a bit embarrassing.
The bike was strapped down and I wandered up to deck. This was a fast ferry so things were pretty basic, but at the rear I could see passport check man going at about 0,25% efficiency. We left half an hour late and if it were not for all of the CCTV cameras I would have done a full on moonie at jobsworth.
The ferry being small and the entrance to the Med being a bit wild, saw the boar rocking quite significantly and I had planned to have something to eat but thought it best to not. No point in paying for something that was going to re-appear in a less than aesthetic way.
Off the ferry and as per usual, I chose the slowest lane for the passport stamp. I was sat next o a Polish dude on his big GS with his little ditty partner sat behind hm massaging his shoulders. That was surely a pretty good upgrade but Juile would not make a good rear seater. Instead of a shoulder massage it would be a good battering every 10 minutes for road misdemeanours.
Eventually, out of the port, it was time to get biking. Too long paddling around and too many kms in front of me. Some time was spent with small speed limits we finally got to +100kph speed limits and they were most welcome.
I had to take a decent bite out of the 1000km trip through Spain and I had booked a hotel at Monesterio about 100km north of Sevilla which was an awful bottleneck of traffic as many roads sought to get over that big river and one bridge. It was head down and munch the klicks, about 350 in total. At least it was now dry and finally the road developed into an autovia posted at 120kph but if did 130kph (knobs- pah!) that would be spot on 120kph real world value.
I managed to get lost around Jerez and when up her backside but these things can sometime happen. Not paying enough attention to the road signs. Back on the right side of Jerez, I would be hitting Sevilla at about 2.30, so the rush hour would not be full on but probably beginning to develop.
Spanish motorways are generally an absolute dream to be on, there is never much traffic and road behaviour is generally very good, much better than the UK. However, approaching the bridge it slowed and slowed still it was stop start. A few motorcyclists were filtering but I didn’t want to give it a go I was a bit tired and didn’t really know how it would go down. Filtering requires you to be on you’re a+ game and I knew I was not there at the moment.
So, stop start for 20 minutes over the bridge and then out of the city when all of the traffic disappeared and we were back to 130kph and passing about 1 vehicle every 2 minutes.
I was most interested to see what Monesterio would be like. A little town in the middle of nowhere. But most interestingly, they had a museum dedicated to ham. I bet it smelt bloody awful, but I was not going to visit anyway. Clearly, they are big into ham here, probably a main industry for the area?
Turning up at my hotel, a nice roadhouse, with a café bar and shop. Hanging up in the shop was some pretty massive hams, ranging in price from 150 to 250 Euros, I was not going to attempt to get one home but clearly items of significant civic pride.
Sat in the café, families, young lads and old men all came in for a coffee or a beer after work and have a natter. I was getting hungry, and the tapas menu was making me all mouth frothy but I would have to wait till 8pm when they start cooking and people around here start to think about eating. Went up to my rood and had a biscuit starter and a little lie down. Trying not th think about food.
Generally, I find that there is no point in trying to speak English in Spain away from the tourist centres or perhaps at a hotel reception and it is quite fun to get by with Pidgeon Spanish, pointing and asking how to say things. People seemed to be very willing and forgiving teachers. So down for dinner and I asked advice on the tapas wanting 3 local tapas dishes. I was told to go for the Iberian ham (what a surprise), flavoured tato croquettes and the 10mm steak.
Well it was bloody marvellous and all the staff seemed pleaded that the honky had been satisfied. I slept well that night!
Day 19 Friday 31 October 2025 It just happened to be Halloween
The ferry from Spain to the UK had been a real difficulty to book. Either I would have to do two 600km days that are of mucho pain, or I would have to do less distance but find something to do on my way back through Spain.
I had taken the second option and today I would be heading off the motorway to have a look at Las Hurdes and end up at a camp site at Ciudad Rodrigo. This was the first Spanish city to be freed by the English during the Iberian campaign of the Napoleonic wars. I’m sure I would be greeted like a hero! It was cold and threatening to rain as I got ready to go so on with the wet weather gear that had a rather bad tendency to flood ones nether regions with water should the rain get too hard, but hopefully this would not happen.
It spitted a bit on the motorway but everything was OK if a but grey. I was not used ot this kind of weather in Spain, it was usually boiling hot and sweaty but I did have to remind myself that we were one day away from November. VAA needed a bit of tape up work after her scrren came loose butsuch is the problems of being a hard bugger
Turning off the road it was nice to dial down the pace and have a good stare at the landscape. Clearly it had been scorched by the summer but new moisture was beginning to revive the landscape.
Towns were a rare thing and in front of me I could see the beginning of Las Hurdes, a mountainous area in Extremadura, on of the 17 autonomous comminates of Spain. Of course, mountains attract rain like piss-heads to a curry house so it began to get heavier and heavier as I got higher into the mountains. The place reminded me of Scotland in many ways, lots of evergreen woodland on the side of steep mountains but every now and again there would be an olive grove which wasn’t really very Scottish at all! The extent of rain was quite Scottish though. Very bloody Scottish.
For a couple of hours we carried on and eventually, I had to make decisions. I was pretty wet and camping in such a state was probably going to be a bit miserable, I could decamp out of the mountains and join the motorway and see if I could find lodging somewhere around Salamanca, somewhere that whenever I have been past has baked me. I was holding onto that image because my fingers were getting a bit cold despite the heated grips on full power.
The mountain roads, had they been dry, would have been a real blast but I was taking it carful, wet, cold and easily distracted was not a good combination so I slowly made my way down out of the mountains and the rain eventually slowed.
Back on the motorway, I stopped at a servo and had a look at where I might be able to stay at Salamanca. I reasonable place to the north of the city was selected and I was all ready to go. However, it continued to rain and I got them impression that this would be the case for the rest of the day which it was.
It didn’t take long to get there and the place was very similar to the place the night before but when the Guida Cavils Transport turned up with guns hanging off them and had an after pint work was making sure I was not going to make eye contact with them for a fear of a ‘did you spill my pint; episode getting a bit deadly.
I had an average meal, and the café/bar began to fill up with randy monks, sexy witches and excited kiddies because a Halloween party was going on. Oh great, let me get my devil costume on and enjoy, whatever. I was really hoping this party noise would not travel up to the 3rd floor where I was.
Obviously not, enjoy the party kiddies!
