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!
