Morocco, yet again


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Jan 15, 2005
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Kildare, Ireland
Finally I'm getting around to posting a report on last years trip to Morocco with Daithi (Dave) & ShortArse (Sam) :mmmm

Day 1

I won’t bore you with the gory travel details of our first day on the trip by quoting flight numbers, arrival times, etc. Suffice it to say that, though early, the flight to Marrakech was uneventful. Once there we had a bit of an ‘episode’ trying to extract Dirhams from a French-speaking ATM but with that resolved we were off to start our adventure proper.

Having decided on a bus, rather than taxi, to get us into town we paid the fare & dragged our stuff onboard. It was then, having spent more than an hour in the airport, that Dave decided he needed to use the convenience. He was only gone a couple of minutes when the driver took his place & started the engine. Myself & Sam tried to explain in pidgin French that our companion had not returned but this was greeted with a shrug of the shoulders. Luckily he had to turn the bus around among a plethora of seemingly abandoned taxis and by then we could see Dave ambling across the car park. Much calling & waving from the open door of the bus eventually got Dave to increase his pace to a fast amble and the bus was accelerating out onto the road by the time he hopped aboard.

The run into the city was pleasant enough and our seats at the front of the bus gave Sam & Dave an inkling of what riding in Morocco was going to be like – no lane discipline, a distinct lack of indicators, rearview mirrors unused with mopeds zipping through any gap, real or perceived, with the odd donkey & cart or pedestrian thrown in for good measure. Despite this our driver managed to get us to the main bus station without hitting anything. Result !

By now we were getting hungry and a small café at the entrance to the bus station was a welcome sight. We decided to check on times of buses to Ouarzazate first and lucky we did as there was one about to leave. We had just enough time to get tickets, stow our stuff in the locker and find a seat. While the bus wasn’t crowded, by Moroccan standards, we still struggled to find 3 seats and that was before it stopped a dozen times on the way out of the city to pick up more passengers. Traffic was quite heavy so we spent the first hour sweltering in a non-airconditioned bus in thirty odd degrees and were very relieved when we eventually picked up enough speed to generate a bit of airflow through the open windows.

The first part of the journey was across a flat plain with not much to see other than groves of trees interspersed with houses on either side. Soon though we were climbing up into the Atlas mountains, higher and higher, and the scenery became more stunning by the minute. Huge mountains reared up on either side with narrow valleys separating them and every now and again, far below, we’d see a small dwelling clinging to the steep sides of the valley with maybe a couple of square meters of crops hewn out of the rocks. Very few had anything like a road or track leading to them and relied on narrow winding footpaths for access. Not much hope of getting a new three piece suite and sideboard down to them, then.

By now we were starving, for food, liquid and nicotine, but there was no sign of us stopping. Dave thought he saw the driver smoking and thought ‘What the hell, I’ll have one too’ and proceeded to light up. Immediately people around him started to mumble and look at him aghast and it wasn’t long before the ‘conductor’ came down and make him put it out. But at least he’d had a few drags and killed some of the cravings.

After about two and a half hours travel we finally stopped in a small mountain village, so small it probably didn’t even have a name, which consisted of a couple of cafes strung along the side of the road and numerous hawkers accosting all and sundry. First order of business was to demolish a couple of cigarettes each before going in search of some grub. We no longer had enough time to wait for something to be cooked so decided on a quick cuppa after which Dave and Sam had their first introduction to the much maligned Moroccan ‘drop’ toilet. Both survived the experience, but only just ! We grabbed some biscuits, crisps and water and then it was time to jump back on the bus to complete our journey.


Upon arrival in Ouarzazate we phoned Peter of and within a few minutes he had picked us up and whisked us back to his place. Peter and his wife Zenab run a B&B, mainly for bikers, while Peter runs escorted bike tours of the more inaccessible areas of southern Morocco and does a bit of bike hire too. We had arranged to rent two XR250’s and an XR600 for our weeks tour. There were already a number of others in Bikershome when we got there and together we worked our way through a mountain of food that Zenab had prepared for us.


Before leaving home we’d done a fair bit of research into possible routes and places we wanted to see. This combined with my admittedly limited Morocco experience formed the basis of what, in an ideal world, we’d like to do during the next seven days. We discussed this with Peter after dinner and he added a few more ideas as well as putting together a ‘suggested’ GPS route on his PC for us. I knew from previous experience that it was unlikely we’d stick rigidly to it. We were on holidays after all and didn’t want to be stuck with a regimented plan, ‘It’s Friday so we need to be in Blah’ kinda thing, rather enjoy the ride and sights and do what felt right at the time. And how right I was !

Finally, suitably fed and watered, we hit the sack at the end of our first day and slept well past our intended waking time !

Day 2

Our original plan had been to get organised the night before for an early getaway but a long day and a route discussion that went on until quite late meant we had it all to do this morning. We started by wiring up the 250’s to provide power for the GPS’s as well as for phone and general battery charging (Dave’s helmet cam eats batteries) and then distributing and stowing the tools, spares and first aid kit. By this stage it was midday so we went into town to fuel the bikes and ourselves before hiting the road. We headed east towards Skoura for a few klicks before turning north towards Demnate. Our initial research had led us to believe this was going to be piste but we’d since discovered it was now tarmac all the way. Never mind, it looked an interesting route and we had plenty of piste organised for later in the trip, hadn’t we ?


The first part was across a flat plain and we used the time to get comfortable on the bikes – trying the brakes, acceleration and generally messing about as the realisation that after months of planning and waiting we were finally off and motoring. Although he’s only slightly younger that me Dave is just a big kid and you could see the grin even under his helmet. We stopped just before we started ascending the first hills for a cigarette and to answer the call of nature and the lad was as giddy as anything. It took several cigs before Sam and I felt it was safe to let him back on the bike ! Every time we stopped for the first couple of days and that was often, let me tell you, Dave would say ‘Lads, we’re riding in Morocco. I never thought I’d make it to Africa. This is BRILL !’ And myself and Sam would just smile and say ‘Yes Dave’.


Suddenly the tarmac stopped and we thought ‘this is more like it’. Dave was up on the pegs and away. We followed at a more sedate pace and after a couple of hundred meters we hit tarmac again. What we thought was ‘piste’ was just a river crossing where the bridge had been washed away in last years unusually heavy rains. The road continued to rise and wind its way along a valley before cresting the saddle and dropping down into the next valley. The scenery was stunning, changing with almost every turn in the road, and we spent a lot of time stopping to take pictures and, of course, squeezing in the odd cig.




The surface was generally excellent and there was no traffic except one decrepit old Transit that would pass us every time we stopped and we’d then repass it on the next incline. By the end of the day we were almost on first name terms with the driver and his passengers. We had uphill and downhill hairpins and lots of lovely sweeping bends to negotiate and found that with the lack of grunt from the 250’s corner speed was everything. We had to work hard to keep up enough momentum so that Sam wouldn’d get too bored on the 600 and had to let him lead from time to time to let him have a bit of fun.

Later on we passed through a valley where a lot of damage had been done by the rains and piles of stones and gravel still lay across much of the road. A road crew was working further on trying to repair some of the damage but without any plant other than an old truck it was going to take them some time. Any time we passed a road crew in the mountains we’d soon come across their camp – a few shelters made of sheets of plastic draped over some poles and this at a height that was still prone to frost at night !



The sun was seriously low in the sky by the time we reached Demnate and abiding by the first rule of travel in Morocco – don’t travel after dark ‘cos of the risk of dogs lying on the warm tarmac, pedestrians in dark clothing, wandering livestock and donkey carts, mopeds, cars and even trucks with no lights – we decided to hole up for the night. We’d managed only 100km in over five hours but knew that a full day riding would see us covering decent ground even though cruising at anything over 100kph was putting too much stress on the little 250’s.

Not having any recommended hotels logged in the GPS for Demnate we decided to go with the only one listed in Lonely Planet. In fact Café d’Ouzuid appeared to be the only one in town and we only found it after much searching as the sign outside was missing the bit after ‘café’. With hindsight we’d have been better off not finding it and taking our chances riding in the dark but we didn’t know that yet. We were shown three rooms with a bed each and extra blankets. There was a toilet at one end of the corridor and a shower at the other end. What more could we want ? It was only later when we’d hauled our stuff upstairs and changed out of our bike gear that we discovered there was no hot water, the toilet was like the Black Hole of Calcutta, the mattresses were softer than rice pudding and there were no sheets, just three dirty blankets and the café served no food !


Our dinner that night consisted of a pitta bread filled with bits of sausage, tomatoes and onions from a roadside stall. I found it quite tasty, hunger being great sauce, and had a second helping but Sam had enough with one and we later discovered Dave had discretely dropped his sausage bits in the gutter. After staying up as late as we could, drinking coffee and mint tea, we went to bed with our clothes on and rose again at first light. Luckily it was only then that I discovered the used condom under my bed. Dave said there was loads more on the canopy under his window and we came to the conclusion this was the local ‘knocking shop’. By the time the owner surfaced to unlock the front door we were packed and raring to go, steadfastly refusing breakfast.

Day 3

Our first stop this morning was planned for the Cascades d’Ozouid, a picturesque waterfall that was the local tourist attraction. We figured on having a quick look and a bite to eat before heading on but the weather was good and the area was pleasant so we decided to kick back a bit. We parked up outside a small café which already contained two French bikers who were heading south on their Transalps and we chatted to them while we dispatched a couple of cokes and numerous cigarettes. It was going to be another hour before food was ready so we went off to see the sights first. The falls themselves are actually a small stream diverted into several cascades which drop about 100m into a series of pools surrounded by cafes. After the obligatory pictures we enjoyed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice while having the craic with two local musicians who serenaded us as we drank.



Back at the café the tagine was finally ready and very good it was too, especially as we hadn’t eaten much in the last 24 hours. We polished off all of it and all the fresh bread served with it and then it was tea and coffee time again. While perusing the map we decided that continuing along the valley we were in would be more interesting than heading back to the main road and we could make a more circuitous route to our next destination with the possibility of finding some piste on the way. The two valleys we travelled through were stunning for both the views and the largely traffic free winding roads. We were now looking for a piste which was shown on the map but despite several attempts we failed to find it. We’d just about given up when we spotted a track zigzagging it’s way up a hill on the other side of the valley.



By pinpointing several buildings below it we managed to find our way to it and spent two hours riding a great little trail. We rode around a dozen hairpin bends, with bumpy stony straights in between before we reached the summit and had a great view back across where we’d come from. And then it was over the top and down the other side. The descent was more gradual and therefore longer and it had everything from soft sandy sections to sheets of rock, gravel and washouts. We passed several groups of people who appeared to live beside the track in tents while they herded their sheep and goats. To say they looked incredulously at the little bikes riding along ‘their’ track would be an understatement.

All too soon we were back on level ground and tarmac and the scenery around us had changed too. We were now in a much more populous, very verdant area of orange groves fed by a massive irrigation system which brought water over the mountain in a pipe bigger than any I’d seen before. We stopped in Afourer for another cuppa and noticed that the combination of the irrigation and a nearby hydroelectric project seemed to be providing a better standard of living for it’s inhabitants. They were all better dressed and had better mopeds and cars than most places we’d been and our bikes attracted much less attention than normal, even from the young fellas.


Although it had already been a long day and the sun was heading for the horizon we decided we’d do the last 60km over the mountains to Azilal where we had a recommended hotel. The road rose steeply around well surfaced hairpins and the little 250’s wheezed their way upwards. Oh, to have my GS under me ! As we climbed the views across the plain below showed how extensive the irrigated area was. Once around into the next valley the scenery changed back to the normal dry Moroccan landscape but this time there was a sizable river running along the bottom. Further on a large dam stretched across the valley – apparently the source of the hydroelectric & irrigation systems. The dam obviously had significant strategic value as it was heavily guarded by armed soldiers and no photography was allowed.


From here there was just one more ascent and descent during which we took a few sunset pictures and it was almost dark as we rode into Azilal. Despite the GPS we couldn’t locate the hotel and when we asked someone he pointed next door but said it had closed down. We had spotted a place on the way into town and now returned there. It appeared to be fairly new and turned out to be clean with friendly staff and even hot water. After a shower & a pleasant dinner it was time to get the head down for a good kip while a security man minded our bikes outside.

Day 4

Remember what I said earlier about plans changing ? Well today they did, big time. We were already considerably behind where we had thought we would be by now but we were still on the original route. Todays plan was about 200km of mainly piste through the mountains to Imilchil but then we woke to Irish weather – dark grey skies with the threat of rain and a much lower temperature than previously. Part of our route would bring us to almost 3000m and having had an unpleasant experience with snow at the top of the Todra Gorge the previous year I was reluctant to head into such a remote area with minimal wet/cold weather clothing.


So we hedged our bets and decided on a loop to the south to see Ait Bou Gomez valley & leave ourselves the option of returning to Azilal via a short blast if it proved necessary. As soon as we started climbing it got much colder and soon we were in the clouds with visibility down to less than 50m. Frequent stops were required to warm ourselves up. Once into the next valley we dropped below the cloud and were once again able to take photos of the beautiful scenery. I’ve seen Ait Bou Gomez described in a guide book as a little piece of the Himalayas which is probably not far off. It’s certainly different to much of the rest of Morocco.


The well surfaced tarmac road winds its way along at maybe 200m from the valley floor and you look down at the houses with their small patches of arable ground, people working them by hand or with donkeys depending on the size and the obligatory herd of goats clambering across the hillside. A very peaceful & beautiful place which I’ll certainly visit again.




The next valley brought us to the start of the piste. This is serious hiking country and the string of villages along the river make the most of it with signs everywhere for gites and guides. Non-powered movement is not really our cup of tea so we kept motoring. There was a new bridge being built at the far end of the valley with several trucks and graders nearby so the piste will probably be tarmaced before too long which is a shame but that’s progress for you.


Once again we climbed out of the valley and were soon back in thick cloud. As the temperature dropped the hail started. I felt turning back was probably the best decision but Dave, thinking it was sand being blown at him, continued on his merry way. It was only when he stopped to admire a lump of ice at the side of the track that I was able to tell him it was hail and we needed to get lower. Shortly afterwards we came across a road grader assisted by a man with a shovel who told us the next village was only seven km away. Yeah, maybe as the crow flies but it was considerably further by road. As we started to descend the hail turned to light rain but the temperature rose to compensate. We were very glad to eventually see the village and lost no time in getting ourselves into what looked like the only café in town as the entire male population gathered around. At least we knew our stuff would be safe left on the bikes. After several glasses of “Berber whisky” to heat us up we decided to make a dash back to Azilal before the rain started again.

It was about 18km back but we made it in record time. Our first stop was the closest restaurant for a late lunch. We’d no sooner sat down than there was a loud rumble of thunder and the skies opened. We ended up having numerous courses while we waited for the downpour to stop. Eventually it eased up & we made our way back to last nights hotel where the staff were surprised to see us again.


Day 5

The following morning it was still raining & surprisingly cold. A quick committee meeting was held & we decided to head south as quickly as we could to try to get some dry roads and maybe even some sunshine. As soon as the rain eased we headed back towards Afourer & the P24, the main road between Marrakech & Fes, where we stopped for fuel & food. On through Beni-Mellal, past Kasba Tadla before turning onto the P33 towards Zeida. This section took us across a high plain with very few houses but plenty of side winds. Progress was slow on the 250’s but we just kept plugging away only stopping for cigarette breaks. At Zeida we turned south towards Midelt.

In Midelt we stopped again, this time to extract some cash from an ATM. It was getting late in the day & the sky ahead was looking very grey & dark. Just then two guys came up to us saying they knew of a clean, cheap place to stay. Decision made, we were staying in Midelt. One of the guys, Samir, went off to borrow a bicycle to guide us to our accommodation. He led us down some narrow streets before stopping in front of what looked like an ordinary house. It was much larger inside than it looked with numerous bedrooms on the first floor. Run by a little old lady and her grandson it was indeed clean & cheap with a huge garage for our bikes. We changed our of our bike gear before Samir led us into town for a look around the market and to get some dinner. He brought us to a restaurant where he knew the owners and over dinner told us he spent most of his time as a guide around Zagora & in the mountains. He introduced us to some other guys who came in for coffee and we spent quite a while listening to their tales of living in the mountains near Imilchil and how they go on three month camel caravans to trade some of their goods (carpets, jewellery, etc) in the big towns in the lowlands. Of course this was all leading up to something & soon we were in his uncle’s place looking at carpets. “You don’t have to buy, just look, we’ll still be friends whatever you decide” we were told. And in fairness it was all very relaxed with tea & chat while we looked at carpet after carpet, each nicer than the last. In the end Sam & I bought a small one each to bring home. A thoroughly enjoyable evening was had by all of us.

Day 6

Up early & away south, past Rich and through the Gorge du Ziz, with numerous photo stops, and on through Er Rachidia. The sun was now shining and although we were still up in the hills it was quite warm. We stopped in Erfoud for lunch before heading once more towards our goal, Erg Chebbi, the large sand dunes near Merzouga.



We were within sight of the dunes when we stopped one last time for a smoke and to listen to Dave who wanted to ride down the old (unsealed) road to the hotel. We were just pulling away again when I thought my bike felt very strange. I stopped & noticed the rear tyre was flat. Luckily enough it hadn’t happened while we were riding along . Without a centre stand we had to lift the back of the bike onto a bit of Armco close by before Sam set to work. Apart from the 2 young girls herding goats along the other side of the road and the Moroccan family who were passing on bicycles and on foot but stopped to watch the shenannagans it was just like a racing pitstop – wheel off, tyre off, tube out, too damaged to repair, new tube in, tyre back on, wheel in, adjust chain, pack up and away. If it wasn’t for Sam myself & Dave would probably still be sitting there !


The last few miles were ridden on sandy piste and soon we were at Kasbah Mohayut a lovely friendly spot I’d stayed in the last time. They’d extended it with more rooms & a swimming pool. We got one of the new rooms, complete with lounge area & a roof terrace, very posh. Last time I’d been here it was early January and the place was almost empty. We had dinner on our own with two SuperSer heaters fighting a losing battle against the cold. This time the place was full & all the windows were open to let a bit of a breeze in. After dinner we sat on the roof terrace for a while looking at the amazing array of stars in the desert sky before retiring at a respectable hour.

Day 7

The following morning was our earliest start of the week. By seven thirty we were out in the dunes, playing in the sand. Riding in sand is an acquired skill and, unfortunately, I still haven’t acquired it. The previous year I’d struggled with the 1200 & now I was still struggling on the 250. On the stuff with a bit of a crust it wasn’t bad but on the soft stuff (usually on the descent from a dune) I was paddling with my feet until I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. Dave got on a bit better but also found it hard work while Sam flew around like he was born to it. Maybe, we reasoned, the extra power a 600 was better in sand than a 250 but realistically I think it was more to do with the rider. After a couple of hours we were all knackered & headed back for a late breakfast, after which we loaded the bikes & were on the road again before midday.



Back through Rissani to Erfoud for a tea break and on towards Tinerhir. We had considered heading to Alnif & taking the piste to Tinerhir but time was moving on & after our early morning exertions we just wanted a handy run over. Arriving in Tinerhir in the late afternoon we found a hotel, changed out of our bike gear & I did a bit of washing before we headed downstairs for a coke by the pool. Later on we walked into town & had a potter around the shops, buying a couple of phone chargers and some candy almonds. We found a little restaurant at the back of the main square where we had brochette & chips and then got a taxi back to the hotel.


Day 8

Our last day on the bikes ! We had tried to extend the rental & reduce out time in Marrakech but they were booked by someone else so we needed to get back to Ouarzazate this evening. And we still had the Todra & Dades gorges to do. So straight after our early breakfast we were on our way up the Todra gorge. It was another beautiful morning which necessitated numerous photo stops on the way up.


We went past the end of the gorge to the next village before stopping for a cigarette. While there Dave found a log to play on, getting the sumpguard stuck on the log and throwing up dirt & dust in a huge plume. Children must play !


On the way back down we spotted a herd of goats scrambling down an almost vertical incline. We stopped to watch this feat & then spotted the young shepherd taking almost the same route. When he got down to the road we realised he was only about 8 or 9 years old and for some reason his trainers had the toes cut off. He was mesmerised by the bikes & asked us what various buttons, switches & levers were for. Dave showed him the GPS which bamboozled him altogether. We tried to explain in pidgin French/English/Berber what it was for & he went away nodding but I’m not sure he really understood. I doubt he’d even seen a map before.


Shortly before getting back into the gorge itself we pulled off the road & crossed a small stream to a café on the other side. A couple of coffees & a Berber whisky and we were on our way again. Some of the roads in the gorge had been badly damaged by the rain the previous November but were still, just, passable by cars & vans.



Once back in Tinerhir we took the road to Boumalne Dades & the turn off to the Dades gorge. I hadn’t managed to get here the previous year and I was really looking forward to it. The gorge itself is not as narrow, and therefore not as spectacular, as the Todra but the road out the far end is stupendous. It rises sharply through a series of hairpin bends to a bit of a plateau. The surface is smooth & you can see what, if anything, is coming down the next straight towards you so you can use the whole road to fling the bike round the corner before dropping a gear and powering up the next straight. Great fun but even better on a GS, I imagine. Lunch was taken in the restaurant at the top with a Swiss group of BM riders, most of whom were on GS’s but some were on R’s & RT’s.


After lunch it was back down the gorge & onwards to Ouarzazate.The main road is not the most exciting on the planet, especially on a 250, but we were able to look longingly at the mountains in the distance. We did stop once to have a last play off-road but given our early start & the fact that the sun was getting low in the sky we didn’t spend too long messing. The GPS brought us straight back to Bikershome where Zenab had another big feed waiting as soon as we were showered & changed.

Day 9

After a good nights sleep we spent the morning undoing all our electrical works on the bikes & packing our gear. Dave had to visit the local dentist (not as dodgy an experience as one might imagine) so Sam & I took the opportunity to get our hair cut. Soon after we were on the bus heading to Marrakech. It was considerably more crowded than on the way out but we managed to find seats. A couple of hours later we were back in the centre of Marrakech & found ourselves a room in Hotel Ali, right on Djemma El Fnaa square. It’s more a backpacker place than a 5* hotel but it’s right in the centre of things & suited our purposes perfectly.



We spent that night, the following day and our last night wandering around the souk buying last minute presents & dining from some of the many stalls that are set up in the square each evening. There were also snake charmers, magicians & various other entertainers around the place to keep everyone amused.


And then it was off to the airport & back home to reality. A brilliant week spent with two kindred spirits having ‘the craic’. What more could anyone ask for ? We’re already planning next year when, hopefully, we’ll have more time and maybe even our own bikes.

I love this's just a classic situation everyone who's ever been over there will know !! :D:thumb2

Incoming!!! :D

Just read over this again, still can't believe I had that much fun. What a
brilliant thing to do. Thanks again for the trip, and the write-up. :clap

I love this's just a classic situation everyone who's ever been over there will know !! :D:thumb2

Incoming!!! :D

Yeah, it was a very traumatic time for me, well there were a lot of them and they don't look as scary in the pic. :eek:
Defo going to carry a load of small change and sweets next time.
Yeah, it was a very traumatic time for me, well there were a lot of them and they don't look as scary in the pic. :eek:
Defo going to carry a load of small change and sweets next time.

Oo now that's a hard one....probably worth exploring in another thread but although I've done it (we took thousands of little gifts, balloons pens etc out to Africa on the first one in the vintage Landies a few years ago.....I wouldn't do it again and we advise customers against it on the Moto Morocco tours.

It encourages begging- that can't be good :(

If you go through a village that's very rarely visited, they come and greet you and are really interested in you, the bike etc and just want to say's very obvious when you go through a place that sees lots of foreigners 'cos they immediately start asking for money, bon-bons, stylos etc- the rush to get to the bikes can even be quite dangerous sometimes ! :(

We now tend to say hello and don't give them anything, unless it's just a tic tac to break the ice or something- as soon as it's settled down a bit, you can have a good chat, sit them on the bike , take a pic and thrill them by showing them their own pic etc.

The exceptions are when we're really high up or in the really isolated places where some aspirin etc is greatly appreciated and needed- or even a t shirt or something, and the culture there is more about helping someone and sharing rather than charity (we've had people sharing food and water with us so it just feels right that way)

Thanks for that Bill, and I do see exactly what you mean, maybe just the sweets ? :thumb2 :thumb2
Excellent write up:thumb2

I look forward to reading your next one.

One more post and you're there, c'mon, You Can Do It !


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Quarzazate is great place to start the ride from, how much did the 600 cost to hire?
Are tools and spare ( tubes, spark plug etc.... ) supplied ?

Nope. We brought a couple of tubes & a puncture repair kit in addition to stuff like bulbs, split link, etc. The tools we brought were basic enough but included tyre levers :bounce1

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