Moto Maroc Sept 2010 - Salaam and thanks for all the fish

[Riz Sauvage]

Hey there, thanks Yes, feel free to borrow a picture

 

[Shadwell]

Hey there, thanks Yes, feel free to borrow a picture

as long as you put it back when you finish with it

 

[Toad]

A really great report so far. Big thanks for writing it....

When's the next instalment?

 

[Ash]

Excellent report

 

[Riz Sauvage]

September 18th - The long haul up North

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Yesterday we had been on the road for 7 hours, and had made about 50 miles, not good.
As I sat in the dark, waiting for the 6am redbush to boil, I knew we had some ground to make up.

Our ferry from Ceuta had been pre-booked for the 20th, back to Algeciras, and likewise, our ride back aboard Brittanys' finest, was set to sail on the 24th, from St Malo.
The skies looked dark over Marrakech, and only marginally lighter towards Tinerhir.
My original route was to have taken me from the Cascades d'Ouzoud, up the N8 to Kasba Tadla, a loop round from El-Ksiba on the R317, to El-Kebab, then through to Mrirt, and across to Meknés, via the R712.
Anyway, as I sat drinking tea, and boiling my breakfast-in-a-bag, I knew this was now out of the question due to weather and time constraints. I also knew that we needed a break, we'd been riding non-stop, since we left home, with breaks only to camp. With several thousand miles yet to ride, and in a fairly short timeframe, I decided that we should push on, to try and reach Chefchaouen by nightfall.

It's a hefty 585 miles away, and will take a good haul to get there, so we break camp early, and are on the road to Errachidia by 7am.

My boots and gear are still soaking from yesterdays floods, by 11am we make Goulmina, and stop for a leg stretch. We're back in warmer climes, and the wet boots, having dried, are now becoming damp with sweat.

We've made good time, and while the river crossings are still present, the flow of water is nowhere near as turbulent as it was yesterday. All in all, we've amassed a staggering 16 crossings, all without incident.

Coming out of the mountain pass at Zebzat, the wind nearly blows me over the edge as I stop to take a picture, Jason and Darren have gone ahead to Midelt, as I got tied up taking pictures of a family on donkeys back in Nzala, and wanted some solo time.
But now, a couple of clicks short of Midelt again, and the wind was howling across the open plains, but at least the sun was out...
It was hot, and lunch was just around the corner.

I found Jason and Darren at a roadside cafe as I entered the town, so there we stopped for the hour, incidentaly, the only long break we'd have that day.
We were so hungry, that we had double portions of chicken brochettes, with peppered onions and tomatoes, and a barrel of cokes.
Fed, and with water and fuel replenished, we hit the road for Chefchaouen.

It pained me to ride this hard, as there was so much I had wanted to see, but riding styles, and weather conditions had played a large part in eating into trip time, and if I was to spend a day relaxing, and drying out in Chefchaouen, it was going to have to be full steam ahead, as there were several hundred miles miles to go.

I had planned to head up the N13, this would take us through Azrou, Meknes, Sidi-Kacem, Ouazzane, and over the Rif, hopefully without incident, and allowing us to make good headway.

As it happened, we made excellent progress, with all three of us knuckling down, and getting on with the ride. We hit Meknes in good time, and Jason who was riding point, pulled over to get a melon for this evenings desert.

We'd not long passed through Sidi-Kacem and my eye caught the RID, it showed 1 bar... Bugger, we were still a way off Ouazzane, and there didn't seem to be much in between, and instead of doing the logical thing, and heading back for fuel, I pushed on, the Garmin not being too specific about the location of any nearby garage.
20 miles later, and with the warning light showing amber, I find a fuel stop, only to find that they're out of unleaded, so onwards we go.

After our run of recent bad luck, fortune smiled on us, as I found a welcome Afriqué station around Áin-Defali. This place was right in the middle of nowhere, yet the forecourt had several large coaches parked on it, disgorging western looking tourists, who once again stared agog as the three of us caked in mud rumbled in, hastily fuelled, and rumbled out again..
All the time feeling secretly pleased that we were doing the trip the rough way.

We finally made Ouazzane by nightfall, and with a little over 60 miles through the Rif mountain passes in the dark, it was going to be a while still, before we made Chefchaouen.
The road surface was no more rougher than it had been on the Ketama side, however, it was frequently broken by roadworks that directed us off onto the gravel detours.
I rode point, Darren behind me, with his HID lamps blinding oncoming traffic, causing them to turn their brights on me, and Jason bringing up the rear.

We'd broken rule 24, which was "don't ride at night."
The oncoming traffic drove as erratically at night, as it did in daylight, and despite the pitch dark, many of them drove with no headlights. How we made it to Chefchaouen without incident, I'll never know.

We made the campsite at Chefchaouen at 9:30pm, We booked in, and started to unload the gear. We'd made it, and could have the whole day here tomorrow to relax, and explore the town, something we didn't do the first time we arrived. Hopefully Shad would meet us here before we leave on Monday for Ceuta.

Darren looks decidedly dejected, and pitches his tent away from myself and Jason. I suspect he's reached the end of his rope for the day, and needs some space, so we leave him be.
My feet are soaked, and after a 14 hour ride look like prunes, furthermore, I can't walk properly, they hurt like hell from being cooped up in the Vectors all day.

Looking back on it now, it was a very "Nick Sanders esqe" day, a long slog by anyones standards, and not the best way to travel, but the upside was that we had won back 2 nights, and a whole day of rest, thankfully a gamble that had paid off.

Jason and Myself fired the Coleman up, and cooked Chicken curry and sponge pudding for desert. I grabbed a hot shower, and just sat under the hot water, completely worn out.
Across the way, there was a group of six English bikers, all on lightly packed KTM's and a couple of Tenerés, they were loud and brash, and I took an instant disliking to them, loud, cliquey, "know-it-all" types, and one braying turnip who obviously loved the sound of his own voice...

I was not to be proven wrong.

As I finished my redbush, and rolled another smoke, I heard the braying turnip ask this of his vegetable friends..

<span style="font-style:italic;">"I know it can be dodgy to drink the water in this country, but is it safe for me to brush my teeth with?"</span>

 

[barneydinosaur]

>>I heard the braying turnip ask this of his vegetable friends..

"I know it can be dodgy to drink the water in this country, but is it safe for me to brush my teeth with?" <<


I'm really hoping that at this point you quietly wondered over and said:

"I'd advise against it for the same reasons as for drinking the stuff but in situations like this seasoned desert and Dakar riders use their own piss..."

 

[Riz Sauvage]

September 19th - Chefchaouen and the curio shop

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A lay in today, although you could hardly call 8 am much of a lay in...
The bladder had dragged me from the tent in the early hours, but thankfully had not impeded my ability to drift back off to sleep afterwards.
What a great feeling on waking, knowing that there wasn't a mad dash to be off anywhere. That wasn't to say that there wasn't anything to do. Laundry needed washing, bikes needed checking, and Chefchaouen needed exploring...

Allah, Hu Akbar, Alaaaaaaaaah, hu Akbaaaaaaar..
By now, this had been a familiar sound in Morocco, but here in Chefchaouen, it seemed to be coming from loudspeakers all over the hillside, and with a higher pitched harmony joining in too. A symphony of praises for sweltering heat, poverty, dusty roads, and Marijuana..

I'm all for religious differences, but I couldn't help feeling as if this was one that brainwashed it's followers into ritualistic routines, rather than allowing them freedom to praise their God in their own time and way.

Omellettas Éspanol was on the cards for breakfast again, and a baker delivering fresh unleavened bread to the cafe on site slipped me a loaf gratis! Salaam Aleikum, blessings upon him

The day was largely spent washing and drying clothes and relaxing in the sun. We had made plans to head down into town for a recce of sorts later in the afternoon, after everything was ship-shape for tomorrows haul over the mountains to Cueta, and the date with our 2pm ferry back to Spain.

The sextuplet of ignorant British sightseers on their small scramblers had vacated the campsite, and the sunny afternoons peace and quiet was only broken by the occasional faux cough, followed by a Berber face dangling a bag of grass over the wall behind us, obviously assuming that all tourists are hooked on sweet Mary Jane.
We had given up ignoring the coughs, and now all hacked in unison, like demented tuberculosis sufferers... The face soon disappeared.

The peace was soon to be broken however, by the familiar sound of Shads GS coming into sight.
Fantastic, he'd ridden non-stop from Marrakesh to get here, so bar Alan, who was still at the Riad Alma, we were all together again, and after Shad struck up camp, we wondered off down into town to explore.

Chefchaouen is a great place to wander around in, there's a happy mix of new and old wares for sale, along with a vibrant fresh produce market, and more than enough eateries to satisfy the most insatiable palette.

I was on the lookout for a gift to bring home, and not long after buying a stunning throw, got waylaid by the owner of a curio shop, who dragged me through the back alleyway to a tardis of a shop in the old Medina.
To be fair, it was all a "hard sell" ploy, and I'd bought what I needed anyway, but the place was awesome, full of rugs and other antiquities, along with a weaver making carpets and rugs to order.
We stayed and browsed the shop, more out of politeness and interest than wanting to buy anything, but it was refreshing to see another real Moroccan shop, as so many we came across had been distinctly Westernised.

Browsing done, we found a street side restaurant, and ordered the inevitable brochettes and half a chicken each. Cheap food, well cooked, not much else to say about it.

We headed back to camp, being stopped several times along they way by calls to smoke spliffs and have "good times", all of which we ignored.
The steep climb back up the hill took its toll on my chest, it had only been 5 days since the sternum and ribs parted company, and there was yet no sign of a "kiss & make-up"

We brewed hot drinks and chatted round the tents for a while, then hit the hay, tomorrow we head back to the continent, where Spain, France, and Oradour sur Glane await.

 

[Riz Sauvage]

September 20th - Leaving Africa - Crossing Spain

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We were up early, as we had a long day ahead of us. The ferry was at 2pm, and when we got back to the continent, our plan was to make a break from Algeciras, and put as many miles as possible behind us, as I wanted to get to Oradour Sur Glane in France, which was quite a way off the route to St Malo, but it was a place I'd been promising to get to for over a year now, and with a little over 2000 miles left to ride, exploring Spain could wait for another time.

It had been raining during the night, and the roads out of Chefchaouen were wet, and not only that, the surfaces were as smooth as polished concrete, the result of heavy use. Coming down the mountain passes on the way to Tetouan, The Grand Wazoo was weaving across the roads as if there was ice about, it affected all of us, so we dropped our speed and took it easy all the way to the port, but the constant drizzle, and poor roads took their toll, and Darren's GSA hit the tar on a roundabout in Fnideq, sending him skating at least 25 foot down the road on his backside, and the black residue he was now plastered with, stood testament to the oil and mess on the roads.

Myself and Jason turned round, to help Darren, who was shouting at the driver he'd swerved to avoid, and was now drawing a crowd. A policeman asked me if everything was Ca Va, I relied Ca Va Bien, and helped the GSA back onto its wheels.
The bike was fine, but Darren had sprained his wrist, we set off with me bringing up the rear just behind the dirty Darren.

The border crossing was easy, one window to fill out a form, and another office to get it stamped, and we were back on Spanish soil, 20 minutes tops for all four of us.
We arrived at the ferry terminal with an hour to spare, parked the bikes in front of the kiosk, and walked to the garage nearby to stock up on sweets, chocolates and crisps... all healthy food.

We touched down in Spain, and were off the ferry by 3pm, and were keen to make headway through the country, so we could spend a day longer in France, we set off with Shad and Jason riding point, and myself and Darren bringing up the rearguard.
Shad and Jason peeled off onto the N340 towards Cadiz, missing the Sevilla off ramp, I couldn't be bothered to chase them down, so took the A381 followed by Darren, and opened the throttle.

We rode hard, and made Sevilla before Shad, minus Jason caught up with us, we continued on to just outside Fuente de Cantos, and stopped at a fuel station that had just closed to wait for Jason. Not able to reach him on the phone, I sent him a message letting him know where we were, and decided to hole up there for an hour, cook dinner on the forecourt, and plan where we go from here.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Time check: 8pm</span>

While cooking, we decide to break rule 24 again, the "don't ride at night" one, and make a joint decision to try and make it through to the border.... A tall order indeed, especially since we'd been on the go since 6am this morning already.

It's now 9pm, we're about to set off again, when Jason calls, he's a long way behind, just leaving Sevilla. He's crashed into two cars in town center, luckily he's not hurt, trying to filter, and forgetting his panniers, he's clipped one car, and bounced into a second, damaging the door as the bike's gone down, however, the owner seems more concerned about Jason, and ignores the damage, helping Jason up, and showing him an easy route out of Sevilla.
There's no chance he's going to make it up to us for at least 45 minutes, so we agree to ride on, and stop every 2 hours, for a break, hoping he'll meet up with us before we hit Merida, as of yet, he's not aware of our plan to ride through the night.

The motorways were deserted, and aside from getting chilly, the weather was good, but obviously by now, dark. At 120 kph I hit what Shad reckoned was the base of a traffic cone, and at that speed, it felt like I'd hit a curb. Coming up fast behind me, Shad hit it as well, which lifted both his wheels off the road. We stopped to check for tyre damage, and for any messages from our missing 4th member.

All bikes ok, but needing fuel, we leave the motorway at the N432, and find a closed station, and a text from Jason. I call him up, and let him know where we are, and that we'll wait, however, he misses us, and ends up ahead somewhere, we agree to push on, and try and join up in Merida.

It turns into a farce, we keep missing each other for the next few miles, and eventually, we meet up at an open fuel station at Mirandilla, where purely by chance, we come across our missing rider, who's had a mini experience here, but I'll let him explain.

<span style="font-style:italic;">Jason</span>

<span style="font-style:italic;">"I must have overtaken the guys on way to Merida. Stopped at a petrol station, freezing cold. I could see the highway from where I was parked so thought you guys might pass by and maybe pull in by chance. While I'm waiting this car pulls round to where I am, opens up the window and starts talking Spanish. I can't understand a word he is saying. It looks, or sounds like he saying I can sit in the car as its cold so I thought yeah why not I'm bloody freezing! Anyway he then says a few words in English....something about do I have a girlfriend or boyfriend....OMG the penny has dropped. I'm in a car with 'Guido the Killer Pimp' (quote Risky Business) Literally at that moment Darren's HIDs light up the sky like an angel coming to save me and it just so happened you had all decided to stop to refuel at the same station. I make a quick exit....phew!"</span>

So, we refuel, and run the plan by Jason about driving through the night, stopping every couple of hours for a break, I can see he's not happy, but goes along with it.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Time check: 11pm</span>

We set off again, and make as much headway as we can, stopping as agreed every couple of hours to have a hot drink, and for others to have a power nap.
Myself and Darren are getting by on strong coffee and Pro Plus caffeine pills, while Shad and Jason do the sensible thing, and get their heads down for a quick nap between rides.

The plan was to make it over the Pyrenees by daylight, but by 3:41 pm I had to concede, and admit that I'd run out of steam. I was dozing off while riding, and was dog tired. I think everyone was secretly glad that we decided to call time, in hindsight, it was a dangerous risk to have ridden for so long in the dark, and there was every chance someone could have gotten hurt, so we pull off the A62 around 20 miles short of Burgos, had we been better rested, I think we could have made the French border. As it was though, we pulled up in the parking area of a small industrial unit, unrolled the thermarests, and fell asleep next to the bikes

 

[lost@sea]

Well done Si keeping the suspense all the way to the end, I wont rub it in to much how I was still enjoying the delights of Marrakech, as it would only be another 2 days and I would be repeating my own bit of hell, and possibly my worst days riding through spain and almost thinking sod it.

 

[weewan]

Loving this r r thanks for sharing, next installment please

 

[Riz Sauvage]

September 21st - Spain, France, and spilled tea

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5:30am, I wake freezing cold, to answer natures call. Despite being fully clothed, with neck warmer and balaclava on, I should have dug the sleeping bag out. As it it was, Shad had been the only sensible one amongst us to do it, I had been reluctant to get too comfortable, and was suffering for it.
Still dark, and with everyone else still asleep, I hit the thermarest again, and doze for another 90 minutes.

7am, and we pack up and hit the road, dawn is just starting to break when we make Burgos. Shad peels off the A62, Myself, Darren, and Jason miss the off ramp, but soon find a truck stop and cafe ahead, and decide to stop for breakfast and a coffee.
The three of us are tired, there's tension between Darren and Jason, and I feel like I'm stuck in the middle, which was the last place I'd wanted to be.
I think we'd done well to be this tolerant for so long, but with a hard ride behind us, and little sleep, something was bound to give.

Myself and Darren chucked whatever euros we had left over from our first ride through Spain together, and bought teas and toasted sandwiches, while Jason sat dejectedly at the table.
Getting back to the table, Jason was struggling out of his waterproofs, and accidentally kicked the table, upsetting the drinks, and covering Darren, and my toasted sandwich with tea... (the proverbial straw and camels back I guess)

Darren blew up and moved to another table, Jason remained silent, looking even more woeful, and I contemplated leaving the pair of them, and getting on with my trip.
Darren had felt that Jason had been falling behind, and felt held back, Jason had felt left behind, and that no one had waited for him.
I guess the last two weeks of living in each others pockets had taken their toll. I felt awkward stuck in the middle, as I had planned the route, and felt responsible for the others, so I went to fuel the bike, and have a smoke in the sunshine.

Darren joined me, followed by Jason, who let us know that he couldn't go on anymore, and was going to make a break for Santander. I was sad to see him go, as we'd become good friends, but was glad that there would be less friction.
We all had our faults I guess, and it is hard to get an idea of personality and riding style differences before you embark on a trip with several strangers.

Darren and myself leave for the Pyrenees, while Jason heads to Santander to repatriate himself, in his words his trip pans out thus....

<span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jason</span>

"As for when we split....tired cold no sleep, in some serious need of me time. Santander is 100km west for some R & R or slog through France with the others.
Santander it is then. Pull up to some plush hotel, the nearest one to the port and walk in. I look Rough with a capital R. I guess I'm not their normal clientele. Anyway, check in, discard the beard and have the bath of my life. Spent the next couple of days acclimatising back to normality and walking the back streets in search of graffiti (a passion of mine) Santander did not disappoint! On day of return ( Thursday) I pull up to a cafe and literally ride the bike into the table. One espresso for me and one for the bike please. Before you know it I've drawn a crowd and am having my picture taken??? I guess people are drawn to those travelling especially on bikes. Its a nice feeling and puts a smile on my face. At the Ferry I meet Steve and Ewen...weird... We swap stories on the way back.
Get back to UK...its raining. Ride about half way back to London and stop at a remote petrol station. A couple pulls in. I recognise them...errr I just talked to them in a cafe in Santander...."</span>



Somewhere near Pancorbo, I swing into a fuel station for a smoke break, and to grab a snack, no sooner had I dismounted, when Shad stops, he'd been sleeping on the grassy bank for the last hour, and says he wouldn't mind another if we were stopping. No excuse needed, we buy some snacks, and fall asleep for 90 minutes in the sun.

We made it through to St Sebastian, and over the Pyrenees into France, and St Jean-de-Luz, where we decided to stop for the rest of the day, and holed up in the Larrouleta campsite, just off the D810. A nice place, clean, spacious, good facilities, almost too good for us that had been used to rougher sites these past few weeks.
As we parked the bikes, and English couple drove onto the pitch in front of us in the biggest RV I have seen, not only did the sides mechanically widen, but the guy drove a huge Harley out of a small door on the side. Private plates and everything, talk about a home from home.

After pitching camp, and having a hot shower, Shad & Myself, suitably dressed in shorts, vests, and flip-flops, rode the bikes into town to buy dinner.

Bread, real butter, olives, salamis and beer, washed down with plenty of reminiscing, and idle banter. It was nice to have had a short day on the road, and now we were in a position to relax, and enjoy the remainder of the trip.

Tomorrow we would push on through Bordeaux, to Limoges, and Oradour-Sur-Glane.

 

[Tonibe63]

Unfortunately after so many days/miles together and little sleep splits within a group are often bubbling under the surface just waiting for the final straw. Some people may have a little wish list of things to do on the trip which may be different to others, some may want to crack on whilst others have had enough etc etc. At the end of the day we are all over 18 with a cheque guarantee card and are paying for our own trip, so if it isn't what you want then explain it to the group and if that means splitting then so be it.
I know on our trip last year we were all feeling a bit depressed about the thought of a boring slog back up through Europe after such a fantastic time in Morocco. In the end we split in Spain (at just the right time) and met up again at Bilbao instead of blowing our brains out through France. It didn't spoil what was a fanstastic trip.

Thanks for report Riz, it's got me planning for 2011.

 

[Riz Sauvage]

@Tonibe
You're right, it was a bit of a come-down, riding through Europe after having such excitement over in Africa. I think we all took a lot away from this trip, little things that we can carry over for the next one.

Good luck with you're trip planning, I plan to take the Wazoo over to Tunisia for some desert solitude next year

 

[lost@sea]

solitude!!! is that what you think I am going to be tailing you all the way. I enjoyed the last trip to much.

 

[Riz Sauvage]

Hah hah, yeah man, true, You can ride with me anytime Hombre, you more than proved your mettle last time out

 

[Deleted account 211025001]

One of the best ride reports I've read on here, a great read on many levels - ta for taking the trouble

Andres

 

[Riz Sauvage]

One of the best ride reports I've read on here, a great read on many levels - ta for taking the trouble

Andres

Thank you for the kind words. It's been very enjoyable revisiting events and places through the writing, stay tuned though, as the journey is not yet over, and there will be some videos at the end to wrap the adventure up.

Si & the Grand Wazoo

 

[Riz Sauvage]

September 22nd - The foul sausage and Oradour-sur-Glane

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Well rested, we were packed and broke camp at 8am. The weather was typically English, and a far cry from the climates of Spain and North Africa we had been treated to.
We lit out of camp, and hit the N10 to Bordeaux.
It was a little over 300 miles to Oradour-sur-Glane, and I figured with a steady ride, we could be there by late afternoon.

Feeling peckish, I pulled over at a motorway service cafe at Lilaire, and went in search of food inside. ordering a mixture of salads, croissants, (which Shadwell was determined to call Krassonts), and a lovely looking French sausage.
The sausage was awful, it smelled foul, and seemed to be made up of intestines, or offal of some or other description. I've had sausages in various other countries, but this had to be the worst stinking sausage I'd ever come across, and even Daz, after taking a bite refused another helping.

Refuelling, and getting a caffeine fix, we were back on the motorway, and having passed through Bordeaux, we were heading for Angouleme. Tiredness hit all at once, and again, I found myself dozing off behind the bars, jerking awake suddenly, convinced I was on the wrong side of the road, and having no recollection of the last 10 miles or so.
We factored several roadside stops into the ride, to combat the fatigue of the last few weeks that was slowly beginning to take its toll.

Back at camp last night, Shad had heard that Alan had left Marrakesh, and was riding non-stop through to Cueta, had made Algeciras, and was blasting through Spain, very much the same way we had done, and was determined to catch us up before we got to St Malo in two days time.
Hats off to him, he's a great rider, and was very much missed on this last leg of the journey, and I reckon all of us were secretly hoping he'd pull it off.

The route through to Oradour was uneventful, and uninspiring, but I had always known that that would be the case. After Oradour, we could take a leisurely ride through the back roads to St Malo, but for now, I had a single minded purpose to get to this martyred village, and had convinced Shad and Darren that it was well worth seeing.

We arrived at Oradour-sur-Glane at 5:30pm, only to find that the village had closed at 5pm. Not to be deterred, Darren and myself jumped over the wall, and went exploring.
Within a few minuted, I was accosted by a French guide, who politely told me that the village was now closed. I pleaded my case that I had ridden several thousand miles to get here, and would be gone in the morning.
She took pity on me, and told me that they were locking the church up in 15 minutes, so I best see that first, thereafter, I was free to wander through the village, but needed to leave the same way I entered.

I felt incredibly lucky, not only was I eventually here, but we had the village to ourselves, not another tourist in sight, and with the sun just setting, it made it a truly humble, and unforgettable visit. Thank you Mrs French lady, whoever you were.

Darren and myself spent about 90 minutes walking around, taking pictures. Shad had elected to stay behind at the bikes, and to go off and recce a possible campsite for the evening.
Our visit at Oradour over, we headed out of town, through the back roads in the direction of Confolens, and Ruffec.
We found a superb campsite in the woods at Champagne-Mouton, and were greeted by the Dutch owner, who supplied us with Beer and fresh bread as we set up camp. A delightfull end to the day, and some gorgeous scenery. Darren and Shad retired to their tents at around 10pm, I had another redbush tea and a smoke, then, after not too much thought about it, went off to the "bloc sanitaire" and had a shave.

With much lathering and shaving, three weeks worth of beard disappeared in 10 minutes. I felt refreshed, and smiling smugly to myself, retired to write the daily diary.

Tomorrow, the plan is to be near Nantes, were we are to have lunch with Shads brother.

 

[Riz Sauvage]

Thread rating

I noticed that a couple of readers have rated the thread.
I want to thank you for doing this, as it's a nice bonus to see the appreciation of our adventure tales.
Thank you from all of us, for sticking with the story so far.

Later tonight, we'll hear from our intrepid Tenere riding companion, as he dashes to rejoin the group.

 

[Riz Sauvage]

Alan and the Tenére - Mission "Group catch-up"

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For the moment, I'll leave myself, (smugly beardless), Darren, and Shad in our tents, and fill you in on the whereabouts of the determined Alan, and his Yamaha.

Since getting to Marrakesh on the 17th to spend time with his girlfriend, he's been determined to rejoin the group, pushing himself possibly harder than us to do it. In his own words, I'll hand the pen over to him.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Alan</span>
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After the nightmarish experience of riding through Fez, I was not particularly looking forward to my ride to meet Jill through Marrakesh. As it turned out, the main roads through Marrakesh are fairly straight, and 6 lanes wide, so plenty of fun to blast through and have a bit of fun making use of what little power the bike had left, but also keeping a 360 degree look out for every other fool on the road. Once I got to the south side of the city where google maps had told me to be, (as I don’t use sat nav), things got very hectic. Getting caught up in all the motorised traffic as well as the horse drawn variety, in roads that were now becoming streets, then turning into back alleys of a maze within a maze.

After 30 minutes of battling everything, I finally admitted defeat and pulled up behind a taxi to get directions, even before I managed to get off the bike with my bit of paper, a very nice gentleman on a little scooter pulled up next to me offering his services for free, offering to get me to where I needed to be. Desperate, alone, hot, thirsty, hungry, and most importantly of all “stupid”, I believed him. Yet again I was going to ride in away I had never ridden before, whilst going at what felt like, and were, break neck speeds.
I followed this kind gentleman through what could be best described as a bustling packed market street full of people, which whilst on a scooter is fairly simple but not on a fairly large 660, and after 10 minuets of crushed toes and bashed mirrors we turn off this back street into a smaller street, where thankfully the Riad Alma was located. With a curt nod and thank you I start to unload, but this kind gentleman is standing looking expectantly for something more, so after some dashing, bartering, and “this is nothing to me, how is this going to help” I part with €5.

Instead of giving a long drawn out report on the next five days, I will just give the basic good, and not so good bits.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Riad Alma.</span>
Excellent could not have asked for, or booked a better place. Worth every penny and most needed after the time on the bike.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Eating.</span>
You have the basic street sellers, so with these, just use common sense. If it looks as if the tables are dirty and not many locals are eating, then move on.
The food stands that set up at night time in the main square are worth trying, but don’t use it as a main meal to fill you up.
The cafes and small eateries around the main square are more for the tourist. The food is ok but basic, the prices are what you would expect for a tourist trap.
The best food we had was going to some of the Riads, where there seemed to be proper chefs, rather than cooks, and far more pricey, but well worth it for an evening meal.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Places we visited.</span>
The main square, full of street vendors trying to use animals to make money from the tourist. The animals are not well looked after, and are abused to get them to perform. You make your own choice.

Jardin Majorelle gardens, Nice, but I am a bloke and there is not much to get my attention. I could walk round in 5 minuets Jill, 2 hours.
Tanneries, I have a strong stomach and the smell didn’t bother me too much until I got to the pit with the rotting chickens and hides laid on the top, that turned my stomach. For Jill it was all a little overpowering, even with mint placed under the nose.
We also visited a few of the tombs and old palaces. Yet again I am not the arty type but those into photography would love this.
The most relaxing place to visit was <a href="http://www.lesbainsdemarrakech.com">Les Bains De Marrakech</a> you have to book this a day or 2 in advance but it is definitely worth a visit, and book the hammam and massage after, I did not want to move away from the pool for a couple of hours.

<span style="font-weight:bold;">Getting about.</span>
We had no hassle, or even felt threatened walking about inside the main walls, it's worth getting lost within the maze of streets, as this will take you away from the more touristy attractions, and there are always taxis to get you back to a familiar place easily enough.
Things to be wary of
The kids giving you directions, they are always lying and just want your money. This is definitely once place where nothing is free. Don’t look to closely at the horses they are not in a great shape and many have open wounds.
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<span style="font-weight:bold;">Leaving Marrakesh, and rejoining the group.</span>

<span style="font-style:italic;">To start of with, thanks for the kind words Si, it was a great adventure and I couldn't have asked for a better leader, (and wing man, Shads).

As much as I was enjoying Marrakesh, I missed being on the bike, and in a group having a blast. It was soon time for me to leave, (21st), to start my journey home. I had been in touch with Shads by text, so I knew it was going to be a 10-hour ride to get me to Ceuta. I had checked out ferry times on the net and knew there were a couple of late ferries, but thought I would try for the 6.30pm crossing, giving me more time to get through Spain. (I will be keeping everything on Moroccan time as that is what I had been working to).

I said my farewells to Jill at 9am, after collecting my bike from the secure parking, and started my journey hoping to catch up with the others somewhere in Spain. But you will all know by now that is not going to happen.

Driving out of Marrakesh, and picking up the signs for Casablanca the bike was acting surprisingly well, being able to do 65mph, and sometimes 70mph was quite a treat. The road through to Ceuta is not one to really talk about, I was trying to cover ground, not look around, so apart from lacking in fuel stations and being a toll road, which only takes cash. I will leave it up to other reports to do the explaining.

I had decide to leave all my spare Dirhams with Jill, so she could go for another massage, taking with me just enough for fuel, and not much else seeing as I had had a big breakfast, and my camelback was full, and with a spare 1.5ltr stashed, I would survive. This plan would have worked, apart from the fuel being almost twice as expensive on the A5/A3, maybe it would have been a different journey had I taken the N1. As it was, I had to take a detour into Rabat to get some more Dirhams, I also took this opportunity to refresh my self with chicken and chips and a cold coke, as well as a bit of map reading, as I had left Marrakesh without thinking of which route I would take through Spain.
I was hoping to hear from Shads as to their progress, and follow a similar path. Chicken and chips devoured I set off thinking it was going to be a close call for me to catch the 6.30 ferry. I found the coast roads very European, and nothing like the rawness of the rest of Morocco, not so much of a let down, just an anti climax after the experiences of the last 2 weeks. As I neared Ceuta, time was running out so instead of constantly canning, (how that makes me laugh), canning it with a top speed 70mph, I will try that again. Pottering along at 70mph, I stopped to look for fuel before crossing the border. Getting over the border was yet again a very quick, and simple process, taking only 10 minutes. Finding a ticket office still open In Ceuta I bought my ticket with an hour to spare, before I could board the 9.30pm ferry. I decided to take a little ride around, find my way, then stop off and get something/anything to eat. I was now getting quite an appetite, and a sore arse.

I think it was at this point that I text Shads, to find out where they were, and which way I should head, explaining that I would try to catch them. He advised me that they had been riding hard as well and it was not worth the risk of trying to catch them up, and I should stay safe and catch up upon my return to the UK. I felt deflated, as I was looking forward to riding in the group again, all be it at the back. I now made a personal choice, I would still ride hard, putting as much time and miles in as I could but not taking unnecessary risks. At least I knew speeding was not going to be a risk, plus, I did have the advantage of being fully rested. In that hour of waiting I got the map out and decided to head for a pass in the Pyrenees recommended by the French family Shad and myself had met in an auberge.

I can't remember the ferry crossing it was very much a case of getting a seat, putting the headphones in, a bit of Pink Floyd's dark side of the moon, boots off, and customary dribble down the chin. I was woken up by the thrusters marking our arrival in Algeciras, at 10.30pm.

From the moment we had arrived in Santander and started our journey properly, I had been wearing body armour, with just a t-shirt over the top, now in Spain (half past midnight local time), and a bit of a bite in the air, I had a choice of either getting wrapped up warm, back in my UK biking jacket, or use the refreshing chill to keep my wits about me, which seemed a more drastic but necessary option.
The next 5 hours where spent riding in the dark, due to crap lights on the bike, getting worried by any car coming up from behind, and hoping that they had seen me, praying it wasn’t a pissed Spaniard, or on the hill sections, getting passed by HGV’s, as the bike had now decide to drop down to 40mph up hill, 50mph on the flat, and 60mph down hill.

I managed to pass Malaga, and at Granada, I finally managed to head north which felt good, even though I new I had to go east, North was going to take me home, or at least back to the other lot, which was ultimately what kept me going.
Reaching Jaen at 2am, I was making good ground, and felt like I was getting somewhere. Still feeling quite all right, I reckoned that if I could see the sun rise, I had a good chance of keeping my self going to make France by late afternoon.

This, however, was not to be the case. I got another hour and a half further on, and going through high passes, I starting to feel the cold, and my mind wandering, it was time to be Mr sensible. I started looking for anywhere close to the main carriage way, but out the way of people and houses. I finally did a bit of a u-turn down a slip road, which took me into a farmers field. I had a quick recce, and saw nothing to concern me, so I parked up pulled out the sleeping bag and roll mat, boiled a tin of something, ate, had a great cup of tea, and climbed into my very familiar and comfortable bed, pleased that I was getting closer to familiar faces.
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