Borderdash

Desert for miles and miles. Today we managed 400 in a dash towards the Mauritanian border. The police checks came more frequently once even 100 yards apart as bureaucracy dictated both jurisdictions collected the same info. Luckily we had received good advice and the 'fiche' templates we'd photocopied (name, age, birth place, reg, VIN, underpants size, no but nearly!) had the stops down to just five minutes or so. 99% of the stops were very friendly, even offering water, almost as if the poor guys posted into the wilderness were just pleased to have someone other than occasional truckers to discuss distant lands and of course football with. Just one time Robin got a guy disgruntled that he'd overshot the 'Halt' sign by five yards, for myself a nervous guy checked over the paperwork before sidling up with shifty eyes, "hey, you have any whisky?", his first and only words n English! None the less they were all very smart and proud and we usually departed with a salute!
Petrol is a carefully measured commodity now and we fill up at every opportunity, even if the Ktm is only 20% (8 litres) in to a tank, either of us could need the fuel if a couple of stations were shut or only selling diesel. Stations feel like wild west frontier posts; drivers snooze in the shade or throw water over their face, inside the spacious dark cafe silent men nod as you walk in, spurs jangling on the tiled floor and shafts of light shining through the desert air.
The desert itself changes from dunes to stones to stoney dunes and back again, occasionally we get a glimpse of the blue sea crashing below the overhanging cliffs. Red and white radio repeaters follow the road now that the power transmission towers and telephone lines have run out, each with a bank of photovoltaic cells within the small compound wall and often a nomads tent and grey Landrover sheltering in the lea.
I've noticed my waist and left arm getting sore simply from pressing the bike in to the westerly wind, it rises and falls but never really quits. It affects the fuel economy too and the tyres seem to be wearing quite fast now after the beating they took ploughing the sand and rocks in the desert, the front of the Ktm took one rock through the tread, out the wall and in to the rim, luckly just grazing the ply.
This evening we arrived in Dakhla just as it was nearly dark. The last check point told us it was 200kms to the next hotel and seemed pretty keen we turned up the 40km peninsula for the night. It means one more day in western sahara though as the border will be out of reach for the required mid day crossing time.
We watched a very dramatic AlJazira newscaster reporting from Libya as we ate camel burgers in a cafe. The news here is full of war and conflict, even the computer game intro style graphics have iconic GI images from the Vietnam war and I can't help but feel there is a focus on the glory rather than the suffering, which contradicts the general attitudes of the people we have spoken to. The bombing in Marrakech the other day also seems very contradictory to the general views of the people. BBC seem to have the wrong end of the stick as well, reporting the protests as being 'against king Mohamed', yet people frame his picture and say he is a champion of the poor. A few people say politics and business are trying to tie his hands and stop his reforms coming through, reforms that would benefit the impoverished and bring greater equality, it sounds like an old story, repeated the world over.
This morning we drink coffee by the beach and this afternoon move within reach of a midday border crossing at Diama.