Piste and Stoned

During yesterday's riding we got our first bit of true off road experience and sense of tiny creatures in a huge landscape. Mobilised armies of green combines harvesters had surrendered to the Isuzus and Mitsubishi lorries and now they were being replaced with various 4x4s.
Turning south from Tagent the map and gps both marked an unsealed road across a plain and through a valley to Fask; it turned out to be a fairly loose description! A few hundred yards of dusty Tarmac lead out between the now orange earthen buildings before the vista unfolded to reveal miles of baked earth sprinkled with scrubby ankle high bushes. I'd read about how difficult following desert roads could be and it certainly wasn't easy, the tracks just disappeared in to the sandy soil! At some time it looked like an attempt had been made to irrigate the landscape with small channels and ridges, they clearly weren't in use now but did make the ride quite 'lively'. Ridges turned to channels and then to dry sand filled oueds, naïvely I tried to turn up out of one and while standing up, the front tyre washed out then dug in as it ploughed an orange bow wave, down the bike went and half over the bars went I; I don't know if anything can prepare a novice for dealing with the sense of riding along a greased tightrope that sand brings! At least there was no damage though and now both our first tumbles were out of the way. Just to rub it in Robin sailed right through sitting down!
The rocks got bigger until our way was blocked by the start of a wide canyon, splitting the valley floor, fifty meters deep with near vertical sides we rode along beside until we found ourselves on a peninsula and our way blocked again. It was getting tricky picking our way between the increasing numbers of short cacti threatening the tyres and snagging at the boots when suddenly young goats popped out from bushes all around looking even more bemused than we were! Just short of the horizon a nomad's tent was visible and we pointed the bikes towards buildings on the side of the valley ahead. The going got easier and the terrain began to rise, a drop to a dry river bed then steep climb and we emerged on a plateaux filled with ruined earth and wood buildings. There was something spooky about the wind swept and empty sun baked village so we stopped for photos and a bite of lunch and to watch a column of rain sweep across the mountainside.
The main village access had obviously been to the south and we picked it up easily, feeling like real Pari Dakar riders cutting through the wind and scrub standing tall in the bright sun, all at a rather humble 25mph!

After Fask views from the mountain pass beyond were stunning and the road became lined with red and white striped curb stones and markers. Just outside Assa we approached a grand archway guarded by ten foot plaster camels and in a small booth below two policemen. There had been check points all along the Moroccan roads and in the cities most roundabouts had a smart looking officer stationed, however this was the first time we had been pulled over. It was the famous tourist check, simply keeping track of who was where in case of emergency, reassuring actually. The guys were very friendly too as we sat in their booth and discussed Shakespeare and Hemingway! They directed us to Le Maison d'Hote, a B&B run by a Belgian couple but an old lady, wrapped up to her eyes, gestured they were in Agadir so we headed for the local sign posted hotel.
Two guys, Willy from Spain and Christian from Argentina, had also just arrived after three days blasting down the Algerian border on two Ktms from the north of Morocco, all off asphalt. (www.trailtotal.com) Today had been 400km of dune bashing, their photos and videos were amazing and we swapped stories over dinner in the town centre.
Assa wasn't like any other town we had been to so far. In the middle of the desert it was smooth Tarmac streets, cement pavements, grand buildings in iron fenced gardens, Spanish looking suburbia and rows of lamp posts backing up the red and white striped curb stones. Some kids seemed a little aggressive particularly towards our fellow riders on the loud bikes as we made our way through the smart streets, nothing for sure but a pebble did hit Robin from somewhere. It was very odd as otherwise nothing but great things could be said about Moroccan hospitality.
Tomorrow we get proper desert piste on Chris Scott's route M13 from his book Morocco Overland. Especially after the photos earlier we can't wait!