Run from the sun!

Getting up with the dawn we had our supernoodle breakfast. The sun rose directly opposite where it set and we'd noticed it seemed to have been passing right over head rather than sweeping east to west during the day; navigation by sun wouldn't have been easy out here.
After breaking camp the bikes hauled their way up to the nearby communications tower from where we could again see the village of Lebourate. It looked like one of the desert villages from Starwars, only this was the original, authentic deal.
A stoney track lead down, easy riding after the miles of deep ploughed sand behind us, and lead in to a sandy square, surrounded by a mixture of single story sand coloured buildings. The only things taller were the tower of a small mosque beside us, a concrete water tower opposite and the proud red Moroccan flag flying over a walled building in front. The building turned out to be that of the local military officer who directed me in Arabic to one of the others which was a shop, opened on the arrival of a customer by a shy smiling lady in traditional clothing.
By now the local kids had turned out and were asking our names and shaking hands, 'Sa va?' flew backwards and forwards as they practiced the French they had learned in the school beside the military post. They were smiling and laughing and seemed to love having visitors, especially strange ones with goggles and a furry motorbike, when they saw the camera they all wanted to see photos of themselves. After buying water one boy about six insisted he carry the 9 litres back to the bike, he was busting a gut when I thanked him and took it back half way across the square but grinning with pride ear to ear!
One man spoke French, a welcoming chap in his 40s with a moustache and long white embroidered jelahba, he spoke a little about the route ahead, said we had plenty of water and wished us luck but as we were about to set off he suddenly pointed to an alarming drip from the KTM, it was leaking fuel again!
The heat of the day was building and we pulled the tank off once more, the same pipe was sliced through again. It was looking like the Aqualine tank was expending in the heat of the desert so much that it was cutting the line by pressing the barb of the fuel tap in to part of the frame. The tanks had never fitted very well and after the earlier pump problem collective eyebrows were being raised about them. With the help of some curious villagers we shimmed the tank up 8mm to clear the frame but could only fit three of the five mounting bolts and now the glove box lid didn't fit right; it would have to do.
Just as we were about to saddle up a kid wearing a Mr Incredible Tshirt under his tiny jelabha insisted I see his school, I waved in the door and a dozen kids from about six to ten years all grinned and waved back, they all seemed pretty happy to be in school!  
Leaving through the village we hit deep sand, the bikes squirmed and bucked and we ploughed on, it would have been embarrassing to have stacked a bike without even making it out of town but if truth be told years of Land Rovering had turned areas in to proper deep sand pits!
Things looked up as the village dropped from sight, the sand firmed up and small rocks gave better grip and feedback, right before the first of many wide strips of deep sand appeared. We dropped the tyre pressures to 20/25psi but it was going to be a compromise with the rocks about and no rim locks on the wheels. It transformed the heavier Ktm but Robin wasn't so convinced about the DR. A few drops and a bust pannier lock had taken it's toll on his sand mojo and he suddenly felt a long way from civilisation.
Sitting under the shade of a tree looking at the box I realised I hadn't texted my girlfriend Maria back home; we had agreed every three days but tomorrow would be our third in the desert and there was no way O2 was serving up any cells within 100Kms of where we were. We decided to head back the 10kms to town, make the call and at least know someone was expecting a call from Smara in 3 days on the other side of the desert, the man in the village who spoke French agreed, it was worth it to keep your woman happy!
The phone was in the shop which was now full of women wearing bright cloth. A toddler was produced who stared open mouthed at us like we had just appeared in his porridge, it made everyone in the shop laugh as he gapped wide eyed!
Robin was a bit happier too and setting out again the terrain seemed to improve. There was no road out here but we did seem to be doing a better job of finding bigger tracks to follow. What was becoming apparent however was while bikes don't mind stoney sand too much Land Rovers tend to veer towards the flatter smoother but softer sand that sucks bikes in! We opened the bikes up and in a assortment of styles growled, barked and sometimes paddled our way through the succession of small dunes, rocky rises and stoney plateaus. I felt I was finding a rhythm, so long as I could come out of the softer sand now and then to get everything back in shape the bigger challenge was becoming navigation, features and tracks were pushing us south and further off course. In the distance I spotted a track up a rocky dune, it was dusted with slabs of flat blue/green stone that shone in the sun, looked promising and the occasional plastic or tin can beside it seemed to suggest it was used a good bit, it must lead somewhere? Climbing up we reached a saddle with a sandier dune behind, crested with more rock, and were greeted with the bad news: nowhere, the track just disappeared. At this point I looked at the fuel gauge I built for the Ktm and saw we were nearly half way through our supplies, the sand was burning 50-100% more fuel, on this terrain or worse we weren't going to make it.
It felt like disaster at first, we'd ridden over 110 miles of sand and desert only to have to turn around and ride a 500 mile loop to get the last 150. We lay under a tree and talked about anything we could but sand for the next hour.
But we weren't skeletons yet! Not conquering the desert could still be turned in to a great night camping beneath the stars, miles for anyone. After burying the DR up to it's back axle getting going we picked a spot under a tree and pitched camp, dividing food and tent duties. It was beautiful to watch the sun go down behind the dunes and hear the animals in this part of the desert waking up, crickets, some small birds and an assortment of big beetles.
I jolted awake in the middle of the night. Something was in the tent porch, clawing at the bags. I could hear 'mow mow' every few seconds and all I could picture was Simon's Cat raining havoc on our camp. What wild desert beast made a noise like that out here? It went on and on but every time I looked out it ran away.
In the morning Robin thought I'd dreamt it until we saw the paw prints all over the camp. He definitely believed it when he then heard it himself! After a few minutes the beast appeared; a white house cat, right out here in the desert miles from water and people. It seemed to want to be friends but kept running away, nothing we could do to help =(
Knowing there was cold beer back at the hotel the riding seemed to get easier! We got up speed across the virgin plains and were starting to power through the soft dunes, even the hard foot deep ridges of a washboard only stopped us when bits up luggage broke free. In less time than before we were back in Lebourate and talking in French with our old friend. He explained unfortunately Zag was a military zone and we would be turned back to run out of fuel in the desert so right back to Assa was our only option.
His name was Eriche and seemed glad to see we were ok and had made the right decision. Wonderfully be invited us for mint tea in his shop across the village, a small terraced unit which was cool and dark inside, a counter was made of Coka Cola crates and some wooden shelves lined with cardboard divided off the backroom which looked like a rug filled domino den. He was a great guy and had a lot of patience for our French! The tea was made and drunk three times; a small pot brewed green tea on a pile of charcoal with chippings of sugar from a large compressed cone, each brewing was poured between five or six glasses several times to oxygenate the flavour. With each brewing a different villager joined out little group in the shop and it was easy to imagine a small group drawing lots somewhere outside! The first was an old man wrapped head to toe with one front tooth and a walking stick, he didn't seem to under stand that we could only speak two words of Arabic but he smiled as he spoke louder and slower, eventually finishing his tea and wishing us a good journey.
When it was time to depart we took photos with promises to post paper copies, swapped some more shortbread, left some painkillers for an unwell neighbour and finally had a visit from the shy soldier (with the help of a friend) who remembered he was supposed to take our passport details for the records!
The trip back went well until in a fit of confussion over a muddy puddle in the desert I missed Robin stopping for a ditch and the front wheel tucked under, stopping just before it. Both the ditch and the puddle were part of the roadworks. Luckily only minor damage to the right box and tank skid plate and it was all caught on helmetcam for later entertainment, but it did seem to be my turn now to loose the sand mojo. Robin bounced through the deep hollows while I took it more slowly and consequentially with more effort, catching up off piste. At least it wasn't long before we had stretches of dirt road and were again greeting occasional road workers and dodging the odd machine. About 3kms before the end of the dirt was a young lad heaving a sack of bread through the desert, it was nice to be able to give him a lift to the main road even if he seemed so shocked!
Donkeys, camels and goats were scattered all down the road to Assa. A gecko or two basking on the hot Tarmac waggled a beady eye before popping to it's feet and hot footing it to the bushes and occasionally stripey backed squirrels scampered into the rocks. Small grey birds swooped dangerously close to the wheels, too focused on the insects in the evening air to notice us approaching. It felt good not to be skeletons hunched over motorbikes in the desert =)
Our friends greeted us at the hotel and we managed to fill the shower tray with red sand getting ourselves back to human again, but with a dinner of kebab skewers in town we felt good. Another peaceful protest was chanting in the town square, while we ate it moved through town stopping occasionally to sit on the road, this one was lead by women. We got talking to a group of gents outside a tea shop and it turned out one had a friend running an antiques shop on South Clerk Street in Edinburgh! We swapped details and I promised to pop in and say hello for him after getting home.
Back at the hotel four older Dutch bikers had arrived on a selection of shiny dual sports bikes, we drank Moroccan beer in the lounge and talked until heads began to droop and one by one we trickled away to bed.
A lazy start and a bit of repair and service work meant we didn't get on the road until nearly three. Eusef the young manager joked that he should check us in for another night which didn't feel like a bad idea!
In Goulimine the back of the bike suddenly felt like it was back on sand; the first flat of the trip. Luckily a guy popped out a shop to direct us to a place 30yrds away but only just after Robin had chivalrously set out on his own quest. The metal jaws of the machine grabbed the inside of the soft alloy rim and I dared not look. Kids ran about and Robin chatted with some of the other garage mechanics while the Ktm dangled in the street. The chap looked like an Arabic version of Ali, ex flat mate of my good friend Grant back home, which helped me relax and in 15 mins I was refitting the wheel, a small metal pin swapped for 10 Dihrams (85p) plus a tip for his general smileyness throughout!
The touch screen on the Zumo gps was now playing up again. It seemed damaged somewhere in the middle and was detecting a constant press half the time. It meant scrolling the map wasn't possible and as we had no routing data. With all the roads the same colour I routed us out of Goulimine slightly off course to Plago Blanco. It looked like the white roads would link us back but when we got chatting with four French bikers on rented trail bikes coming the other way it sounded like a maze of military zones, sand dunes and tidal stretches of road. We helped them with a flat front tyre and decided to camp on the beach and route back to the right road in the morning.
The sound of the sea over the dunes was deafening. Pasta and sardines went down well and a few curious and hungry moggies sat with us before we got an early night. The sand here was different to the desert, the salt stuck it to everything, it made cooking and washing a pain but at least riding a lot easier.

A column of disorientated 4x4s wove there way towards us in the morning. The sun was still coming up and their headlights shone through the mist of the sea that tinted everything grey. A large yellow 'adventure' truck sat further along the beach and as we took down the tent and made breakfast a grey Landy deposited a dozen lads on the beach by a river who started playing football. As we left they all wanted photos taken with their Real Madrid flag, nice guys!
Back in Goulimine we met a couple of guys on a loud scooter, we talked in English and German as one lived in London and shipped over cars and the older chap was a truck driver that had spent 23 years in Hanover. They were great talking about the route down to Mauritania as they drove it often, offering hints and tips and even how many cigarettes could be traded for petrol! (7 packets = 40 litres it seems) And for the border, a carton was apparently a must for the border. And then the offer for black Market cigarettes. Was it a hustle? If it was it was a very friendly hustle, good value, should we hedge our bets? In the end we went for one box each, just enough for the border crossing if we needed it or plenty for petrol if we didn't. We were both unkeen on bribing anyone for all the obvious potential complications but they seemed genuine and even guided us through the back streets on the noisy scooter so we could avoid the busy centre and guarantee the right road this time!
From Goulimine to Tarfaya the road became more sandy, cliffs on our right dotted with men with fishing rods in the low sun dropped down to beach and on the left rocky desert turned to dunes and beach grass. Wide oueds crossed our path and the road went down to concrete bridges before climbing back through cuttings in to the sunlight. A tanker and cab looked sad and broken at the bottom of one oued obviously having broken through the eight inch bollards lining the edge while one cutting was home to a burnt out flatbed spilling a charred load of black melon sized spheres across the roadside. We followed three Merc vans from Germany for a while, filled with matresses and kitchen towel but missing the two dots on their "OU" registered plates, enroute to a retirement miles from home.
We were back on the marching route of the Isuzus and Mitsubishi lorries and evidence of their tireless hauling littered the sand in the form of shed retreads (excuse the pun!). Overtakes were more tricky now as each lorry had a great orange mane of sand whipping along behind, passing meant breaking through it and it licked and stung the face and goggles.



The sun was starting to set so we pulled off the road for Tarfaya when a black Merc car pulled over to pick up a friend and Ishmael introduced himself. He was a radar operator in the royal marines and helped us find a great hotel, Casamar, right by the base. Robin even secured a flat rather than a room for the same 120 Dihrams (£10) with guarded parking. The hotel had a lot of building work going on so it could be one to keep in the gps for the future. A Libyan oil company had some staff staying in the hotel and the chat was good as well as interesting, getting an inside view on Gadaffi. Fresh fish for dinner and a traditional bread and olive oil breakfast set us up for the day ahead.