It was so hot yesterday, there was no relief from a breeze either, 38decC it said in a petrols station in the cooler evening and everything was sticky and clammy. Today was nearly as bad but with things to do we headed in to town with the intention of making a break for the mountains before long. Maybe it was because of the heat that after leaving the Unimog draining over night Jason found a big frog doing back crawl in the oil change pan this morning, poor thing!
As we found any area of Tarmac can be used for a vehicle in Marrakech, speed and safe proximity have no relation, priority and even driving on the right side of the road are optional and heaven help anyone who believes in lane discipline! In no time just to make progress we found ourselves throwing thoughts of roadcraft to one side and at least partially adopting the lunacy of those around us, the scary thing was that evidence of the driving style not working was also all around!
With some Googling, some scouting and some seeing off of an annoying tout with no teeth and bottle bottom spectacles (I've never seen Robin loose his temper before!) we found Cycle Afra, a couple of guys selling scooter parts who hid their angelic wings well, that's what they turned out to be when they said they could get shiny new Metzeler tyres to us by 11am the next day. We did wonder if that was on an African clock but after another night back at the camp site we were greeted with big grins and a MCEKaroo and Enduro3 for about the same price as back home, thanks guys! For anyone else in need: Latitude: 31.620492° Longitude: -7.990622°
Not only did it cool heading in to the mountains it started to chuck it down and in 30 seconds we were drenched, in 60 I remembered the bottom of my right pannier was still split open!
Splashing through the mud we found our way in to the colonnades of a part built shop where the workers were sheltering and a scooter or two joined us. I taped up the box and after half an hour or so we ventured out again, steaming and sticky in the sun.
The foothills of the Atlas enroute to Ouarzazate looked a bit like Scotland. The hills were rocky but dark green and sprinkled with sheep, what made them different were the cacti, earthen buildings and increasingly chasmic drops! As vegetation thinned to individual bushes on the hillsides the bottom of the valleys became filled with sheets of green and gold; billiard table flat overlapping terraces of crops like handfuls of giant beer mats sprinkled from up high.
Eventually the road climbed up over the jaggy volcanic teeth sticking out the top of the Atlas, it looked very similar to the hills in Edinburgh and I wondered if they shared a history. We passed number of victims be it a truck that had emptied it's guts in an oily mess, a sand filled lorry on it's side clinging to the crumbling verge or a crumpled post van opposite a truck driver climbing up the cliffside with some of the pieces. On every corner small piles of crystals and fossils were for sale gathered by locals, often teetering on the brink of a Tolkien-esque plunge.
We rode along a short ridge before dropping back down the other side, on both crossings the south of the Atlas had been more rolling and less rocky and by the time we took a shortcut off the N9 left to detour past the ancient city and kasbar of Ait Benhaddou the trail was a BMX track of compacted dry clay, great fun!
Up on the hill the terracotta town looked an ancient warren of towers and terraces. On reflection it would have been a fascinating place to stay but this evening our target was Ouarzazate. Unfortunately the Bikers Home promising a workshop, hot showers and cold beers was closed but we were lucky to find the friendly Hotel La Vallee who locked the bikes in a courtyard and did a great breaky for less than tenner a head. At the restaurant across the road we met the toughest kitten in town, he was beating up the other cats and even tried to get the dinner off our table, all while looking like the photo on a greetings card!
In the morning one of the staff Hamid told us a little about the pistes between Foum-Zguid to Merzouga as his village lay just past Zagora. Torsten had experienced quite an adventure riding from Merzouga to Zagora and it had made us a little apprehensive about the route, particularly as Gert had also offered to take the luggage and escort us in the Hilux! A compromise seemed to be to ride up the Vallee du Draa after Zagora and shortcut down from Tarzzarine, taking 70kms or so out of the rocky stuff.
From Agdz to Foum-Zguid the hills were gentler but the occasional canyon or plunge still took the breath away. There was less farming here and the cliffs and hillsides were beautiful stripped ribbons of sedimentary layers, as if the contour lines of the map had been painted on and then subsidence and weather taken their toll.
As we entered the valley just after Tasla it looked like everything was covered in a thin layer of chickweed, I had to stop and check, in fact the dark shimmery green was fingernail sized chippings of rock and we soon passed through what looked like a large copper mine. There were a few other mine shafts in the hills too and the green shimmer still tinted areas when we rode through the oasis and onto the piste of the N12 heading east.
This was a barren volcanic rock strewn plain between two jebels that could have been used for spoofing the Apollo moon landings; grey sand was nearly lost amongst the jaggy carpet of fist to football sized black chunks. In the complete lifeless-less silence we pitched camp in a sandy hollow, the sun disappeared and the clouds came over. With a few spots of rain a hot, moonless black duvet was drawn over us.
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