Atlas' the Riff

Getting round the loop and back on to the main road back to El Kebab got harder and harder. Rocks got bigger, scree got looser, slopes got steeper, the only thing improving was the donkey/goat count but maybe the road was just too rough for them! The balding rear tyre on the KTM meant the bike sometimes came to a halt still spinning while trying to get up loose stuff, getting back down often felt like the rear with all the luggage and spare tyre was going to overtake the front.

Eventually we crossed some tough river beds and came down in to a very rural village where carpets and clothing dried on the roofs and hung on the walls of the small half earth, half breeze block buildings. Women stopped working to look while children formed a moving grandstand what followed us as we rolled along the road, giggling and waving. No asking for stillos and cadeuxs here, it didn't look like any motorised vehicles came this way let alone tourists.

From the village we kept dropping, now riding along a ridge with the green valley spread out on either side and gradually descended in to it where a proper river crossing awaited us. Some farmers sat on a hill opposite to watch as we checked it for depth, maybe we disappointed them when we powered through with wet feet but without any other dramas and rejoined the main road, heading back towards Kebab and Khenifra for some lunch.
In a small cafe, sheltering from the midday sun, Robin got some kip while I updated the Captains Blog, stardate: about half past one. As the sun moved round we set off towards the Sources de l'Oum-er-Rbia. It looked like back in the 60s those in search of peace and understanding must have flocked here to look for it in the bubbles of a shisha pipe or at the bottom of a pot of mint tea, they would have stretched out on rich coloured carpets inside the now almost empty small wicker shelters, overhanging a narrow rushing river at the bottom of the rocky ravine. Several small streams,(the 'Sources') sprouted from the stone hill sides and were named by hand painted signs before they ran down between the love shacks. Even the men and boys trying to rustle up business seemed to have tested some of their own products and the whole atmosphere was very relaxed. We passed the women brewing tea and climbed up small wooden bridges and over slippery rocks (no H&S here) to a ten meter high waterfall that claimed to be the source of the river. It was quite a beautiful natural setting with the sun getting low at the end of the valley and the coolness of the spray until breathing deep we realised the smell, and the tissues all around. It seemed a lot of visitors felt nature calling in a more urgent voice!

We left and rode up through the Foret de Cedres which reminded me of the SchwartzWald in SW German, dark and humid and full of bird life, then suddenly opening up to grass pastures with views over the tree covered landscape. How we could have ridden from what felt like the surface of the moon to this in a couple of hundred miles seemed unbelievable.
There was just time as the light failed to get round Azrou and on to the main highway and  to Meknes. Nice things were written about the souks and old town of Meknes but finding a reasonably priced hotel proved no easy task, odd as it wasn't really on the tourist trail. As it neared midnight and we dodged a drunk hooker a recommendation took us to the elderly but very traditional tiled hotel Regina inside the medina where we were welcomed in to the courtyard with the bikes after riding up some steps we weren't sure even the 21" front wheels were big enough for! After dinner in the main square and dealing with a waiter who tried to double the bill with a tip for himself (!) Otman, Abdul and Unis at the hotel invited us in to their 'den' at the reception where the pipe was bubbling and the smokey air smelt of apple tobacco. Only Otman spoke enough French to communicate easily but it was an interesting talk about day to day life and work for Moroccans. He left late, pedaling his noisy mobilette up the road for an early start next day in the kitchens of a near by restaurant, of course not before we swapped contact details and promised to email the photos.
The next morning while our washing still dried in the window of the hotel room we ate breakfast in the cafe next door and I ordered a black tea. When it came I asked for some milk, the waiter looked at Robin as if checking his friend here wasn't mad then when he poured it in he checked again that he had done the right thing! We didn't have much luck looking for some of the things we were after in the medina but it was a really interesting place to wander around. More spacious than the others we'd been to it still had distinct areas, a shoe area, socks and underwear, dried fruits and sweets and even a blacksmithing quarter which was full of sooty black gates, window grills and bedframes, showered in orange sparks and noise and acrid with the smell of grinding wheels and arc welding.
Getting the bikes back down the steps was much easier and we said our goodbyes and used the rest of the day to aim for Chefchauen and the hotel Rif again; it had been a great first stop in Morocco and it would be nice to see Abdul again and do some gift shopping before the crossing back to Europe. The chain of the KTM was making some strange noises on the ride but when I tried to tighten it I found the adjuster had seized. Even riding up the smallest track between the thickest bushes wasn't enough to find a spot to repair the problem undisturbed so while Robin explained to the three boys that popped up that we were spacemen from Mars I investigated. One lad was just old enough that he clearly though he shouldn't be quite so entertained by the puppet show of spaceships and monsters he was receiving but obviously couldn't help himself joining in with the other two! The chain didn't sound much better but the next day I found the problem; a missing roller, nothing that could be sorted now though.
Climbing up to Chefchauen took longer in the dark and stuck behind a trail of tired diesel cars that growled their way up the steep road. Abdul recognised the bikes right away and with a really genuine welcome we were shown to an ensuit room and shook hands with the owner. He was a large man with big smile and carried the air of having worked hard all his life and returned to his home town to enjoy the fruits of his labours, he looked at the sky and waved his arms about as we talked and he enthused about riding bikes in the desert and sleeping under the stars. It was nice to be back in what I think was probably my favourite town of the trip.