End Of the Line

We got on the road early today with a view to keeping going as long as our arses would allow. We settled on 200 mile stints between breaks which was about the time taken for the numbness to pass and the ache to set in again. The National roads in Spain are littered with speed change signs and Richard fell foul of one and was stopped for doing 100 in a 70 limit. Riding second in line and a little way back, I escaped. 100 euro later we were off and being quite paranoid about the speed signs....at least for the next hour or two anyhow.


870 Km later we stopped at a roadside hostal and rested bums and ears. No kidding, my ears are killing me after wearing plugs and a helmet for a month. Riding with sore ears is a compromise. Pain or hearing damage, take your pick. I chose pain.






Next day, rather than go the direct route, we headed into the Picos Europa mountains on the little windy roads for a last gasp of freedom. There must have been snow recently as there was a good dusting above 1500m and some lying down top 1200m in sheltered spots. This beautiful lake was near mirror like.




The road picked its way at the bottom of steep rocky cliffs and I was getting a little tense about the amount of time we had left. At the start of the day we were 150km by road from Santander. After 130km of riding, we were still 110km from Santander and time was starting to be an issue and the roads were not getting any straighter. With 10 mins to spare on the official checkin in time, we arrived at the dock and jumped on the boat, into the shower and then straight into the restaurant for some salad and a glass of vino.


All done. This is the route we took. From northern Spain to Morocco and back it is 6650km of fun. And I have some Dhirams left to explore the gaps....in case I get the urge to go back. Next trip, I think I might fly out, buy a 50cc scooter as used by the locals and have a go.





And if you superimpose the route from the last trip (green), you can see there are plenty of scope for another.

To Be Continued....

Back to Spain

We Quit Fes and headed north for Tangier. On the way we passed this field of Poppies and I guess at least the red dye used in the Tanneries must be natural. The northern part of the country is incredibly colourful this time of year. Everything is in bloom. And a lot of things are producing pollen so the inside of my helmet is a bit slick with sneeze at the moment. We stopped for a coffee, and a bee proceeded to clean my velcro of the amassed pollen. Helpful little chap couldnt be persuaded to go.


With all the bloom, comes all the insects. Richard shows his collection off at Tangier. Most of them seem to be yellow inside.








And here is mine. Note, not all of them were collected in the past 24 hours....just the majority. Ever since I washed the bike in that river, my collection was pretty sparse.




Africa and Europe are separated by a 35 minute fast ferry here and so very quickly it was goodbye Morocco, Tagine, Couscous and Dhirams and hello Spain, decent wine, pork and Euro. I forgot how much I missed a good old tasty pig flesh. Pizza without pig is not the same. We headed north to Vejer where richard quickly located a Moroccan restaurant in town which I quickly vetoed. Somehow, paying 4 times the cost for the same stuff you were eating for lunch in hard to take. We settled on the 'Menu del Dia' in the local eatery serving real brown spanish food.

Distance 331km


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Fes

We checked into a 'Garden Hotel' last night and with all the other tourists in town in their coaches and it looked like being the most expensive night of the whole trip. I didnt care much except it had a big car park and that meant I could get a good run at the tow start in the morning. Getting the old girl to start is a bit of a problem as there are usually one or two good slides involved before it fires up. So at the moment I like plenty of space. It seems to be quite entertaining for the local crowd too. We had a result on the bill this morning. Seems they like us o much we got a 50% reduction on the bill!


We headed for Fes with the sole intention of getting there in enougth time for Richard to get the obligatory Tanneries pictures. We hauled into the Ibis hotel ( nearest the medina AND with a private road to get the all important tow start in the morning) and set off for the tanneries, camera in hand. On the way we passed the Royal Palace and there was obviously something on. Everybody was on guard in their best uniforms. And they have a lot of difdferent ones.


It was getting a bit late and the sun was going down and eventually, some 11 year old could tell we were struggling to locate the Tanneries so he point blank refused to let us muddle on and so guided us there. Persistance pays and he was rewarded with 50p. No point in being too inflationary, Richard said. Up a steep winding staircase through the obligatory shop where I nearly failed to buy a (second) paid of leather slippers and we beheld the smelly sight. I even tried to buy a hat but they couldn't find one to fit. Too many brains in this head. ;-)


These guys have a filthy smelly job and I dont envy them one bit. They stand waist deep in vats of pigeon poo, cow urine and God knows what else. I asked the shop aqssistant if the leather workers working in the pits had an odour problem when they leave work but he said no, the dont smell....and his nose grew a full centimeter when he said it. The Tanneries operate on a Guild system and workers are born into the job. The dyes are reputedly natural but I bet some industrial chemicals are starting to be used. First the hides go in the Pigeon poo/cow wee to soften, then they are pit in the appropriate dye and then dried out and worked.


Like all hard workers, the guys who work there must take time off and judging from this little lot, they watch a lot of television. I cant see why they need so many though. From what I can tell, all televisions in Morocco are permanently tuned to Football stations. So that would mean that 10 or 15 dishes, one for each possible channel should see the city straight and save a lot of money.

Distance 284km

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Back Over the Hill

After a later arrival last night and a hunt round the garages at Ouarzazate to find some suitable Oil, we finally dined on some Kebab and fruit juice and boy did it taste good. I described my problem on a forum dedicated to my make of bike and a guy in South Africa described what had happened and confirmed that there was no easy fix. I would have to be bump or tow started back to the UK or get it fixed in Morocco....but that could take a while and I miss my ferry. Peter made a tow rope and we got going over a small road back over the mountains again.


I came over this same pass in December and I have to say that it is much the same in April only a lot warmer and drier. It it still a stunner though. I didnt take that many pics as 1) I already have some from last time and 2) I didnt want to stall the bike accidentally.


In rural areas, women wash clothes and rugs in the rivers. No Bendix, Hoover or Whirlpool here. They dont like you taking pictures of them as a rule at all so out of courtesy, I always ask....and they always refuse. Rugs cant talk and Richard snapped this one.


Outside every town, high one something prominent like a hill or big rock, you always see this script. It apparently says 'God, King, Country'. People need reminding to be patroitic.






In Northern France, poppies seem to be beautiful weeds. In Morocco, they are cultivated for use a red dye for leather tanning.






Distance 278km

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Horsemen of the Apocalypse

After our little jaunt round the local area yesterday, the four of us decided to head for Imilchil in the middle of the High Atlas via the Dades Gorge. I was searching for a name for our little group and someone suggested the the 'four horsemen of the apocalypse' might be an apt title. There was some debate as to who would get the 'Pestilence' label as the local diet was affecting most of us by now. I didn't realise there would be debate over the 'Flood' name too.


This rock formation on the way up the Dades gorge is called locally the 'hill of bodies'. Not hard to see why. Richard on the other had thought it looked like something he had seen earlier that day in the toilet bowl. Either way, a pretty spectacular sight.



On we went up the gorge and it got to its tighest spot with the river running just beside the road with some sandbags to keep it back. After a while, the road turned to Piste.








At the start, a local guy told us that there was a river with probably 18 inches of water running which we thought manageable. When we got there, Nigel with the most top heavy bike had first go at it and sailed through. Then Wolfgang went and almost made it before taking a bath. There were some big rocks in the bottom and he clipped one and dropped it. We jumped into the river and hauled him out and got his bike fire up.



Distance 390km

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Ouarzazate

In Ouarzazate, I hitched up with Nigel Swaby from the last trip to Morocco. With new heart plumbing and some good drugs he was back in the saddle again. His round the world trip is postponed till later this year as it is now too hot to head south so we decided to ride together for a while. We also net up with a German guy Wolfgang who at the tender age of 57ish bought his first motorbike and decided to give it a go in Morocco.




Sharp eyed filem goers may recognise this view. This is Ait Ben Haddou and was used in the film Gladiator and probably a bunch of others. Ouarzazate has two film studios. David Lean filmed a chunk of 'Laurence of Arabia' here, Ridley Scott shot 'Days of Heaven'




All the tourist buses stop at a tourist centre on the other side of the river from the Kasbah itself. There is no bridge so you have three choces, 1) take your shoes off and wade the shallows 2) look at it from the other side of the river or 3) enter the moroccan donky derby and ride this little fella to the other side. The local guys have a nice little earner going here.



With four guys on a rest day and with no pub to go to, we did the next best thing nd went for a spin in the desert. Wolfgang turned out to be a natural at this off road mularkey. Turned out he has a lot of horse riding experience and I guess a motorcycle is 1) lower 2) more predictable than the 4 legged beast.

Distance


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Ouarzazate, the hard way

We headed back up to the High Atlas to cross over to Ouarzazate via the Tizi n Tichka pass. You dont see anything for a lot of the pass as you seem to be wandering in canyon with HGVs, campervans & Buses for the first third. Then you pop up to the top and see a barren wasteground of shattered rock. Not the pace to drive too near the edge or take too many risks.


At the top, we decided to take an alternative route down and see an old Glaouli Kasbah at Telouet. The road was heaving with tourists getting their 4x4 experience and stoping the the same (and only) tea stop on the way. The piste was mostly good hardpacked clay with occasional lumpy rocky bits and spectacular views. Sometimes, the dropoffs to the side were enough to make sure you concentrated...very hard.


we followed it along and looked down in to this strip of green in a brown rocky desert. Somehow, people can farm this land if there is regular water.








Then the hard bit came as we had to descend into the canyon. Richard went first and I heard on the radio 'this gets a bit technical' which is bloke speak for I may need new underpants when this is over. I followed and soon passed Richard who was stopped above a particularly lumpy bit. I passed only because I couldn't stop. I bounced down the rocky track and eventually stopped near the bottom and waited. No Richard.






After a couple of minutes and no repsonse on the radio, I walked back up (riding back up was not considered) to find R assembling his luggage again. Amazingly, he took a tumble on the easy bit between two hard bits. Yes, he is pointing to the easy bit.






When we finally hit blessed asphalt again, it was relief. Another adventure with no real damage done.






Distance 197km


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