18 April 2001 - Midelt

A day of contrasts today. I woke early (for me) and went for breakfast. My two French friends were just leaving, so we bade farewell again and off they went. After breakfast of toast, marmalade and sponge cake, I hiked up the medina and bought some water. Back at the hotel I decanted the water into my hydration pouch and packed up. The road out of town was being dug up, so I had to backtrack towards Tetouan, then head south again. The road out of the Rif mountains was all bends and no straight bits. Fields of wheat on either side of the road were at least half full of poppies, which probably increases the value of the crop greatly. Gradually bends and mountains gave way to a vast open rolling plain. At one town I ran into the three French bikers I had met while boarding the Ceuta ferry. They were headed to Meknes, and this particular petrol station was out of unleaded. I offered my spare fuel, but they had their own backup. The plains went back to hills, and the road grew awesome bends.

I then descended onto the plain of Fes, and in no time I was caught up in it's traffic. After a wrong turn I found myself looking down over the old towns and walls. It looks like a really interesting place, maybe I'll stop here on the way back, maybe next time in Morocco. Finding the right road out of town was tricky given the complete lack of signposts. Using the GPS to head south helped, and I tagged along behind a French Renault that appeared to be navigating confidently. On the outskirts of Fes there's a new stadium, with weeds pushing up through the car park and paint peeling off of the walls. It fits in quite naturally with the rest of Morocco that I've seen.

Pushing onto Sefrou the road steadily rose until the Middle Atlas, and bend-city again. These are some of the best riding roads I have ever experienced and they are almost completely deserted. By the time I hit 1'600m there were very few people about, and mountain peaks on either side. I was stopped at a roadblock by two policemen, who insisted I drink mint tea with them. We chatterd away for 15 minutes, but internally I was waiting for the rub. Did they want a "tip", or to catch me out somehow? Eventually we shook hands and off I went. Apparantly they just wanted conversation.

From Boulemane I came onto an enormous flat scrub plain. The road pointed dead straight to the horizon, while on my left the rocky moonscape extended in uniform flatness as far as I could see. I stopped the bike and got off for a while. There was a cool breeze, but I could see nothing moving except for the heat haze. I had left the telegraph poles behind in Boulemane, so my only contact with the world was with the road. Eerie. Back in motion I noticed that there were actually tracks leading off from the road, and I could see small huts nestling at the foot of the mountains on my right. Given the featureless expanse it's a wonder these people could find their own "driveway", let alone live out here in the nothingness. 50km of straight line later I hit the road to Midelt from Azrou. I was now in mining country, and the approach to Midelt was quite industrial.

Here's where the contrast kicks in. Until Midelt I'd had a good day; excellent roads, fantastic scenery, friendly policemen. In Midelt I got caught up in the hustle, and fell for it, hook, line and sinker. First off the hotel owner also had a carpet shop (Midelt is famed for it's carpet souk), to which he invited me along for mint tea. I then got a hard sell on a rug, and even though I'd convinced myself I wasn't going to buy one, out I came with a rug. (I really hope these guys never discover double glazing!) Mr Hotel Owner did take me along to a friend who welded up luggage rack which had cracked in the Rif mountains. However he then stung me with the bill.

So here I am, with a considerably lighter wallet, a rug that's taking up even more valuable space in my luggage, and a hotel room that is best described as basic, and twice the cost of last nights room. Tomorrow I'm going to hit the road south to Rich, then west to Imilchil. My plan to do the Cirque de Jaffar and the Cascades d'Ouzoud has fallen by the wayside. I'm now going to go to Imilchil, then down to the Todra Gorge, and onto Zagora. This should give me shorter riding days, and more time to avoid carpet sellers. In Zagora I can decide about the desert piste to Merzouga and the Erg Chebbi. I'm still keen to do this, but the carpet man has dented my confidence both in dealing with people, and with riding. Strange. Now I'm going to bring the bike into the hotel restaurant for "security", and off to bed.