19 April 2001 - Todra Gorge

I am sitting on the terrace of the Hotel La Roches, the ubiquitous Coke in one hand, dusty MX boots resting on the low wall, and taking in the astonishing view. Usually at the end of the day it's my butt that is numb, but today it is my feet that are aching. And with good reason, the last 70km of my ride today was on piste, not road. And that has meant standing up on the footpegs in order to get better bike control and more comfort.

However this morning there were other things on my mind, escape! I was woken at an ungodly hour by the call to prayer (the irony of it!), so I went down to rescue my bike from the restaurant. I quickly loaded up my luggage, and found someone to pay. My bill was significantly higher than I was expecting, which didn't surprise me. The accounting process seemed to include a lot of extras, almost down to the air in my room!

I filled up and headed south across the plain. Abruptly the road changed directly and scaled the nearest slope in a series of tight hairpin bends. Then out across another plain to Rich. There was no "Sans Plomb" in Rich, and as I had only done 70km I thought I would wait for the next petrol station. From Rich there is a road to Imilchil, which winds along the Oued Ziz, with fantastic scenery. Every time I thought it couldn't get any better, I'd come around a corner and it would. The contrast between the green fields of wheat nestling alongside the oued, and the rocky mountain top looming above, was fabulous. This road goes into my list of contendors for all-time-best-ride.

Eventually the oued dries up, and I'm at 2'200m. The barren landscape looks capable of supporting no life, but here and there men tend sheep, and whenever you stop children appear by magic. By the time I'd arrived in Imilchil I had realised I'd missed my junction. Now I began to worry about fuel. The Rough Guide was no help, but it's rather more geared to backpackers, who as a rule don't need to know where to find petrol. I doubled back, and at Boulou asked for directions. It's no wonder I missed the junction as the signpost was a white cracked concrete block at the side of the road. I turned off the road and onto my first real piste. My first thoughts were "Blimey this is rocky!" The track led in and out of a village, and then suddenly I was at a ford. I blasted through it and began to get the hang of manhandling all the extra weight of bike and luggage around. About 5km further along a German on a TransAlp appeared. We stopped and chatted, exchanging information about the piste. He seemed very glad to be talking English, as his French was more basic than mine (don't laugh!). He was at the end of a three week trip, also travelling alone.

The piste wound through some more villages, then climbed to a col at 2'700m. The views were immense, and being able to see lorries on the way up put the scale of things into perspective. The track wound down the side of a valley, and villages started to appear again. A group of four Portuguese on large super-trailies stopped quickly to confirm that there was no fuel before Tinerhir, at the other end of the Todra Gorge. After narrowly missing some children on my way through another village, I decided that slowing down isn't such a hot idea, it gives the kids time to get in the way.

I picked up the head of the Oued Todra and the piste split up in front of me. I was getting the knack of berming around the corners, but was quite worried about the hammering the tyres were getting. I found that 40km/h was sustainable, with bursts of 60km/h on the flatter bits. Another expanse of nothingness loomed when I met a group of four Portuguese 4x4s. I was warmed to hear that the gorge was close at hand. By now my trip meter was telling me I was way past time to switch to reserve. Then suddenly I dropping into the gorge itself. The piste led down the dry oued bed, and the red rocky sides rose up rapidly. Tourist groups in local Landrovers appeared, "doing" the gorge and taking photos of the camels grazing (not by chance I'm sure). A bend in the gorge, and there were the hotels, built at the point where the gorge walls rise 300m sheer about the oued.

I parked up outside the hotels, hearing the engine tick slowly as it cooled, and silently mocking the namby-pamby tourists who had driven up from Tinerhir in their Fiat Unos. I'd survived my first piste, and dust covered I thought I looked quite the desert rat. Determined to go the whole hog I booked in to sleep on the roof, which was actually a choice made for me by the fact that both hotels were full, and my rug had cost me the equivalent of a couple of nights in a hotel bed.

However Nature had other ideas, and She proceeded to teach me a class in Introductory Gorge Air Flow Characteristics. Basically the wind got up, then got up some more, and then threw in some sand for amusement. I nipped out to the oued and selected eight football sized rocks, which I shuttled up to the roof and used to weight the corners of my tent. Nature merely sniffed at my attempt and blew my tent across the roof, rocks, luggage and all. I'm enough a realist to know I wasn't going to win this one, and may well wake up in Tinerhir. So I took the tent down again, and I'll be sleeping in the restaurant tonight instead. I did have the option of using the Berber tent, however it has open sides to allow people to see the gorge, and I learnt enough in class to turn that offer down.

The other happening of note was that the ten serious French dirt bikers I met outside Chefchaouen turned up. They recognised me, and I was proud to tell them I'd come down the piste to the gorge. This caused a few embaressed faces, as I get the impression I'd been labelled as a "pretend dirt rider" back in the Rif mountains. Later their luggage turned up in a couple of 4x4s. That is the way to explore Morocco, with a support vehicle, so you can ride around unencumbered, instead of stressing about when all your bungees are going to snap.

Things that broke today; screen (again), this time I wrapped tape around it rather than bother to Araldite it back together; pannier strap, one down, three to go, I tied the two ends back together and it's holding fine so far. I also noticed that each time I get airborne, the panniers inch themselves forwards. I'd do 10km or so and find them pressing into the backs of my knees, so I'd stop and rearrange them. Then 10km further along, same again. I'd concentrated on making the frames to stop them bouncing outward, what I need to do is extend the frame to support the panniers from underneath, and also keep them central. On the other hand I could just stop trying to be a Paris-Dakar wannabe...