From Hassan Dam to The DESERT, Merzouga! (99.6 miles)
We were up with the rising sun and back up the gravelly path that we took to get to the lake. A very quick morning took us around the lake and passed the head of the dam towards the last major town on our route to the desert, Errachidia. We all stopped here for some last minute supplies and water from the petrol station and hit the road in order to make the most of the cooler morning (which was already at 30-odd degrees!). Barren, rocky landscape quickly gave way as we entered another gorge lined with date, fig and palm trees.
Already, we noticed the large number of 4WD and people carriers, shuttling tourists to and from Merzouga and the desert beyond. Even arriving on two wheels, rather than 4, didn't stop the hustlers from trying to get us to: A. Ride some flea-bitten camels
B. Stay at their riad/campsite/house/shack/rooftop
C. Get a lift in their 4 wheel-drive because the road up ahead was "not made yet!"
However, without the air-con or comfortable seats of these tourist wagons, we plodded on through the oases towards Erfoud. The humidity that seemed to blast from the nearby trees felt like an industrial hairdrier was constantly blowing a headwind. Luckily, we arrived in Erfoud in time to rest in a cafe and to wait for the midday heat to pass. The only customers in the cafe, we quickly moved our table away from the open fireplace (?!) towards the air-con unit, which seemed to fighting a losing battle with the extreme heat.
After a long, stretched out and massive meal we noticed there were a few coulds out and decided to make the most of it and get some miles down before the sun was back out. Chris took the first step and went to the loo so we waited under the aircon for him then planned to head off. Which we would have done had Chris not returned drenched in sweat from his two minute walk to the toilet! After another twenty minutes the clouds were still there and we just bit the bullet and went for it...to our amazement, the heavens opened and the hustlers were sent scuttling under cover as a quick, heavy shower peppered the dry street. Bizzare, considering the temperature and the fact that we were 30 miles from the desert.
The rain didn't last long and the clouds were soon to follow, leaving us in the baking sun and seemingly sapping every ounce of strength from our legs. It seemed to be beyond a physical test now, instead being a test of mental strength and staying power to keep us going instead of collapsing into the ever-so-tempting shade of the palm trees. It was 300m from Rissani that myself and Chris finally gave into this temptation for a short break before tackling the notorious Rissani Rogues...brutal hustlers with a set of skills that make them the Ronaldo of hustlers the envy of every hustler in the land.
By this point Chris was determined to catch up with Matty so he headed on through Rissani as I rested a bit longer. Unfortunately this decision was probably a bad one as we both had to tackle the rogues separately. As I cycled into Rissani I was quick to notice the signposts that had been neatly vandalised by the rogues in order to confuse people as to the direction of the desert; making it much easier for them to sell a guided tour to Merzouga. Reaching a T-junction at the end of the main road I knew I had to turn left but a group of about 10 rogues jumped up and tried to stop me for "a chat" which would inevitably turn into a sales pitch. Having dealt with hustlers before I thought it was a simple "no thanks" and keep cycling but these rogues were keen to live up to their name and started grabbing at the bike and panniers. One went for the handlebars but a quick hand off had him picking himself up out of the dust!
Once past all this commotion I found Chris stopped just past Rissani. I told him my story and he told me his. Apparently he did stop to chat...informing the motely crew of hustlers that it was not he that made the decision on hotels for the night but it was, in fact, me that organised these things and that I would be along in no time!...cheers Chris! However, karma dealt a quick blow to Chris as the reason he had stopped is because he received yet another set of bee stings!
A quick "man up" for Chris and we started off again, only 18 miles to go now. Painfull progress was mad into a relentless headwind and the heat still sapped our strength. So much effort was going into moving at about 3 or 4 mph. At one point, Chris exclaimed that this was the hardest thing that he'd had to do and I breathlessly agreed with him! With the heat and exhaustion it was easy to mistake the advertising signposts at the side of the road for Matty or a building but hundreds of them passed by before any sign of life was to be seen. A blob appears on the distance...Matty with no panniers had cycled back up the road to check we hadn't come a cropper under a 4WD or rissani-rogue-mobile! We eventually struggled back to where Matty had stopped and got down to finishing the last 3km of the whole cycle. This last leg was undoubtedly tough as we had managed almost 100 miles on our final and hottest day of the journey but the final countdown of kilometers was such a push that it didn't matter if our legs were almost dead, we were going for it.
....2km...1km...Merzouga! We'd made it. It was simply a stones throw to the dunes of Erg Chebbi and the start of the Sahara dessert. The much thought about moment had now arrived and it was just as good as we had imagined...one sweaty manhug later and we headed to our abode for the night...knackered but extatic. The past month or so seemed to flood back into our minds that night as we tucked into home-made tagine and cous cous and recounted stories of good and bad times and how much we wish Char was still here. We know she would have loved Morocco but we're sure she made the right choice and nobody can ever deny the great achievement of having reached the southern-most tip of Spain.
To everyone who have offered us shelter and help along the way, to our families, friends and acquaintances who have donated or offered words of wisdom or encouragement we would like to say a massive thank you. It seems a much repeated phrase but without you all none of this would have been possible. Thanks to those who had no doubt we would make and thanks to those who had their doubts. Both were inspirations and encouragement along the way!
If you would still like to donate to our chosen charity, Right to Play, through our JustGiving page (http://www.justgiving.com/Cycle-to-Sahara) it would mean a huge amount to us.
We also have a webpage with some background info on the journey (http://www.cycle-to-sahara.co.uk/)
...and a facebook page with updates (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cycle-to-Sahara/186126538081365)
Monday 15 August 2011
Day 41 - Creepy beggars to creepy crawlies
From Midelt to Barrage Hassan Addakhil (75.6 miles)
I woke early and quickly saddled the horse and headed down to main road and retraced my tyre prints to the first petrol station on the left. As expected, this was a foolproof plan as Chris and Matty roll into town at 7am on the dot. The failure in the plan was the fact that, after spending a couple of nailbiting hours watching my bike get "fixed", I forgot to buy breakfast! Doh.
Once a few breakfast dates were consumed we decided to bash on to Zebzate, a town about 20 km ahead, where we hoped to pick up breakfast once the shops opened. Unfortunately, this was one incident where our minutely detailed map let us down...instead of being a town to stock up on food, Zebzate was a collection of shacks and a few goats. With no towns before the start of the High Atlas we just had to tuck into today's lunch which was by now possibly the fourth meal in a row that consisted of sardines, laughing cow and moroccan bread..if it ain't broke don't fix it!
On a stomach of tinned fish and questionable cheese we tackled the high Atlas mountains. A very steep climb was made worse by the crumbling roads and ever more suicidal drivers that shot round the hairpin corners in the middle of the road! There weren't much in the way of towns as we crossed the plateau of the High Atlas but we did stop in what seemed like a ghost town before heading along the massive, wide-bottomed and steep sided valleys that dominate the High Atlas.
After Chris and Matty passed around a corner, following a small collection of houses, I noticed a group of kids bending and picking up stones. After having heard of these cheeky little scamps from other cyclists who have been to Morocco I planned to spoil their daily cyclist stoning. I stopped and pretended to pick up a few stones of my own and started cycling towards them as they all scattered back behind the trees at the side of the road. Donnie 1 - tiny tourist bashers - 0!
Once I turned the corner ahead into another deep valley, the temperature rose quite dramatically and I was happy to see that Matty and Chris had stopped at a gas station just before the town of Rich. Quite what it was Rich in we weren't sure but it certainly did have a few strange characters lurking around the petrol station. Once we got lunch going (no prizes for guessing what we had) a guy woke from under a nearby tree and immediately started pressing Matty for water and smokes. After having cycled the water all the way into the High Atlas, Matty was pretty sure he was going to be the only one drinking it after having given some to a passing driver who asked earlier! The man eventually gave up and sat down for a smoke then dissapeared...only to return a short while later, simply holding a condom and pointing at Matty, who must have been a bit shy and passed on that offer!
Once the heat and the weird guy had both calmed down we started our cycle down the amazing Ziz valley, through the palmeries and olive groves that lined it. Along with palm and olive trees, the Ziz valley is famous for it's figs, which we bought at least a kilogram for one pound at the side of the road! Reaching the bottom of the gorge unfortunately meant a fairly large climb at the end of the day in order to reach the shores of the Hassan Addakhil dam. Here, we layed out the tents for sleeping on top of and had the most amazing wash in the warm waters of the turquoise lake which stretched out beside us. Apart from the odd car travelling along the road above, the only other moving thing near us was a man walking the length of the lake, checking his fishing nets and a whole lot of earwigs! These were the only thing that ruined the night as the sunset over the dam gave way to an amazingly clear night sky. They would give us the odd nip if we moved but they were definitely better news than being nipped by a scorpion.
I woke early and quickly saddled the horse and headed down to main road and retraced my tyre prints to the first petrol station on the left. As expected, this was a foolproof plan as Chris and Matty roll into town at 7am on the dot. The failure in the plan was the fact that, after spending a couple of nailbiting hours watching my bike get "fixed", I forgot to buy breakfast! Doh.
Once a few breakfast dates were consumed we decided to bash on to Zebzate, a town about 20 km ahead, where we hoped to pick up breakfast once the shops opened. Unfortunately, this was one incident where our minutely detailed map let us down...instead of being a town to stock up on food, Zebzate was a collection of shacks and a few goats. With no towns before the start of the High Atlas we just had to tuck into today's lunch which was by now possibly the fourth meal in a row that consisted of sardines, laughing cow and moroccan bread..if it ain't broke don't fix it!
On a stomach of tinned fish and questionable cheese we tackled the high Atlas mountains. A very steep climb was made worse by the crumbling roads and ever more suicidal drivers that shot round the hairpin corners in the middle of the road! There weren't much in the way of towns as we crossed the plateau of the High Atlas but we did stop in what seemed like a ghost town before heading along the massive, wide-bottomed and steep sided valleys that dominate the High Atlas.
After Chris and Matty passed around a corner, following a small collection of houses, I noticed a group of kids bending and picking up stones. After having heard of these cheeky little scamps from other cyclists who have been to Morocco I planned to spoil their daily cyclist stoning. I stopped and pretended to pick up a few stones of my own and started cycling towards them as they all scattered back behind the trees at the side of the road. Donnie 1 - tiny tourist bashers - 0!
Once I turned the corner ahead into another deep valley, the temperature rose quite dramatically and I was happy to see that Matty and Chris had stopped at a gas station just before the town of Rich. Quite what it was Rich in we weren't sure but it certainly did have a few strange characters lurking around the petrol station. Once we got lunch going (no prizes for guessing what we had) a guy woke from under a nearby tree and immediately started pressing Matty for water and smokes. After having cycled the water all the way into the High Atlas, Matty was pretty sure he was going to be the only one drinking it after having given some to a passing driver who asked earlier! The man eventually gave up and sat down for a smoke then dissapeared...only to return a short while later, simply holding a condom and pointing at Matty, who must have been a bit shy and passed on that offer!
Once the heat and the weird guy had both calmed down we started our cycle down the amazing Ziz valley, through the palmeries and olive groves that lined it. Along with palm and olive trees, the Ziz valley is famous for it's figs, which we bought at least a kilogram for one pound at the side of the road! Reaching the bottom of the gorge unfortunately meant a fairly large climb at the end of the day in order to reach the shores of the Hassan Addakhil dam. Here, we layed out the tents for sleeping on top of and had the most amazing wash in the warm waters of the turquoise lake which stretched out beside us. Apart from the odd car travelling along the road above, the only other moving thing near us was a man walking the length of the lake, checking his fishing nets and a whole lot of earwigs! These were the only thing that ruined the night as the sunset over the dam gave way to an amazingly clear night sky. They would give us the odd nip if we moved but they were definitely better news than being nipped by a scorpion.
Saturday 13 August 2011
Day 40 - Spoke too soon
From Ait Hassin to Midelt (89 miles)
Some slightly scary moments through the night as roaming packs of dogs barked endlessly at our tents or anything that moved. However, our own geordie Doctor Doolittle managed to calm the situation by launching a few stones in their direction, keeping them away for at least five minutes!
Another 5am start and a quick munch of last night's leftovers then some cereal to fill the empty bits and we hit the road to Azrou at the foot of the Middle Atlas. Although early in the morning at this point, it is still noticeable that there aren't as many horn honkers or excited fruit sellers and more just blank stares or bemused looks. This is a tough blow for the team as we had been stripped of our celebrity status and left with a much reduced fanbase!
Azrou was a nice little town set within a national park and resting in the foothills of the Middle Atlas. Although it is Ramadan just now and nothing was open when we arrived there, it is probably a really cool place to visit. We've found that Ramadan has been a slight problem to cycling in Morocco, due to not being able to source water or food when we need to, but it hasn't proved totally impossible and it should never discourage anyone else from travelling to a Muslim country during Ramadan. You just need to take it into consideration when planning your day.
Leaving Azrou, we hit a very steep climb that took us up to the plateau of the Middle Atlas. At one small section of road there were a few cars parked and the families snapping photos of the local barbary apes that seem to depend on tourists for food.
A slightly more natural sight was just a short cycle up the road. A clear view to the west, over some massive mountains with small lakes nestled inbetween. The pattern so far in Morocco has been that there are definitely amazing sights to be seen (like the mountains) but these are often marred by the less natural, tourist-led industries such as fossil sellers, hustlers and beggars.
Towards the end of the Middle Atlas plateau, we had a break in Timahdit; a small, mainly berber town where a lot of the locals wear the traditional berber hoody-like gowns. Whilst we were stopped there were a bunch of workies strolling past with wheelbarrows, one of which was so squeaky it had our ears ringing. Just as well I had the dry lubricant spray to hand! After a quick scoosh the squeak was gone and the local dogs could sleep in peace.
After a quick lunch under some beach trees we were heading along a long, wide valley next to a dry lake when Chris suddenly stopped having recieved what he claims to have been a shark bite. However, with the lake being dry it was more likely to have been a bumble bee! It was also at this point that I noticed not one but two snapped spokes on my back wheel which left the bike pretty much out of service. It may have been possible to cycle to the nearest town (Midelt) with one snapped spoke but after two have snapped it seemed better to be safe than sorry and try to hitchike to Midelt. As I removed the offending spokes, to save them from catching in the chain, a lorry stopped and offered a hand. After removing screws and loosening bolts they seemed less likely to fix the wheel than we were so we thanked them and waved them off. With the prospect of having to find the right size of vehicle to transport the bike to Midelt and then the driver being happy to do so we felt it was time to get the thumbs out...just as a crack of thunder split overhead.
We got away with fairly easily with only a short, warm shower but we weren't so lucky on the hitchiking front until a white van stopped and the man offered me and the bike a lift to Midelt...for a price of course. We should have sensed the hustle! However, 80dirhams and some conversation in broken French later and I was at a "bike shop" in Midelt whilst the lads got back on the road. The bike mechanic clearly wasn't used to seeing such a fine specimen as my bottom of the range road bike but he managed to fix it up a treat after a few dodgy looking procedures. I kipped tonight in the Atlas Hotel in Midelt and arranged to see the lads at "the first petrol station on the left at 7am"...flawless plan!
Their journey to the Timnay Campsite, 20 km from Midelt, saw the team's celebrity status reinstated in style as they were cheered and applauded through a police checkpoint! On a slightly less glamorous note they were also chased by a pack of wild dogs but they were lucky as this took place on a long, downhill stretch.
Some slightly scary moments through the night as roaming packs of dogs barked endlessly at our tents or anything that moved. However, our own geordie Doctor Doolittle managed to calm the situation by launching a few stones in their direction, keeping them away for at least five minutes!
Another 5am start and a quick munch of last night's leftovers then some cereal to fill the empty bits and we hit the road to Azrou at the foot of the Middle Atlas. Although early in the morning at this point, it is still noticeable that there aren't as many horn honkers or excited fruit sellers and more just blank stares or bemused looks. This is a tough blow for the team as we had been stripped of our celebrity status and left with a much reduced fanbase!
Azrou was a nice little town set within a national park and resting in the foothills of the Middle Atlas. Although it is Ramadan just now and nothing was open when we arrived there, it is probably a really cool place to visit. We've found that Ramadan has been a slight problem to cycling in Morocco, due to not being able to source water or food when we need to, but it hasn't proved totally impossible and it should never discourage anyone else from travelling to a Muslim country during Ramadan. You just need to take it into consideration when planning your day.
Leaving Azrou, we hit a very steep climb that took us up to the plateau of the Middle Atlas. At one small section of road there were a few cars parked and the families snapping photos of the local barbary apes that seem to depend on tourists for food.
A slightly more natural sight was just a short cycle up the road. A clear view to the west, over some massive mountains with small lakes nestled inbetween. The pattern so far in Morocco has been that there are definitely amazing sights to be seen (like the mountains) but these are often marred by the less natural, tourist-led industries such as fossil sellers, hustlers and beggars.
Towards the end of the Middle Atlas plateau, we had a break in Timahdit; a small, mainly berber town where a lot of the locals wear the traditional berber hoody-like gowns. Whilst we were stopped there were a bunch of workies strolling past with wheelbarrows, one of which was so squeaky it had our ears ringing. Just as well I had the dry lubricant spray to hand! After a quick scoosh the squeak was gone and the local dogs could sleep in peace.
After a quick lunch under some beach trees we were heading along a long, wide valley next to a dry lake when Chris suddenly stopped having recieved what he claims to have been a shark bite. However, with the lake being dry it was more likely to have been a bumble bee! It was also at this point that I noticed not one but two snapped spokes on my back wheel which left the bike pretty much out of service. It may have been possible to cycle to the nearest town (Midelt) with one snapped spoke but after two have snapped it seemed better to be safe than sorry and try to hitchike to Midelt. As I removed the offending spokes, to save them from catching in the chain, a lorry stopped and offered a hand. After removing screws and loosening bolts they seemed less likely to fix the wheel than we were so we thanked them and waved them off. With the prospect of having to find the right size of vehicle to transport the bike to Midelt and then the driver being happy to do so we felt it was time to get the thumbs out...just as a crack of thunder split overhead.
We got away with fairly easily with only a short, warm shower but we weren't so lucky on the hitchiking front until a white van stopped and the man offered me and the bike a lift to Midelt...for a price of course. We should have sensed the hustle! However, 80dirhams and some conversation in broken French later and I was at a "bike shop" in Midelt whilst the lads got back on the road. The bike mechanic clearly wasn't used to seeing such a fine specimen as my bottom of the range road bike but he managed to fix it up a treat after a few dodgy looking procedures. I kipped tonight in the Atlas Hotel in Midelt and arranged to see the lads at "the first petrol station on the left at 7am"...flawless plan!
Their journey to the Timnay Campsite, 20 km from Midelt, saw the team's celebrity status reinstated in style as they were cheered and applauded through a police checkpoint! On a slightly less glamorous note they were also chased by a pack of wild dogs but they were lucky as this took place on a long, downhill stretch.
Day 39 - Cheeky bacon rolls
Waking with the rising sun at 5am we got on the road quickly. Another noticeable assault on the senses was quick to appear as we made our way down the road to Sidi Kacem...carcasses of various animals adourn the roadsides of Morocco and are usually first smelt before seen. A specifically early morning specimen is not handy for keeping the rushed breakfast down but with the amount of food we need to keep us going we're not going to let some roadkill relieve us of our meusli!
Aside from the reduced temperatures this early in the morning making for a more comfortable ride, the lack of traffic is a welcome respite from the usual suicidal, tooting masses of Moroocan drivers. To some it may be admirable that a country of people are so devoted to Allah that they are willing to forgoe seatbelts because they believe they are being looked over...to cyclists, this level of assurance in Moroccan drivers is unsettling and sometimes very scary. A lot of the drivers here think nothing of overtaking on blind corners and coming within inches of our bikes or other cars. On a more positive note, however, the roads have been excellent so far. If it wasn't for the traffic and the odd bizzarely warped section of road Morocco could rival France as a destination for cyclists.
Also, overlooking their questionable driving, the vast majority of Moroccan's have given us an excellent reception with every second car honking their horns and shouting support or banter. Groups of kids at the side of the road would run alongside us waving and shouting, "bon chance," and today featured a large number of "racers" as Chris termed them. The odd ageing Moroccan would be slowly cycling along on a deathtrap of a bike before spotting us and doubling efforts in order to join the pack and have a chat.
As we stopped off in Sidi Kacem for water and snacks a fairly stoned man on a bike stopped for a chat and to offer a guide to Meknes; our next destination. However, his hustling skills were clearly worse for wear as he was pointing in the direction we had just come from. We may be using a very large scale map but we weren't falling for that one! On the subject of maps, we seem to have done very well with navigating so far considering the scale of our single Morocco map is 1:400000, with the usual scale being 1:50000. To those not inclined to mapreading it would basically have been impossible to find our way in Europe with such a lack of detail on the map. However, with main roads simply passing straight through towns and cities in Morocco and Matty's prep work on the route we've had no problem navigating so far.
Back on the (correct) road to Meknes, we stopped about 3 miles from the city for a break and to top up the quickly drained water bottles. A cheeky wee lad at the side of the road obviously took exception to us sharing his shady patch with him so got down to launching a few stones in our direction before his mum gave him a clip round the ears. This seemed to have calmed him down but whether the raw onion he started tucking into was a punishment or a treat we'll never find out!
Following Satan's little helper was a very hot and steep climb into Meknes where I (Donnie) made the decision to get my mop chopped in an attempt to cool my head down after the frying it just recieved. This has to be the best, most relaxing haircut I will ever experience even with the looks of disgust from the barber as he untangles the salty, sweaty mass of helmet hair!
As we carried on along the road after my trim we all suddenly realised that it wasn't possible to carry on in the mid-day heat so we found a shaded spot and got tucked into some cheeky bacon rolls that we had managed to smuggle in from Tarifa! As we were finishing off lunch an old man on a bike rolled up and started chatting to us. Through our collective broken French we managed to work out that he was saying the desert at Merzouga is three days cycle away. We found this a bit amusing since we had yet to cross the Middle and High Atlas mountains by this point and dismissed this as friendly banter. Looking back on this exchange, now that we're finished the trip, it's strange to think that this old man on a knackered old, steel-framed bike was actually right!
Once we'd all had a bit of a siesta and the worst of the heat had passed we saddled up again; en route to Ait Hassin at the start of the Middle Atlas mountains. Stopping just before the large climb up through the village of Ait Hassin we chatted to a guy opening his food stall. Telling him where we were headed, he gave a sharp exhale and wiped his brow, saying "il fait chaud en Merzouga." It wasn't the first or last time that we would hear about the heat in the desert and with two pasty Scots and a geordie with "questionable" facial hair we were beginning to worry slightly how we were going to cope.
A fairly steep climb through Ait Hassin brought us to a cluster of farmhouses where I (Donnie) went to ask one of the farmers if we could set up camp in their field for the night. On reaching the farmhouse there were only children running around and none of them spoke English or French. After one gave up on sign language they would run and get the next, slightly older child who I hoped would have some form of communicating with....After the fifth sibling had been fetched I was finally speaking to somone old enough to understand the international sign of "sleep" and "tent." According to Chris and Matty this was a hoot to watch as I stooped down trying to make the tent the right height! However, my theatrical questioning of the eldest had worked and he understood what I meant. Unfortunately, he pointed at the farmhouse...made a sign as though the farmer was a bit crazy and the other, very recognisable handsign for shotgun. It's fair to say we didn't stick around for the next eldest sibling and cycled a couple of farmhouses up the road just to avoid any mental, shotgun weilding, Moroccan farmers!
A small steading with a massive haystack in the field was the setting for tonight's campsite as the friendly farmer led us to an ideal, hay-covered camping spot. With dinner on the boil and the lads watching an amazing, deep red sunset we readied ourselves for tackling the first major obstacle of the Morocco leg; the Middle Atlas.
Aside from the reduced temperatures this early in the morning making for a more comfortable ride, the lack of traffic is a welcome respite from the usual suicidal, tooting masses of Moroocan drivers. To some it may be admirable that a country of people are so devoted to Allah that they are willing to forgoe seatbelts because they believe they are being looked over...to cyclists, this level of assurance in Moroccan drivers is unsettling and sometimes very scary. A lot of the drivers here think nothing of overtaking on blind corners and coming within inches of our bikes or other cars. On a more positive note, however, the roads have been excellent so far. If it wasn't for the traffic and the odd bizzarely warped section of road Morocco could rival France as a destination for cyclists.
Also, overlooking their questionable driving, the vast majority of Moroccan's have given us an excellent reception with every second car honking their horns and shouting support or banter. Groups of kids at the side of the road would run alongside us waving and shouting, "bon chance," and today featured a large number of "racers" as Chris termed them. The odd ageing Moroccan would be slowly cycling along on a deathtrap of a bike before spotting us and doubling efforts in order to join the pack and have a chat.
As we stopped off in Sidi Kacem for water and snacks a fairly stoned man on a bike stopped for a chat and to offer a guide to Meknes; our next destination. However, his hustling skills were clearly worse for wear as he was pointing in the direction we had just come from. We may be using a very large scale map but we weren't falling for that one! On the subject of maps, we seem to have done very well with navigating so far considering the scale of our single Morocco map is 1:400000, with the usual scale being 1:50000. To those not inclined to mapreading it would basically have been impossible to find our way in Europe with such a lack of detail on the map. However, with main roads simply passing straight through towns and cities in Morocco and Matty's prep work on the route we've had no problem navigating so far.
Back on the (correct) road to Meknes, we stopped about 3 miles from the city for a break and to top up the quickly drained water bottles. A cheeky wee lad at the side of the road obviously took exception to us sharing his shady patch with him so got down to launching a few stones in our direction before his mum gave him a clip round the ears. This seemed to have calmed him down but whether the raw onion he started tucking into was a punishment or a treat we'll never find out!
Following Satan's little helper was a very hot and steep climb into Meknes where I (Donnie) made the decision to get my mop chopped in an attempt to cool my head down after the frying it just recieved. This has to be the best, most relaxing haircut I will ever experience even with the looks of disgust from the barber as he untangles the salty, sweaty mass of helmet hair!
As we carried on along the road after my trim we all suddenly realised that it wasn't possible to carry on in the mid-day heat so we found a shaded spot and got tucked into some cheeky bacon rolls that we had managed to smuggle in from Tarifa! As we were finishing off lunch an old man on a bike rolled up and started chatting to us. Through our collective broken French we managed to work out that he was saying the desert at Merzouga is three days cycle away. We found this a bit amusing since we had yet to cross the Middle and High Atlas mountains by this point and dismissed this as friendly banter. Looking back on this exchange, now that we're finished the trip, it's strange to think that this old man on a knackered old, steel-framed bike was actually right!
Once we'd all had a bit of a siesta and the worst of the heat had passed we saddled up again; en route to Ait Hassin at the start of the Middle Atlas mountains. Stopping just before the large climb up through the village of Ait Hassin we chatted to a guy opening his food stall. Telling him where we were headed, he gave a sharp exhale and wiped his brow, saying "il fait chaud en Merzouga." It wasn't the first or last time that we would hear about the heat in the desert and with two pasty Scots and a geordie with "questionable" facial hair we were beginning to worry slightly how we were going to cope.
A fairly steep climb through Ait Hassin brought us to a cluster of farmhouses where I (Donnie) went to ask one of the farmers if we could set up camp in their field for the night. On reaching the farmhouse there were only children running around and none of them spoke English or French. After one gave up on sign language they would run and get the next, slightly older child who I hoped would have some form of communicating with....After the fifth sibling had been fetched I was finally speaking to somone old enough to understand the international sign of "sleep" and "tent." According to Chris and Matty this was a hoot to watch as I stooped down trying to make the tent the right height! However, my theatrical questioning of the eldest had worked and he understood what I meant. Unfortunately, he pointed at the farmhouse...made a sign as though the farmer was a bit crazy and the other, very recognisable handsign for shotgun. It's fair to say we didn't stick around for the next eldest sibling and cycled a couple of farmhouses up the road just to avoid any mental, shotgun weilding, Moroccan farmers!
A small steading with a massive haystack in the field was the setting for tonight's campsite as the friendly farmer led us to an ideal, hay-covered camping spot. With dinner on the boil and the lads watching an amazing, deep red sunset we readied ourselves for tackling the first major obstacle of the Morocco leg; the Middle Atlas.
Wednesday 10 August 2011
Day 38 continued - Everyday I'm Hustlin'
Ferry from Tarifa to Tangier then cycle to Souk El Arbaa Du Rharb (106.8 miles)
This morning was an emotional farewell as we (the lads) boarded the ferry to Tangier and parted ways with Char who has been a key member of the team since day one and we were sure to miss her for the rest of the journey.
We were sure that the notorious Moroccan hustlers would be ready and waiting for us on the other side of the Mediterranean. What we didn't expect was an attempted hustle from the Moroccan ferry staff before we had even left Spanish shores. They claimed we needed a previously unmentioned green form in order to board. Luckily, just as we reached for our wallets for the bribe, their manager came along and moved them on.
Even better news, the Tangier hustlers were still wiping sleep from their eyes as we sailed past; having clipped in to our bikes ten minutes before arrival. A cold (-ish) mornings cycle to Larache was a welcome start to the Moroccan leg of the journey. It's instantly obvious that Ramadan was in full swing as every second spot of shade was occupied by a mass of sleeping bodies. Whilst fresh off the boat and with Matty searching for lunch, Chris and Donnie quickly learned from a friendly hustler that eating and drinking in public is unacceptable. Due to the vast quantities of food and water that we need to keep us cycling this was to prove a test of sneaking biscuits and sly swigs of water.
Once Matty returned from the shops he declared that he had already dipped into team funds (5Dirham/30p) to pay for a translator in the shop. After navigating ourselves through the hair-raising traffic of Larache we stopped just out of town for lunch (out of sight, of course) and reflected on the mayhem that was our first morning in Africa. The towns and streets of Morocco are an assault on the senses with cars tooting for any type of manouver, markets stalls with strange fruits and people everywhere.
It was soon too get dark as we arrived in Souk El Arbaa and bought a melon from one of the seemingly thousands of roadside stalls. As all three of us were truly knanckered by this point we cycled just outside
Souk El Arbaa and camped in a small stretch of woods. After Matty and Chris' previous experiences with wild camping in Morocco we went as far into the woods as possible to avoid hassle fr>om any passers by, who have a knack of appearing out of thin air and demanding payment.
A great start with our first day in Morocco even if we were all feeling slightly dehydrated without the guidance of Fluid Master Char:
This morning was an emotional farewell as we (the lads) boarded the ferry to Tangier and parted ways with Char who has been a key member of the team since day one and we were sure to miss her for the rest of the journey.
We were sure that the notorious Moroccan hustlers would be ready and waiting for us on the other side of the Mediterranean. What we didn't expect was an attempted hustle from the Moroccan ferry staff before we had even left Spanish shores. They claimed we needed a previously unmentioned green form in order to board. Luckily, just as we reached for our wallets for the bribe, their manager came along and moved them on.
Even better news, the Tangier hustlers were still wiping sleep from their eyes as we sailed past; having clipped in to our bikes ten minutes before arrival. A cold (-ish) mornings cycle to Larache was a welcome start to the Moroccan leg of the journey. It's instantly obvious that Ramadan was in full swing as every second spot of shade was occupied by a mass of sleeping bodies. Whilst fresh off the boat and with Matty searching for lunch, Chris and Donnie quickly learned from a friendly hustler that eating and drinking in public is unacceptable. Due to the vast quantities of food and water that we need to keep us cycling this was to prove a test of sneaking biscuits and sly swigs of water.
Once Matty returned from the shops he declared that he had already dipped into team funds (5Dirham/30p) to pay for a translator in the shop. After navigating ourselves through the hair-raising traffic of Larache we stopped just out of town for lunch (out of sight, of course) and reflected on the mayhem that was our first morning in Africa. The towns and streets of Morocco are an assault on the senses with cars tooting for any type of manouver, markets stalls with strange fruits and people everywhere.
It was soon too get dark as we arrived in Souk El Arbaa and bought a melon from one of the seemingly thousands of roadside stalls. As all three of us were truly knanckered by this point we cycled just outside
Souk El Arbaa and camped in a small stretch of woods. After Matty and Chris' previous experiences with wild camping in Morocco we went as far into the woods as possible to avoid hassle fr>om any passers by, who have a knack of appearing out of thin air and demanding payment.
A great start with our first day in Morocco even if we were all feeling slightly dehydrated without the guidance of Fluid Master Char:
Sunday 7 August 2011
Day 38 - Charlotte, over and out.
The decision to finish the trip early was not made hastily. I took some serious time on my own and with the team to think about it and admitting defeat was tough. Its hard to describe how the weeks of cycling and camping wore me down but on days 36 through to day 39 I felt I had reached my limit and I was fully exhausted. The days cycling before hand were challenging and continuing into Morocco for more of the same was not within my mental ability. The boys were sad to hear this and spent time encouraging me to think otherwise. I had after all come 1700 miles to the tip of Europe and could literally see Africa. I had to want to carry on and couldn't find the worth in forcing myself to the end if I didn't want it anymore. My heart sank at the thought of crossing over the sea and starting yet another stage of the cycle. I was tired and defeated.
I am very sorry to those who have been rooting for me personally and for the whole team to stick together till the end. I feel however I have played a solid part in this trip and none of the miles I cycled were done half heatedly. I truly enjoyed the summer. Its wrong for our supporters to read this and think I have come away from the trip without gaining any positive experiences. I am proud of our efforts through Europe and despite small problems within the team I am also proud of how we managed to work and live together for 5 weeks. The support we have received for Right to Play has been epic and I'm happy I completed 1700 odd miles for the fantastic charity.
Of the many experiences since departing Glasgow on the 30th of June I decided to narrow them down to a top 5 Highpoints and 5 Lowpoints that sum up the trip personally for me. The low points were hardest to pin point because now im home, unsurprisingly nothing seemed that bad. There are tonnes more high points I would have included but you would be reading this for hours!
My 5 Lowpoints
1. Bike being stolen in San Sebastian
2. Forgetting the last lunch that didnt include 'smiling cow' processed cheese in it
3. Falling off my bike - twice, leaving me with scratches people gawked at
4. First team split when Donnie got the train to San Sebastian
5. Waving the boys off at the ferry to Tanger on the 5th of August
My 5 Highpoints :
1. Horan Family kindness and all the friends and family who put us up in Britain.
2. Our first 100 mile day, day 18 (and all 100 mile days thereafter!)
3. Meeting Ben Toulson
4. Our mid-trip break in San Sebastian.
5. Chris' encouragment after my bike was stolen in San Sebastian. An inspirational heart to heart that reminded me that even though my bike was stolen my drive to keep cycling was still there.
On the morning of the 5th August the team awoke at 6.30am to pack up camp and be at Tarifa port for 8 oclock. I waved the boys onto the ferry after a heart wrenchingly sad goodbye. A chat with Chris outside the ticket office wipped all doubt from my mind that my effort would be forgotten in this expedition because I was leaving early. He thanked me so sincerely for being part of this trip and heading up the idea in the first place that it actually made me cry that I wouldnt be carrying on the trip with such a hero. A look of dissapointment on Matty's face as we waved goodbye also confirmed how much of a role I had played in this trip,something I had never given myself credit for. It was a real pleasure getting to know Matty, a friend of Chris's id only met once before. From his dance moves to his questionable facial hair, Matty was constantly fun and relaxing to be around. Thank you for being such a great team mate. All the planning I'd put in leading up to the departure in Glasgow was truely worth it (despite the stress at the time)! Infact every mile cycled in this trip has been truely worth it and although in Spain I vowed never to do anything like this again, I am already looking at how to get a new bike for venturing around Scotland with next year.
I would like to make a note of the people that helped me get this far, each of you deserves a special shout for making the trip what it was. Thanks to my flat mates; Emilia, Bex, Kirsty, Julz and Sarah (plus Gillian)in Glasgow for putting up with me in planning mode, my mum, Glasgow University Sports Association (Chancellor's Fund), Right to Play for equipment, those that came to wave us goodbye on the 30th of June, Eilidh Menzies, Shell Hope, Chris Bush, Eleanor Franks and Ellie Coyle for their support on the road and near the end, the Horan family, the Smyth family, Chris' Cousin and Fiannce in Gosport, my stepmum, my brother, Gears cycle shop, Ben Toulson for his bike, Libby Jennings for her hospitality and much needed girls banter and Javier in Spain. Big thanks to all those who donated to help Right to Play.
Finally, thanks team. None of this would of been the summer of cycling that it was without you. Team work, cooperation and compromise were hard lessons to learn by all of us. When you share a 1 meter tall, 2.5 meter long tent and cycle next to the same people every day for 30 odd days you learn things about yourself and others you never expected. Thats what this summer was all about and without question im proud I took part in Cycle to Sahara 2011.
I am very sorry to those who have been rooting for me personally and for the whole team to stick together till the end. I feel however I have played a solid part in this trip and none of the miles I cycled were done half heatedly. I truly enjoyed the summer. Its wrong for our supporters to read this and think I have come away from the trip without gaining any positive experiences. I am proud of our efforts through Europe and despite small problems within the team I am also proud of how we managed to work and live together for 5 weeks. The support we have received for Right to Play has been epic and I'm happy I completed 1700 odd miles for the fantastic charity.
Of the many experiences since departing Glasgow on the 30th of June I decided to narrow them down to a top 5 Highpoints and 5 Lowpoints that sum up the trip personally for me. The low points were hardest to pin point because now im home, unsurprisingly nothing seemed that bad. There are tonnes more high points I would have included but you would be reading this for hours!
My 5 Lowpoints
1. Bike being stolen in San Sebastian
2. Forgetting the last lunch that didnt include 'smiling cow' processed cheese in it
3. Falling off my bike - twice, leaving me with scratches people gawked at
4. First team split when Donnie got the train to San Sebastian
5. Waving the boys off at the ferry to Tanger on the 5th of August
My 5 Highpoints :
1. Horan Family kindness and all the friends and family who put us up in Britain.
2. Our first 100 mile day, day 18 (and all 100 mile days thereafter!)
3. Meeting Ben Toulson
4. Our mid-trip break in San Sebastian.
5. Chris' encouragment after my bike was stolen in San Sebastian. An inspirational heart to heart that reminded me that even though my bike was stolen my drive to keep cycling was still there.
On the morning of the 5th August the team awoke at 6.30am to pack up camp and be at Tarifa port for 8 oclock. I waved the boys onto the ferry after a heart wrenchingly sad goodbye. A chat with Chris outside the ticket office wipped all doubt from my mind that my effort would be forgotten in this expedition because I was leaving early. He thanked me so sincerely for being part of this trip and heading up the idea in the first place that it actually made me cry that I wouldnt be carrying on the trip with such a hero. A look of dissapointment on Matty's face as we waved goodbye also confirmed how much of a role I had played in this trip,something I had never given myself credit for. It was a real pleasure getting to know Matty, a friend of Chris's id only met once before. From his dance moves to his questionable facial hair, Matty was constantly fun and relaxing to be around. Thank you for being such a great team mate. All the planning I'd put in leading up to the departure in Glasgow was truely worth it (despite the stress at the time)! Infact every mile cycled in this trip has been truely worth it and although in Spain I vowed never to do anything like this again, I am already looking at how to get a new bike for venturing around Scotland with next year.
I would like to make a note of the people that helped me get this far, each of you deserves a special shout for making the trip what it was. Thanks to my flat mates; Emilia, Bex, Kirsty, Julz and Sarah (plus Gillian)in Glasgow for putting up with me in planning mode, my mum, Glasgow University Sports Association (Chancellor's Fund), Right to Play for equipment, those that came to wave us goodbye on the 30th of June, Eilidh Menzies, Shell Hope, Chris Bush, Eleanor Franks and Ellie Coyle for their support on the road and near the end, the Horan family, the Smyth family, Chris' Cousin and Fiannce in Gosport, my stepmum, my brother, Gears cycle shop, Ben Toulson for his bike, Libby Jennings for her hospitality and much needed girls banter and Javier in Spain. Big thanks to all those who donated to help Right to Play.
Finally, thanks team. None of this would of been the summer of cycling that it was without you. Team work, cooperation and compromise were hard lessons to learn by all of us. When you share a 1 meter tall, 2.5 meter long tent and cycle next to the same people every day for 30 odd days you learn things about yourself and others you never expected. Thats what this summer was all about and without question im proud I took part in Cycle to Sahara 2011.
Day 37- Beach and Bad news
A beach day was scheduled in for today and we woke up to amazing sunshine, a standard day for the south of Spain. We had our usual lunch of baguettes and chorizo and chilled out in the sand. The boys decided Charlotte had done enough sunbathing and creeped up to her, grabbed her legs and arms and carried her into the sea. We caused quite the scene but Charlotte didn't mind too much, the Atlantic turned out not to be that cold after all!
We all spent the afternoon sorting out travel arrangements for our return to the U.K. Charlotte had made her decision and booked herself on a flight from Malaga to London the next evening. Chris and Matty had worked out they would be in Marrakesh earlier than first thought and changed their flights home to the 18th of August. Donnie would be staying in Morocco to meet his girlfriend at the end of the trip and would return on the 1st of September.
We all spent the afternoon sorting out travel arrangements for our return to the U.K. Charlotte had made her decision and booked herself on a flight from Malaga to London the next evening. Chris and Matty had worked out they would be in Marrakesh earlier than first thought and changed their flights home to the 18th of August. Donnie would be staying in Morocco to meet his girlfriend at the end of the trip and would return on the 1st of September.
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