The smell of Africa

As I rode away from the border it was like entering another world, far removed from mainland Europe just a few miles away. As I dodged mopeds, taxis, buses and lorries my senses tried to take it all in. Africa has a smell all of it's own; a mixture of earth, woodsmoke and diesel fumes, certainly distinct!

I headed southwards into the Rif mountains I began to realise why I read so many warnings about driving in Africa. Blind bends and steep hills seemed to be an invitation for the most grotesquely overloaded and underpowered minibus to try to overtake a similarly overloaded and underpowered lorry, both belching copious amounts of diesel fumes as they battled against gravity and played the ultimate game of chicken. All I could do was watch and plan an escape route in case the inevitable happened and something came the other way!

Surprisingly I made it to Chefchaouen without witnessing any carnage, and managed to find a campsite. My first night of camping! Pitching camp was relatively successful, although, as I emptied the whole contents of my panniers onto the ground around me in order to find my lighter, I realised that I would have to improve my packing system! But I felt justifiably pleased as I sipped my cup of tea by my tent before going to bed.


The next morning I succeeded in packing (cramming) all of my belongings back into the panniers, although it did take me about two hours of faffing around before I was ready to ride away!

The road south took me along some fantastic biking roads away from the Rif towards Fes, winding higher and higher into the Middle Atlas and a more barren landscape towards Midelt. My socks had still not quite dried out from Spain, and it got decidedly chilly as I reached 7200ft!




From the highlands of the Middle Atlas the road wound down across the flatlands around Midelt, where I spent the night in the fantastic Auberge Jaffa situated 5km down a dusty track in the middle of nowhere.

The next day I continued south across the western edge of the High Atlas before dropping down towards Merzouga. The landscape became drier and finally, the huge dunes of Erg Chebbi came into view. I found myself somewhere to pitch the tent, had the obligatory camel ride, climbed a dune (totally knackering!) and thought about my plans for the next day.

The plan had always been to head off on a track (piste) that wound 239km to the west of Merzouga. I had mentioned my plan to a local who advised me against travelling alone and offered to provide, for a price, a 4WD to accompany me on the journey. This smacked of a distinct sales ploy and went against my sense of adventure, however I couldn't but help thinking that he might have a point. I knew that people had journeyed along this track by themselves before so maybe I would be OK, but there again I had never ridden that sort of distance off road before......what should I do?

I made my decision...I would decide in the morning!