I set out on Kali, my Himalayan motorcycle from Bab El Atlas in the morning, around the 13th of April and headed east to Boumalne-Dades. From there, I took the “New” road to Nkob via Bab n’Ali, yet again amazed by the beauty of the scenery, then on through Tazzarine and Alnif and made my first stop between Alnif and Rissani.
It’s a region of widely-spaced Acacia trees, that, coupled with the arid plain and mountain, just cry “Africa” to me. I turned right off the main road and rode cross-country for about 15 minutes. I camped about 2km off the asphalt road, and after a very poor meal of dried milk that refused to dissolve in water and and rolled oats too big for porridge, I slept on and off in the powerful gusts of wind shaking the tent. The night sky was an amazing array of stars, and the dawn was sheer beauty, a riot of reds and yellows in the sky.

It did cross my mind that riding off two kilometres away from the road, not on a trail, may not have been the greatest of ideas. If I’d had a fall and become trapped, or broken a leg, it wouldn’t have been fun. Still, no harm was done.

I rode to Merzouga, where there is a lake, only rarely filled with water. I wanted to camp by the lake and wake with a view of the lake and the great sand dunes in the background. Somewhere I’d read that there are pink flamingos there. I rode around for a couple of hours, but didn’t find a spot safe to camp. There were lots of tourists driving 4x4s around as if it was their playground, which I suppose it is. I didn’t dare camp there, scared of being flattened by an off-roader. Driving back to the road, going through ruts I lost control of the bike and fell very hard on my side. It was pretty heavy to pick up, a bit over 200kg. I finally got the bike up on it’s wheels, but my side hurt a lot. I was pretty sure I’d cracked a rib. The bike was fine.

I rode from there to Errachidea, then Er-Rich up in the mountains. I intended to ride towards Imilchil and find a place to camp along the way. It was getting colder and colder as I rode and climbed higher. I couldn’t see anywhere suitable to wild camp and when I was starting to get very tired I saw a side road and a sign for a guesthouse 20km away. I phoned them and they had a free room, so I took the side road, happy that I knew where I could sleep.
The road was very narrow, with plenty of potholes. I rode through two rivers, one of which was a trickle, the other was deep enough to fill both my boots as I rode through. The water was icy.
I arrived at the last sign for the Kasbah Aberdouz, pointing off to a trail that zigzagged up the mountain. The trail was eroded by the recent rains, steep, with switchbacks. It scared me. Finally, I was too exhausted to give up. I rode up and more by the competence of the Himalayan (her name is Kali) than skill, I got there safely.

The room was clean and very cold. The owner proposed a Tajine, but I was trembling from tiredness and cold and just went to bed. I slept in my sleeping bag, wrapped in two thick blankets and slept from 8pm until 7am. Every half-waking moment or maybe just dreams, I thought of getting back down that mountain, scared to drop the bike again. My rib hurt. I wanted to cough, but it was too painful.
After a good breakfast and a chat with the very friendly owner, filled up with msemen and omelet, bread and jam, loaded up with painkillers for the rib, the terrifying descent was…easy, uneventful!

I’m reminded yet again that the monsters in your head are always bigger than the reality.

I finally camped in a guesthouse garden near Demnat. Where the people were very friendly. The guesthouse is called the Ecolodge Espace Tamount. I cooked a meal of instant noodles (disgusting but full of much-needed salt) and slept amazingly well next to another tent, a couple from Casablanca. The guesthouse let me camp for free, so I paid them for a breakfast which was excellent and copious.
During the night, the fog had come down, so the tent was put away wet and I rode on 90km to Chwiter in the rain and cold, where some friends have a guesthouse called “Upupa de l’Atlas”. They were kind enough to squeeze me in for a night. I was again too tired to eat in the evening and was asleep by 8pm.

Next day I set out for the mountain pass called “Tizi n’ Test” between Marrakech and Taroudant, but as I began to climb it became apparent that the conditions would be poor. Fog, rain and cold wind. There would be no scenery to be seen.

I took the decision to go back to Bab El Atlas by the main road from Marrakech to Kelaa Mgouna via Ouarzazate.

WHAT a road on a motorbike! Beautiful curves one after another and mostly on a road so wide it forgave every beginner mistake I made. It was so good I wanted to turn around and do it again!

So that was it. I intended to be away 3 weeks and was finally away just one. I had a very painful rib, had a cough, but was in too much pain to actually cough, a tired right hand, too weak even to hold a knife, but on the other hand I’d ridden 1500km in a week, tested the motorcycling, camping and cooking gear and was beginning to know something about riding a motorcycle. It’s a long way from passing my A licence in January. An even longer way from my first ride on a little Docker Chinese motorbike in December last year.