Always one to save sensitive conversations to the appropriate moment I asked at breakfast fast whether anyone else was suffering with a bit of 'Berber Backfire'. It transpired I was not alone, there were others dreading each backfire lest it turned out to be heavier than air!
This just added to the list of tablets to be taken of a morning! However, undaunted, we set of around 8 for an hour or so's ride to the start of our next off road section crossing the Jebel Sarhro mountains from Afnif to Boumaine Dadés.
We had been warned that part of this route was inpassable and long before we reached the start of the off road we started to see the effects of the recent rains. Just outside Rissani we came across a truck that had been swept off a bridge in the rains. The cab had been teathered to a part of the bridge in an attempt to stop it being washed further downstream.
River bridges in Morocco are often different to the UK. We go for large arches and few, if any, supports. With lots of low lying flat desert liable to flash flooding the Moroccans have a different approach. They build long heavy slab bridges with a few tiny arches only 6-8 inches above the summer water level. In the rains the river just flows over the concrete slab creating a ford.
The one we had to cross was only 4-6 inches deep, but was moving at a reasonable rate. We all crossed it in our own individual style, some riders standing and others sitting and trying to keep their boots dry by holding their legs up. The road also held a few other suprises. Areas of sand that had been washed onto the road had now dried leaving 10 to 20 meter stretches of soft sand. Coming across these at 70 mph led to a few sphyncter constricting moments.
Bill had left before us in the Landy and had arrived at the start of the trail just before us. After fuelling up we headed of after the Landy like seven little ducklings. Following a few false starts we finally found the trail, passed Bill and began to climb into the mountains.
There was blue sky as far as the eye could see but it was not too hot. Nevertheless, the effort of riding a big bike through rough terrain soon had me perspiring. I could feel the dry air striping the moisture from you as it passed through my motocross gear. Keeping hydrated, as always, was important.
We rode for quite some time before finding a place away from any villages to stop, take some snap and let the smokers refuel with nicotine and toxic hydrocarbons. As always a few locals appeared as if they'd stepped out of solid rock. They were OK though.
The next section of the trail took us up to a high upland plateau. The scenery was stunning and I stopped every now and then to take pictures. The Guernsey quadruplets were enjoying the trail and sped off ahead. We'd got the route on our sat navs so there was little chance of us getting lost or separated, particularly as there are very few other trails.
Phil, Julian and I plodded along at a reasonable pace, occasionally having to aid eachother if we overbalanced in one of the dried out river beds. We eventually caught up with the lead group shortly after the trail became tarmac at a hilltop village. The next piece of piste, we had been told, had suffered a landslip. Rather than ride for a couple of hours only to find the route impassable and have to ride all the way back, we took the safe option and headed for the hotel on tarmac.
The hotel is brilliant (again), and has a great pool area. Phil and I had intended to go out and ride some more, but after a couple of coffees we ended up by the pool instead, with alcohol replacing caffine.
Some of the boys tried to ride the afternoon's trail in reverse to see if there was a blockage. After a couple of clicks they found loads of heavy machinery at work and had to turn back. Our decision to take the tarmac had been a wise one.
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