Today was supposed to be Bill's chance to ride with us on a route between the Dadés and Todra gorges. However, once again reports were not good so the day had been replanned. We were now going to ride on road to the Todra gorge, then head back to the area we rode yesterday and finally, if we had enough time ride on road to the Dadés gorge. Julian would accompany us to the first gorge. After that we were on our own.
Leaving shortly after nine we set course for Tinehir and the road up to the Todra gorge. Tinehir was some 30 miles away across a largely flat scrub desert. The roads were largely straight and we blasted the bikes across the bumpy Moroccan tarmac. There's very little traffic till around midday for some reason so the roads were fairly empty.
Having passed through the centre of Tinehir, we turned left and began the climb to the gorge. We had been expecting to be greated by scenes of devistation from the rains, but things were not too bad. The roads in places were covered in some sand and stones and in other areas by a bright red mud. This had now baked hard in places, but still didn't offer that much grip.
At the gorge the imposing walls rose around 1000ft almost vertically. Once again there didn't appear to be too much awry. We rode for some way north of the gorge but even here things were OK. Perhaps our planned ride could have been possible.
Returning to the gorge we parked the bikes up and crossed a small wooden bridge to a hotel on the far bank of the river. It was in the sunlight and offered a stunning view of the gorge. I'm not sure I'd have wanted to stay at the hotel for too long though. It nestled into the overhang of the towering gorge wall with millions of tonnes of rock just waiting to fall on it some day. I'm not sure I'd have slept too soundly!
We hit the road again heading almost back to the hotel to pick up a road into the mountains. From there we would pick up the piste to Nekob and I would get the chance to tie my two trips together by delivering a photograph. For this part of the adventure there would only be four riders. Colin and Julian had decided to go back to the hotel and Mark hadn't left it earlier.
My plan was to tie my two trips to Morocco together by delivering a photograph that I'd taken two years earlier. The photograph was of a small Berber boy sitting on my big GS at the top of a piste from Nekob to Tinehir. This was one of my best memories from my previous adventure and I thought it would make an excellent gift for the family.
Many Moroccans have camera phones nowadays and often whip thwm out to take shots of us as we pass. However, I doubt many get the chance to see them other than on a small screen. It's also hard to get photographs a lot of the time as they are shy or superstitious of cameras.
I knew the boy's family ran a tiny 'hotel' at the top of the mountain called Hotel Tizi. This was now our intended destination.
Shortly after starting the trail Jim started blasting his horn. His sat nav was telling him to go a different way. We tried Jim's route for a short while but it was heading away from my intended destination. After a conflab and at a fag break I discovered Jim was following one of Bill's set of waypoints that I already knew did not go to the hotel. I explained that we were now freestyling and Jim cancelled the route on his sat nav, happy that now we were on a true adventure!
A further 20 or 30 minutes riding and we were there. It was now bigger than I remembered with larger walls and more 'rooms'. We took tea with them and I presented the photo. I'd been expecting a bit of a reaction, but it was muted. The boy (I think his name was Yasif) was not around but was well.
One of the rooms had been turned into a tiny boutique. A couple of us bought trinkets. They were probably overpriced and no different to what we could have found elsewhere, but you knew the money would help the family.
We took a few photos and headed out. Phil and Simon headed back to the hotel whilst Jim and I went to take a look at the Dades gorge. The road to the gorge was flowing and allowed the bike to be ridden. There were more washouts and debris on the road though so caution was needed. At the top of a famous hairpin section we stopped for a coffee.
We were peckish, it now being late afternoon, and bought a couple of chocolate buscuits and the Moroccan equivalent of Pringles, called Kracks. Jim and I sat there giggling inwardly like a couple of schoolboys as we munched away. I bought another tube to show the rest of the lads.
We visited the gorge and then blasted back to the hotel in the fading daylight. It had been a long day in the saddle.
Back at the hotel the boys were congregated around the pool. I asked if anyone would like to try my seafood flavoured Kracks. They tasted awful. Phil said he'd tasted worse.
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