Three months around Europe

Figuig to the High Atlas

The desert around Figuig is destined to be the battery of Europe. Plans are well advanced to set up solar and wind farms that in the next 25 years will meet 15 per cent of Europe's power requirements.
Adding to this a huge aquifer under the rocky desert has been discovered and there is the potential to grow biofuels.

As you drive along this desert highway, you see the infrastructure being developed and wonder whether anything, even hardy ethanol producing plants, would survive let alone provide economic growth.

Just as I was mulling this over I crested a rise into the town of Erfoud and spread below in the river valley was a vast sward of green. And because it was so unexpected, the green seemed that much more intense. Palm trees reached over three stories, the dates and oranges were plump and juicy and the temperature seemed to cool 10 degrees. Like those cake recipes – just add water.

The road to Merzouga took me back into the desert, the heat increased and the wind blew sand across the road and I had to keep my visor down. Sand managed to creep inside my riding gear and it was like sitting on sandpaper.

Merzouga is the stepping off point for Erg Chebbi – a 300 metre sand dune that rises out of the flat desert. As I drove along the road I could see the dune changing colour as the sun set lower. It started off as a silver slash, then shifted through the spectrum to end blood red .

The touts found me in the town square. I have had a change of mind about the touts I met in southern Morocco. They are very laid back, not insistent and will leave you alone if you ask. I guess touts are just another form of advertising and when I think of all the the intrusive advertising we put up with in our daily lives back home then these are far more pleasant and informative.

I was found an air conditioned auberge with swimming pool,air conditioning and half board for 10 euros.

My plan was to take a camel ride for two days into the desert. I did not want to go in a large group and for 190 euros I could go with just two others and a guide.

As I was unloading my bike, a bus full of German tourists arrived. You could almost hear the camels groan as the overweight passengers alighted.

Dinner was set for 8pm and I arrived 5 minutes late find only one chair left and the German party ready halfway through the soup course.

“ You are late, sit down, have a wine,” said a florid man next to the only empty chair. Germans, I have found in my travels are usually good fun. If you can tell jokes about sheep and bottoms, do not mention Winston Churchill and can speak about Lord of the Rings then you are quickly accepted.

My florid companion questioned me about my travels. As the meal progressed his supply of wine was steadily decreasing. At 10 pm I decided to turn in . My dinner mate leaned over to me.

“ I want to do what you are doing – but she won't let me” He said nodding towards a large bottle blond Frau at the other end of the table. She looked very formidable and I really did not want to contribute to a domestic .

“ Well , its not that hard. You just buy a bike and go for it. “

“ She would kill me “

As my parting shot I told him “ Look you get one chance at life. If you have a dream and it does not cause great heartbreak you should go for it.”

“ It would cause heartbreak to my wallet, : he said.

“Well you have to work out whether half your savings is worth more than a lost dream.”

With that he looked over at his wife, turned back to me and with a look of complete loathing said:
“ She would want much more than half and she is not worth that. “

My camel trip was delayed due to high winds and then the organiser said he could not get a guide for a small party. So I decided to move on to the High Atlas Mountains.

As I was loading my Gernman mate joined me.

“I did not sleep last night. I have decided to follow my dream .I will tell her when I get home to Dusseldorf. Maybe we will meet on the road.”

I looked at him. His eyes seemed to have a new lustre and did I imagine he had a different step in his stride? Did I just contribute to providing a German divorce lawyer with his kid's private school fees? Probably.

I headed back to Erfoud and followed the N10 and at Tinerhir headed north through the Gorges de Todra for the mountains.

This is one of the bestgmotorbike rides I have ever done Once you cut through the gorge you climb up to nearly 3000m. The road is smooth, well maintained with curves made even for a loaded V strom. I had the bike in fourth gear and was pulling around 3500rpm. The bike lapped up the cool mountain air and I stopped often to take in the views of the moon like mountain landscape and the road snaking below and ahead of me. There was little other traffic on the road and the only bike I saw was a local contentedly smoking as a freewheeled his moped down the hill, feet resting on the small petrol tank.

I was so enamored with the ride that I missed a turnoff that would take me to back to the N10. At 5pm I decided that I should call it quits and find somewhere to stay as the sun was sinking behind the crags and it was getting colder. I found a lovely little inn, had a great meal and spent the night talking to the customers and drinking far too much tea.

With proper directions, a tank full of fuel, I freewheeled back through Gorges du Dades, riding through the Valley of the Roses.

One of the great things about travelling on a bike is that you not only take in the sights but the smells. In the aptly named valley, the perfume of roses hung richly in the air. It is the only place I have ever been where I did not have to stop to smell the roses.
I spent the night in Ouarzazate- a town with a long history on the caravan trail and a lovely place to prepare for a further exploration of the Sahara. I even went for a swim in the 30 metre pool. There is something decadent about swimming some laps on the edge of the desert.

What a couple of days of great riding, from stark , sandy barren desert thorough lush green palm plantations and up snow tipped mountains along with wonderful Moroccan hospitality and food.

And of course , perhaps influencing another German to join the two wheeled nomads. Just don't tell the missus about me!