We awoke to the sound of – nothing.
The desert is quiet, and our little oasis was no exception. So after putting 'Sniff Doggy Do' on the stereo (or something similar) at full bore, we soon got the desert rocking!
We had camped several miles short of the small village of Foum Zyaid where we were due to turn left. We camped away from the village so we would not get hassled by interested locals, usually trying to sell us stuff. It was great, a true adventure off the beaten track. Yet, (dear reader) more off the beaten 'track-ness' was to be had, this was to be the trucks biggest test to date...
The book (How to really, really get lost in Morocco) by Chris Scott said turn left at the pink house in Foum Zyaid - he was clearly hedging his bets, every second house was bloody pink. Seeing a sign that said 'desert this way' we found ourselves in small restaurant selling ice cream. Quickly recognizing our error we turned around and headed for the sandy rocky bits that go on for ages.
The scenery is stark, lunar, sun burnt, dangerous, dry, rocky, extreme, sandy, and 'camely'. What it definitely isn't is forgettable. Tony compared the views to the Grand Canyon or Monument valley in the USA.
Groups of Berber camels are commonplace and we often see Berber camps far away from the main piste, their children usually running bare foot (or on one occasion with one shoe) towards anything that slows down. We try to avoid them, but asthmatic four year olds just aren't quick enough and seven ton trucks don't swerve well; 'hey ho', a bit of a rub and a 'there, there' from Mum and they'll be walking without a limp in no time at all - life's tough in the desert.
Stopping for lunch and a cuppa' in the middle of nowhere, we were passed by several Paris Dakar types (Spanish mainly) screaming by in cars, we waved a greeting and got nothing back – seems some folks just aren't into that sort of thing. After seeing this uber motor technology stuff howl by it was refreshing to be joined by Faseem, on his 49cc Yamato, riding the dunes like Charlie Boorman on steroids. He worked out here looking after the piste. On seeing the truck parked up he stopped and asked if we were ok, he told us he didn't want to sell us anything 'I'm not Berber' he said. We shared a cup of coffee and a bread roll, he then told us of a better piste - one less likely to damage us, or the truck. We followed him as he danced across the dry sand (usually a biker's nightmare) with ease to the better piste. We waved goodbye as he returned to his workers hut.
On top, fast or slow, stick with a same thing, try something else - all dilemmas faced when negotiating corrugations on the road. Along the route Tony gave a very accurate and very interesting account of the trucks dimensions (tyre pressures, suspension travel, dry weight etc). I was able to share with Tony that the distance between the passenger's cranium and roof liner in the truck cab is directly proportional to the depth of the road corrugations- ridges under six inches in depth have less of an impact that those over six inches. We didn't say much in the hours spent juddering over the roads, not that we didn't have anything to say, it's just that closing my jaw was keeping my fillings in. The distance between Zagora and us was closing (slowly) and we began to think about plans for tomorrow - did we want another much longer day (or more) of corrugations. After a micro second we decided we wanted to play in the sand - we would head towards the big dunes of Erg Chebbi.
Arriving in Zagora, I took Tony to see some mechanics I had met in my previous visit to the town, (with the Africa Twin) hoping to score one of his highly desirable, mega street cred 'ZAGORA GARAGE' stickers for the truck.
I was welcomed like a long lost friend - he remembered the bikes, insisted we had 'bloody' mint tea (I can't stand the stuff) we had long chats etc, etc; anyway we scored the stickers. Zagora has changed significantly since my last visit, it has really embraced the off road/ desert experience theme. Lots of bikes, quads and 4x4s with mainly Spanish and French plates on are to be seen. Tourist type shops, full of the same stuff are all over the place. The trick with haggling in these places is to never show the least sign of enthusiasm and walking away will almost guarantee a price cut (the same applies to dating).
We left Zagora on the road to 'Erg' we didn't expect to get there in one go, so a 'stop and camp en-route' place needed to be found. There are plenty of options; we try to find somewhere where we won't be hassled. We took the truck off road about eighty km from 'Erg'.
It had been drizzling for a while and by the time we parked up the rain was quite heavy, turning the soil under our wheels into a gloopy red mud, a bit like the Spaghetti Bolognese sauce we had for dinner. By the time we went to bed the skies had cleared and the stars were out; looks like it's going to be a good day tomorrow.
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