Shifting gear

We visited the obligatory big sand dune, Erg Chebbi , which stretches for miles in all directions and dipped our toes in the Sahara. It is as if there was an invisible barrier where the flat parched ground ends and the red sands rise up.

We left the area in a very poor mood, our final night on the best campsite so far in Morocco (clean toilets, good showers and decent food) was spoilt by the owner and his family setting up a music session, with an amp, turned up to 11, and microphone, at 23.30 for four people. By 02.30 and with very interrupted sleep enough was  enough, we dressed, clambered out of the tent and told him how rude and un-business like he was being. He had taken our money that evening, had not warned us and, even worse, had not invited us.

Even Chilean campers are quieter.

As we entered the Dades gorge my gear change lever became loose and I was missing gears. It was time for lunch and as a cafe magically appeared we stopped. While Jean ordered food I set about fixing it, the spline grooves had worn on the lever so I used the spare one, we carry a lot of small spares for all those little things that can ruin a trip.

After eating, as soon as I  moved my bike there was a scraping noise, something was not right. Obviously this was going to take a bit longer. The cafe was also an auberge, fate was playing games so we decided to stay the night and have a bed for the first time in Morocco.

The next day, my bike having been fixed by removing the offending small sprocket guard which had warped, we rode up into the gorge. Our plan to ride the dirt track linking it to the next one, the Todra, was beaten by the police telling us the road had been washed away in the previous weeks rain and was not passable.

The auberge owner, Liminh, was also a hiking guide so we took the next day off the bikes and headed out into a deserted valley with him. The area is at the point where the geographic split occurs between Europe and North Africa. The rocks on either side were significantly different. To the right it looked deep red,  like Colorado, to the left multi coloured and s!other.

The valley was not really deserted, Berber nomads lived in caves and tended their herds. Most had moved on before the winter but a few still remained.

As we passed one cave we were invited in for mint tea. It was all very organised and homely, it was much cooler than outside . The smoke from a small fire kept any buzzing insects out.

And no one tried to sell us a carpet! Even though one was being woven.