The Desert

Day 16



I am sitting on a chair drinking my evening coffe in Ali's campsite in Nouadhibou (second largest city in Mauritania). Across from me Alex is working on the 690. The bike is literally cut in half and we are trying to put it back together.  But hey, lets go back a few days.



Days 11, 12 and 13

Note the distances on the sign, just to get an idea of what we had to deal with.

We had to cross Western Sahara, there was no alternative for entering Mauritania. A boring strech of 1,300 kilometers in the desert, with only one thin lane of tarmac. Strong winds and high temperatures make riding really hard. The scenery is completely unsatisfying. All we can do is ride on.

Gasing up along the way.

If the meter doesn't work rest assured the Moroccans will find a way.

Our camp site at Tifnerdit with the hotel on the back.

It took us three days starting from Marrakech. On day one we spent the night in a wonderful camp in the desert, Tifnerdit. It happened that Hummer-France had an organized desert tour which stopped there too. So we parked the two KTM's between something like 50 Hummers. Crazy! We sat down to make dinner and discovered that our Coleman fuel stove would not light up, no matter what. This was a great dissapointment, as we had managed to obtain a bottle of wine (alcohol is hard to get here). So we opted for the cold meal version, hoping that a solution will show up regarding the stove issue.

Typical Western Sahara road.

With an occasional sandy bend...

Next day was equally boring in terms of riding. The scenery remained the same. Occasionally we got some glimpses of the Atlantic ocean, but for the most part it was open desert plains. The roads were in a mediocre condition, and our only agony was to pass a truck every now and then while getting sandblasted by the dust trail they picked up.

At some point in the afternoon we decided to take a lunch break in a small fishing village. Everything looked deserted, but we managed to find a tiny restaurant. Fried fish and chips was the norm, and the fish was indeed delicious!

The source of evil!

After our happy meal we continued riding, with an aim to stay at the first town we came across before nightfall. While passing a small gas station we decided to make yet another stop for coffee this time. As I got off the 640 I noticed my left pant leg and boot completely splattered in engine oil. This was not good at all! We looked at the engine and oil was splattered all over the place, but it was impossible to detect the leak. So I started the bike and revved it and soon we noticed an elastic hose squirting with the black stuff right where it connected with the carter. We took it off and realized that the metalic ring that held it in place had cut through the hose. Luckily for us the hose had enough slack so by removing a couple centimeters it could still fit at the connector to the carter. That was a close one, but we fixed it in a blast!

Late in the evening we arrived at Boujdour, a small desert town. This

The tire shop.

Alex doing an oil change on the 690

The 640 features a rather complicated 

oil change procedure.

was where we had to make certain repairs and modifications to the bikes. So early in the morning we located the local tire shop/shack.

 We got rid of our old tires and placed on our brand new knobblies (Michelin Deserts on the rear and T63 on the front). We are ready for the sand. We also did an oil change as our odometers had clocked 5000 kilometers since we left Athens. Late, late in the afternoon we left, trying to make our final push to the border. Our goal was to reach a brand new Motel 80 kilometers north of the Mauritanian border. And we did, although we had to ride late into the night in the pitch black of the desert. A sureal experience one might say.

Getting closer to the border.

Day 14

Passing blown up cars in the minefield.

Into no man's land.

This is it. We are entering Mauritania today and with it, the real Sahara. One minor obstacle in our way though. In order to cross from the Moroccan border into Mauritania one has to ride through 3,6 kilometers of no mans land that is loaded with mines... And there are no markers, nor a certain path to follow. It is all desert with a mixture of sand and packed dirt. All you have to do is to keep on the most used track between the two border posts. We let a truck pass us and followed it hesitantly from a safe distance. All around us there were wreckages of blown up cars, trucks, 4x4. This was crazy... We kept on moving slowly stopping every few meters and looking at each other. The agony on our faces was very clear. It must have been the longest 3.6 kilometers any of us had done. When we finally made it in one piece on the Mauritanian side we started smiling again, although cold sweat was running down our clothes.

Alex setting up camp just before sunset.

We had a few hours of light left, and thus we headed straight for the beginning of our first piste. This piste connects Nouadhibou with Atar. Atar is almost at the center of Mauritania, and this is where the pure Sahara is. The piste is over 500 kilometers in length. We were planning to do the crossing in two days. We had loaded up with enough fuel, food and water from Morocco and were ready to move on. Once we found our way through a small village soft sand greeted us right away. It took a while to figure out the handling of the bikes on such a difficult terrain, but we soon started to put the village far behind us. We only had an hour of sun left so after almost 40 kilometers of piste we picked a camp site. Two small bushes that sheltered the tents from the ceaseless wind was all we could find. We pitched the tents and were breathtaken by the scenery. Desert was all around us. Time to cook some dinner. Earlier that morning we had tried in vain to repair the Coleman fuel stove. We had to come up with an alternative in order to be able to eat some normal food. The solution came in the form of a tin can. We bought one of those tiny sweet corn cans, ate the contents and opened with a screw driver a number of holes on the perimeter of the upper part of the can. What you do next is simply fill the can with very little fuel and ignite it. Then you place your pot on top and simply cook. The holes help feeding the fire with enough oxygen, and it is as simple as that. Of course the first trial in the bathroom of the motel this morning nearly resulted on me igniting the whole place on fire, as I poured too much fuel. For ten minutes I was in the bathroom with a 1 meter high flame burning. Water did not do anything of course, and I had no other means but waiting for it to burn out. Luckily the bathroom had a window... No one noticed anything, and no damage was done.

The tin can trick works!

And dinner is served!!!

So back to the camp, we decided to see if we could cook some pasta with sauce on this little device. Believe me it worked wonders! Penne ala bolognese were for dinner, and two happy campers went in their tents for some much needed sleep. All was perfect.

Good morning!

Day 15

Breakfast time.

We made our morning brew (on the tin can of course) and hit the piste. Riding was hard. It consisted of a mixture of hard packed dirt, littered with small stones, sections with deep corrugations, and lots of sand. The sandy sections differed from hard and easy to ride sand, to soft ready to devour your bike sand. The temperatures started rising really fast, nearing 40 degrees by mid day. Morale was down, as the task at hand was tough. We kept pushing on.

Hitting the piste.

At times it was hard going. The heat was dissorienting, the need for water were high, and light headedness was ever present. We had to concentrate really hard to deal with the terrain. I was desperately searching for the shade of a tree, in order to break, but there was nothing in site.

Trying to repair the 690.

We were approximately 130 kilometers in the desert at this point when I noticed that Alex was not behind me. I turned back and found him some 500 meters down. He was sitting on the hot ground starring at his bike. I knew this was not good news. The two out of the four bolts holding the frame of the bike had broken in half. The entire 690 was separated into two parts. We were in the middle of the desert, 130 kilometers from the nearest village, with about 10 liters of water, and a searing heat of around 40 degrees Centigrate. Things were not looking good. We both hid under some miniscule shade created by our bikes, in order to calm down and think properly. We must have laid on the hot ground for something like an hour, occasionally drinking sips of water. We were beat. The desert had won (it always wins). We now had to find a way to return back. During the day we had spotted two 4x4's, probably local camel herders travelling down the piste. A truck like that would be a miracle right now, since we could load the bike there, but there was nothing in site. We had to get out of there on our own, and we had to act fast. We took off the two side panniers, and removed the seat of the 690 in order to have a better look at the problem.

Repair attempt no. 1.

Repair attempt no. 2.

We decided that we would use some slings that we had with us to try and keep the bike together as much as possible. We also bashed the panniers back into place, and I took some of the heavy load from Alex on my bike. It took us something like two hours to get things ready, although we were steadily loosing the sense of time. We were exhausted, both mentally and physically. It was decided that pushing on was out of the question. We had to turn back. After six months of preparation we were beat, and turning back was a tough call to make, but a sensible one as well. We kept on riding following our track on the GPS, stopping ever so often to check and retighten the slings. It was working. Alex had to ride standing on the foot pegs the entire time, thus taking more weight off the frame. The 690 was slowly falling apart.

Not looking good.

The desert has no mercy!

By nightfall we were 7 kilometers away from last nights camp. We found another similar bush and pitched our tents. There is not much to say about this, other than the fact that part of our dream was not coming true. We tried to look at the bright side, that the repairs made on the 690 were working, and that we only had to cover 40 something kilometers tomorrow until we get back on tarmac. At least we were alive and healthy, and we still had water left. We ate a couple tuna sandwiches and withdrew in our tents, each trying to fight their own daemons. The Saharan wind blew strong that night....



Day 16 (again)

Nouadhibou was the closest big city on the map. We decided that once we hit the tarmac we head straight for it in order to try and repair the damages on the 690. The 40 kilometers of piste went by with no issues coming up. From there it was a straight shot to Nouadhibou, located on a small cape that is abundant with fish on either side of the ocean.

The cell like room at Ali's

We found Ali's camp, a regular stop for overlanders, and each got a small cell like room. But we did not care. After two dusty nights in the desert this was like the Hilton. We took a much needed shower, and with a frappe on hand attacked the 690.
 

 Late at night we had managed to get to the two broken bolts. This had required lots of stripping of the bike. First we lifted the front tank, then released the rear. We had to fiddle around the air filter box. With a little bit of magic, and lots of work and patience we got to the two screws. We removed them and replaced them with two brand new that Alex had with him. We were satisfied that we had managed to do this only with the tools at hand. Performing this operation out in the desert would have been really hard, due to the heat, and the small amount of water that we had left. The rear frame had to wait until tomorrow, but the 690 was standing tall again.

The screws...

Ali and part of our dinner.

Working into the night.

 Dinner was 6 small live lobsters on the grill (only 12 euros per kilo due to their abundance) and some beer that I managed to buy from a local restaurant (the owner acted as if he was selling heavy drugs to me, initially refusing to let me take the liquor out on the street. I then presented him one of my bags, and under a table he slid 8 cans, while looking suspiciously all around him....).

Fiesta time!

We had to make some new plans. Atar was out of the question, and our departure date from Bamako, Mali, was approaching. An alternative route had to come up.

A taste for the senses

Day 8

Arriving in Marrakech

The souq

After roughing it in the desert for a couple of days, we decided that a stop on Marrakech would be just what we needed. And guess what, it happened to be right on our way down from the cold mountains. We quickly located a small hotel with indoor parking for the bikes (always a must) right next to the Jemaa el Fna square. Off we went into the souqs walking for hours, and occassionaly grabing a bite from the various street cart vendors. The Koutoubia minaret is the center of attention and a beakon for this city, easily spotted from every corner. The weather was simply amazing, sunny skies and warm temperatures quickly washed away any memories of riding in the snow last evening. Jemaa el Fna is probably one of the biggest squares any of us has visited. It is vast, packed with people and carries an amazing vibe that can be felt with all the senses. Marrakech is indeed gorgeous, and a must visit for anyone who wants to get a taste for this part of Morocco.

Jemaa el Fna by night

During the night the Jemaa el Fna square was packed with numerous performers and all other kinds of people, walking around, eating and enjoying themselves. Every night more than a 100 small restaurants set up their own food benches, thus creating a huge feast right in the middle of the square, with the everlit minaret in the background. Deciding where to eat was indeed hard, but at the end we were both satisfied to the fullest extent.




Day 9
We woke up around 5am in order to head north to Rabat. This was partially a mandatory stop, since we had to go at the Mauritanian embassy and apply for a visa, hoping that we would get it in 24 hours. On the other hand, Alex wanted to visit his buddy from the university, Nouredin. Soon after depositing our papers, we met with Nouredin, who invited us to stay over at his place for the night. And what an invitation it was! Moroccan hospitality at its best. Nouredin's wife cooked an amazing dinner for us, while Nouredin took us around the old Medina. Rabat is indeed very beautiful, and much more realistic than Marrakech.

Day 10

Crossing our fingers that this will work...

Our number one priority today was to fix Alex's side pannier that was damaged during one of his falls on the desert piste, as well as some other things on the 690. So we found a local metal worker in the markets right next to the Medina. After a couple of hours, and some clever ideas, the pannier was bashed back into place and then riveted all around for reinforcement. Silicone was applied for waterproofness. A new base for the GPS was made out of an old car plate, and the mirror was straightened as well.

With Nouredin and his family! Merci beaucoup!

With a sigh of relief we went at Nouredin's place for one last amazing meal. We bid our hosts goodbye and headed to the Mauritanian embassy. Got the passports with our brand new visa stamps on them. This is it. We can officially enter the Sahara! We got on our bikes and started heading south. Around dusk it was time to stop. And guess what? Marrakech happened to be on our way! So we are off now, since we can already smell the grilled meats at the Jemaa el Fna square....

Desert Riders

This is going to be a big one. Plus I am typing from an Arabic keyboard so bear with me.
Day 2:

Alex changing the hydraulic clutch in Venice.

We are finally loose on the European roads after a day in the ferry. First thing was to repair the hydraulic clutch pump of the 690. Alex took it apart, and reinstalled a new one out of the spare parts that we have with us. Of course this took some time which was precious at the moment. So we decided to make the best of it and started chasing ferries that head to Morocco, just to see if we could catch one. We missed the one from Genoa, Italy, so we headed into France. Did a social stop in Monaco just to ride on the tarmac of the Grand Prix, and from there headed to Sete, France. Of course we missed that one too. So we did another stop at Aix en Provence, had some nice local red wine with entrecote au poivre for dinner. From there we headed to a truck stop off the highway and slept for 3 hours (yes really). Got up at 3.30 am and headed towards Barcelona, Spain in order to catch the 3rd ferry. We made it 10 minutes before the gates were up!!! Total: 1.350 kilometers in 22 hours with 3 hours of sleep (on single cylinder engines, for those who understand what that means). Finally, Morocco is a reality.

Day 4:

I guess we are not the only ones after all.

Late in the afternoon we clear customs in Tangiers and head for the Atlas mountains to make the crossing over to the desert. We had planned to stay somewhere before nightfall, but a wrong call on my part had us going through dark roads in the night under rain. Yes, exactly what we should not be doing on day 1 on a foreign country. To make things worst, one day before was the bombing of the cafe in Marrakech, so the police had decided to put roadblocks all over the country. One of these blocks happened to be on our route, and there were also some wired spikes spread on half of the tarmac just to prevent anyone from running away (just like the ones you see in the movies). Problem was that the local police decided not to light the spikes or to have any means of signalling you that you should not be driving on that lane. Plus it was dark and rainy so vis was bad. Alex was first. He went through and blew his front tyre (just like the movies, yes they do work after all). I never saw Alex, but I did see a policeman waving a 12 gauge pump shotgun at me, and at the last moment saw the spikes as well so I braked as hard as I could and stopped right at the spike thing without any incident. What followed is rated out of content for this blog.

Alex changing tubes under not so favorable conditions

Sleeping on the dance floor. Yeah!!!!

We managed to take out the tire, change the tube and insert it again in the middle of the night under the rain. The policemen where ignorant at best (TIA). So we moved on and 10 minutes later found a road stop restaurant. The owner was kind enough to open an empty ball room where we placed the bikes and slept on the floor next to them. Sureal (and cold and wet as well).

Day 5:
We are finally in the desert after crossing some amazing scenery over the Atlas mountain ranges. We arrived late in the evening in the desert town of Merzouga, accessible only through 55 km of piste (piste is the French term for any desert roads that cross the desert, its origin probably goes back to the first desert rallyes, like the Paris Dakar, which were run by the French). This was our starting point for a longer piste that would get us all the way to Tagouinite.

Day 6:
This is what we came for. To cross sections of the desert. So this first part involves ca. 250 kilometers of piste, that crosses some really remote sections, and some less so. Winds were exceptionally high making visibility an issue. The riding was rather smooth in the beginning, with very few sandy sections, the rest being mostly hard pack with gravel, corrugations and dried chots (dried lake beds). That was until we reached a small village where we would have to negotiate 6 kilometers of small dunes.

Sandy smiles from the middle of the desert.

At that point we came across a Land Cruiser with some French and a guide that were driving from the opposite direction. They stopped us and told us that it was impossible even for the local guide to find the proper pass through the dunes, due to the extremely low visibility. It was blowing at sandstorm level at this point, which meant that in the dunes visibility was anywhere from 15 meters down to only 2. We decided to give it a go anyway, mostly relying on a very good GPS route that we had downloaded. It was HARD. The bikes were extremely heavy (due to the fact that we are carrying spare tires and extra oil, that we will use further south), and negotiating soft sand was mindboggling. Visibility was extremely bad, and sand was getting everywhere. There was no question of removing our goggles.

Try digging this one out!

We started falling over and over, each time stopping to help each other lift the bikes. At least it seemed that according to the GPS we were right on track. That was until the navigator (moi) missed a turn. This got us on another piste, which some kilometers down seemed to merge with our original one. And then it happened. We were in the middle of the desert in a dried chot, and it started raining. This transformed the chot into a slippery mud like substance that gave you the feeling of driving on ice. Of course we fell again, got up, and pushed on. On one these nasty falls the 690 got dragged along for a couple of meters. Rider was fine, but unfortunately one of the two side panniers had its bottom almost completely blown out. We did a quick job of patching it with some sling and went on. At some point the rain gods were merciful and the rain stopped. And everything around us dried up in seconds.

Riding through nothing...

The scenery changed, we were driving through open plains and it was amazing!!!! The skies went blue and everything was suddenly more inviting. All in a matter of hours. Just around nightfall we came across a small military post, very close to the Algerian border. The wind had picked up once again and we had to find a protected spot to set the tents. We asked the local commandante if we could hide behind one of the walls of the post, but he thought of it as a matter of national security and declined. In a polite way he pointed down to some scattered palm trees. With the last light falling behind us we found a thicket of palms that offered some protection from the gruelling wind. We did our best to pitch the tents and with the last grains of energy cooked some cous cous with vegetables for dinner. Inside the tents of course! What a day....

Day 7:

Our campsite after a hard day on the piste.

We woke up in some amazing scenery. The skies were clear and the wind had died to some extent. Temps were around 25 to 30 degrees, very pleasant indeed. Once we packed we met a group of Spaniards also doing the same piste on 4x4 so we tagged along. We only had 60km left, and the goal was to head to Marrakech which was another 430km of tarmac. What we did not take into consideration was that this tarmac lead through an elevation of 2250 meters, once again through the Atlas range. Once we got there it was almost getting dark. And guess what it was snowing too!!! We started driving through endless winding roads in a dark oued, averaging 20 to 25 km per hour, as it was rainy, foggy, cold and dark. There was not a single village in sight, and due to the low temperatures pitching a tent was out of the question. At some point around 10pm while we were getting really desperate we came across a village, perched high up the sides of the mountains. :Luckily there was a really shady Auberge (lots of alcohol in it, unusual for Morroco, and some private bar bussines with girls going on). They let us park the bikes inside a storage area, next to hundreds of emtpy beer bottles. Big fireplace in the dinning area was a real saviour too. After two gruelling days like these, some warmth, a shower, and some beer was the proper cure. Next stop is Marrakech were we decided to use it as a day off, to enjoy the town and relax. This country is full of surprises, one wonders what is next.