Welcome to the West Sahara Project. This is the dream of two adventure motorcyclists, to cross Sahara on two wheels!

Monday, May 30, 2011

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.

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