Needing urgent spare parts we decided to leave the bikes at motel barabas 80 km before the mauritanian border and hitch up to dakhla. It's nice so we've decided to rest up for a while before taking on the dessert again. The trip has changed character a bit. There are new rules to follow, it's much more adventurous and my guiltfeelings of having left my job seem finally to have vanished. It's a more raw journey down here, but i have come to love it!

Down here the dessert sets the rules; Often there's 130 km or more between shops. The endless remote stretches inbetween, dictate precise planning of supplies and distances to be ridden. Our longest day is 160km. Days are long as we get up around 6 and don't camp up again til darkness falls. Most of the time we can see the sea on the left but at times the flatness of the dessert takes away all points of orientation and it is easy to lose track of whether we are going north or south. Luckily there's only one long road to follow...

Camping has become more tricky. As usual moroccans have a strange ability to be found in the oddest places. Every so often when wer'e in the middle of endless sand and rocks a dude will suddenly appear sitting on a rock, walking along or napping on the roadside. Some seem to be wanderers on endless missions and others look like thev'e just left the office. And then there's a few dodgy looking military types. So although everybody is very friendly, being hidden is still a priority. 

Then there's the matter of scorpions. We have always taken care but i didn't really think we'd see them until one morning a large black one had taken shelter under Julians tent. App 5 cm if you rolled out its tail with a stick. They like being in and under stuff.  Daren encountered small green ones under a rock. So now bags are not left on the floor and barely anything is ouside the tent at night.

Finally, the disputed area buisness has resulted in many landmines. The military have apparently cleared each side of the road  but still; We only use tracks when we leave the road and the imaginary bathrooms of the dessert have moved uncomfortably close to the camp or the road. bye bye dignity....

All this has not been a problem. There's just a few more rules to follow. Everybody here knows the dessert is a challenging place and people look out for us. 

But then we meet Svend, our new german friend, who questioned our caution somewhat. More than seing the dessert as a challenge, his journey appeares to be a spiritual matter and he appears to have a firm belief in everything good in the world; A bikelight brighter than a carlight made secret camping an impossible mission and anything could wander in and out of a gaping hole in his shoe. We seemed paranoid to him and he seemed careless to us...

But having been on the road for 11 months Svend was not a novice -at least to europe- and his belief was a conscious choice that had let him meet many kind people on his long journey. His luggage prooved to be a magic box containing everything you may ever need and never need including a washing machine, a shower and a kite; On our first night together he rescued what would have been a dire meal by, inspite of being a vegetarian, producing a tin of massive german saussages from his luggage.

All the goods were transported on a trailor and in an endless amout of paniers making it hard for him to follow our speed. Inevitably we got lost from eachother inbetween a military base, endless flatness and the falling darkness. Believing in the good of the people he had decided to look at the militry base through his binoculars. Racing along trying to catch up with us in the falling darkness, he missed the parasol we had left out as a sign for him. We found him the next day 60 km ahead just finishing flying his kite in between the minefields. In a rage over having lost us he beat our record and rode 216 km!

Now he is on his way to Naukchott, the capital of Mauritania. Were hoping to catch up again somewhere along the way.

 We are again seperated from our bikes: Needing urgent spare parts we decided to leave the bikes at motel barabas 80 km before the mauritanian border and hitch up to dakhla. It's nice so we've decided to rest up for a while before taking on the dessert again. The trip has changed character a bit. There are new rules to follow, it's much more adventurous and my guiltfeelings of having left my job seem finally to have vanished. It's a more raw journey down here, but i have come to love it!

Down here the dessert sets the rules; Often there's 130 km or more between shops. The endless remote stretches inbetween, dictate precise planning of supplies and distances to be ridden. Our longest day is 160km. Days are long as we get up around 6 and don't camp up again til darkness falls. Most of the time we can see the sea on the left but at times the flatness of the dessert takes away all points of orientation and it is easy to lose track of whether we are going north or south. Luckily there's only one long road to follow...

Camping has become more tricky. As usual moroccans have a strange ability to be found in the oddest places. Every so often when wer'e in the middle of endless sand and rocks a dude will suddenly appear sitting on a rock, walking along or napping on the roadside. Some seem to be wanderers on endless missions and others look like thev'e just left the office. And then there's a few dodgy looking military types. So although everybody is very friendly, being hidden is still a priority. 

Then there's the matter of scorpions. We have always taken care but i didn't really think we'd see them until one morning a large black one had taken shelter under Julians tent. App 5 cm if you rolled out its tail with a stick. They like being in and under stuff.  Daren encountered small green ones under a rock. So now bags are not left on the floor and barely anything is ouside the tent at night.

Finally, the disputed area buisness has resulted in many landmines. The military have apparently cleared each side of the road  but still; We only use tracks when we leave the road and the imaginary bathrooms of the dessert have moved uncomfortably close to the camp or the road. bye bye dignity....

All this has not been a problem. There's just a few more rules to follow. Everybody here knows the dessert is a challenging place and people look out for us. 

But then we meet Svend, our new german friend, who questioned our caution somewhat. More than seing the dessert as a challenge, his journey appeares to be a spiritual matter and he appears to have a firm belief in everything good in the world; A bikelight brighter than a carlight made secret camping an impossible mission and anything could wander in and out of a gaping hole in his shoe. We seemed paranoid to him and he seemed careless to us...

But having been on the road for 11 months Svend was not a novice -at least to europe- and his belief was a conscious choice that had let him meet many kind people on his long journey. His luggage prooved to be a magic box containing everything you may ever need and never need including a washing machine, a shower and a kite; On our first night together he rescued what would have been a dire meal by, inspite of being a vegetarian, producing a tin of massive german saussages from his luggage.

All the goods were transported on a trailor and in an endless amout of paniers making it hard for him to follow our speed. Inevitably we got lost from eachother inbetween a military base, endless flatness and the falling darkness. Believing in the good of the people he had decided to look at the militry base through his binoculars. Racing along trying to catch up with us in the falling darkness, he missed the parasol we had left out as a sign for him. We found him the next day 60 km ahead just finishing flying his kite in between the minefields. In a rage over having lost us he beat our record and rode 216 km!

Now he is on his way to Naukchott, the capital of Mauritania. Were hoping to catch up again somewhere along the way.

We meet the real gatekeeper of the sahara in Tunisia on a previous trip, on a previous failed attept to ride the dessert. He turned out to be a cat in a desserted caffe 40 km along a dissapearing dirt track into nothing.

But the city of goulmime claims to be the gateway so the cat was a long way from home. Goulmime is indeed the last city. On the other side the road became the scene for a travelling circus of car ralleys, home made dessert-jeep-caravans and enormous coca cola trucks. The dessert there stinks as it is dumping ground for fish water from the trucks. Enough to make you vomit at times. All not part of the plan but as our bikes now look a good part of the travelling circus we feelt happily excited as we joined them. Our act would be the victorian outing as we have added a blue and white parasol and an enourmes foodbag to our luggage. On top of that there is the usual mess of bags and bungees and water and towels and drying laundry. 

Initially the ride was tough;The winds weren't going the right way and knowing that we can only complete this 3000 km journey with the wind behind us it was a daunting prospect. But onwards. In tan tan plage - a fishing village some 100 km into the dessert we meet up with Julian, a geographer eager to join our travelling circus and now all three of us are sailing down south on tailwinds.

600 km further south the traffic has eased of and the dessert has changed from being a smelly playground to a seriously beautifull and remote place. The landscape changes between yellow dunes, beaches with cliffs and enormos waves, shrubby endlessness and even large kraters with salt lakes. Just as we were practicing camel and donkey impressions a herd of wild camels past us. Even a white one! Other than that there are salamanders and flamingos and at times i'm being overtaken by sideways flying dragonflies blow of curse by the wind.  

Julian has shaken us out of our lazy mornings and we start our rides around 9 am after tea and breakfast. Appart from tailwinds my ride depends on elevenses and every day at eleven we eat urgent sandwiches under our parasol (if tailwind isn't too strong). Then we go on too lunch, some sort of a midday break and finally camping. Inbetween all these breaks we generally manage to ride about 120 km pr day.  In the evenings we have fires if there is wood and if we hadn't run out of whiskey and if my gran was with me in a sidecar, it would be perfect indeed. But as it is, it is good too.  

OK, pas vraiment au bout du monde, mais disons au bout de la civilisation marocaine.  Et encore, il y a peu longtemps, c'était encore un territoire disputé entre le Maroc et le mouvement indépendentiste Polisario.  Donc, arrivée massive de colons marocains pour prendre possession, chinese-style, avec omniprésence de l'armée depuis...  Mais ne vous inauiétez pas pour moi, il y a eu un cessez-le-feu en 1991, bien que rien ne soit officiellement réglé (il y a des camps de réfugiés sawahari ici et là, à l'abris des regqrds bien sûr). 

Et moi, je viens de me taper 29h30 de bus depuis hier 9h AM pour être ici.  Et c'est long quand le bus est plein pour la nuit, et qu'on n'est pas capable de dormir assis.  Et surtout quand tu n'est pas capable de lire ni faire autre chose que de regarder le paysage...  Et SURTOUT, quand le paysage ne change pas sur 1000 km (hammam, ie désert de roches.  Faut dire que le moment le plus excitant fût de voir un chameau...  Passionnant, non.  Ah oui, faut pas oublier les 9 contrôles de police, au cours duquel j'étais évidement le seul contrôlé...  Après 2-3, je leur ai fait une fiche signalitique pour leur éviter de garder mon passeport pendant qu'ils copiaient toute l'information.

Mais que voulez-vous, c'est la porte d'entrée de la Mauritanie, et c'est surtout mon genre de faire un truc stupide.  Alors, après avoir parcouru la ville sans succès pour me trouver un lift vers la frontière avec d'autres touristes, et bien je me suis résolu à payer mon passage avec une voiture locale, le tout organisé par un hôtel que j'ai trouvé par hasard...  Mais au moins j'aurais un peu de compagnie pour les 5-6h que cela va prendre.  Il y a un gars qui m'a proposé un lift pour moins cher, mais je crois qu'il était du genre à m'abandonner dans le désert si je ne lui offrais pas un bonus en milieu de chemin...  J'aurais bien fait du pouce demain matin, mais il n'y a juste pas de touristes en ville pour me ramasser, et embarquer avec un "local" quand on est mal pris, c'est pas toujours sans risque (voir ci-haut...).  Au moins, les gens sont assez gentils ici.  Ils ne sont pas encore écoeurés de voir des touristes partout.  D'ailleurs, deux jolies jeunes filles m'ont suivi pendqnt 1h pour m'aider à trouver un transport vers la Mauritanie...  J'ai même scoré un numéro de téléphone.  Bon, faut dire que je suis beau gosse aussi, ce qui nt nuit jamais...  Héhéhé.

MDLF:  C'est normal au Maroc que deux hommes se promène main dans la main.  A quand cette coutume à Mtl?

Day 8

Dakhla to Nouadhibou

260 miles.

When steve woke up today he was really ill. A very bad stomach and extremely tired. This was not good as the toilet facilities are quite horrendous at times and poor Steve was having to visit them far too often.

Before setting off we drove into Dakhla centre to fix the rear windscreen.  The backstreet garages here are amazing and once you get across what you want, it is almost possible to get anything you need. Our man wanted to replace the back with thick Perspex plastic. We now went on a search of the city for the plastic. All through this Steve was asleep in the passenger seat getting worse while I had this mechanic sat in the boot of the car shouting directions in French. After ages buying it and cutting it to shape we returned to the garage. It was so hot and dusty and yet steve still slept. Starting to worry about him a bit. Fed him some Imodium and dirolite but he is not getting any better.

I paid the mechanic with a small bottle of whisky, some clothes and local cash. Why cant we do this in our local shops at home.

Now we left for Western sahara to cross no mans land into Mauritania. Now this is a mine field. A real one, no messing! We aimed to be there for day light but the car we were with kept overheating so we didn’t arrive until dark. We only just made it to through the border before it closed and we were the last 2 cars through. As it turned out it didn’t really matter as the car that arrived early in the day were still bogged down in beaurocracy. It took us 2 hours to leave Morocco. It only took 20 minutes when arriving!

Now the fun really begins. We set a convoy of 5 cars with me at the back. No mans land is about 5km wide. I was told that the track we take was well marked, but I didn’t see that. We had 2 regular cars with us and there was no way they could drive through the sand on the trail we were going to take. We had to stop the convoy and a few of the guys started to look for another path to take. I wasn’t happy with them walking about in the dark with only torches. In the end an alternate track was found. Four of the guys stood at the edge of the track on shone their torches at the road where we should drive. It was still quite sandy and each car had to take a run up and keep up speed to get over. We eventually made it to the Mauritanian side in one piece. I was relieved to get over. It was a lot more intense than I thought.

Now the fun with the border guards began. The first checkpoint was army. They are the most corrupt. We had expected this and all put 10 euros into a fund and gave it to the guards. This is the difference between 10 minutes at the checkpoint or several hours. This is just the way it is. Best to just get used to it.

Then passport  control. These are police. We got away with giving a few pens. Not so bad. They started out wanting our t shirts, glasses, watches and anything else they could see we had. These are not offices that you expect. They are just wooden shacks in the middle of nowhere.

Next to clear customs. This is the one you don’t mind bribing. We had beer and liquor on board and as this is a Muslim country, not really allowed. Again just pay the money and move on. Life is easy then.

After this interesting experience we had a drive of  about 120km to the beach at Nouadhibou. Although it was late, Big Norwegian Hans cooked a meal and we sat eating and drinking until about 2am. What a day!!