MOROCCO BOUND

A Solo Motorcycle Journey to North Africa

(Descent into the Draa Valley)

It was there I saw my first mud-walled town rising out of the dry riverbeds and the date palms beginning to cluster in the low wadis. The harshness of the landscape was breathtaking. Five hours later I was in Ouarzazate and finished with the first 190 km of the day, yet I still had 165 km to go to get to Zagora! The road was small, decently paved, but very uneven. There was practically no traffic at all, other than the occasional bus and truck. What few cars I had seen were absolutely full of people and seemed to be an unofficial bus system as well. Yet even with practically no traffic, you just could not ride very briskly.

Fueling in Ouarzazate, I bought 3 more liters of water and started down the only road to Zagora. I felt as though I was heading off to the end of the earth. The road is a hundred mile paved path along the Draa Valley, that dead ends in the Sahara Desert. You don’t get to Zagora by accident! As I wended my way to the southeast, the road just kept getting smaller and smaller too. Continuing my descent out of the lower Atlas Mountains I began to enter the harshness of the Western Sahara.

After about 50 kilometers I knew I was in trouble. It was around noon, the temperatures were already in the mid 90’s and climbing, the winds were starting to kick up out of the Sahara, and I still had 110 kilometers to go while riding straight out into the desert. I then realized that I had wasted too much time on my leisurely ride over the mountains. Under my protective riding gear I was soaked in sweat. I was drinking as much water as I could, but still trying to maintain a reserve for an emergency. My only respite was in movement, and keeping even a warm wind blowing over my body for the evaporative cooling effects. Yet the countryside and the incredible vistas of the Draa Valley beckoned me at ever turn to pull over and take pictures! The harshness of the environment, contrasted with the cooling waters and lush date palm forests along the bottom of the valley, was overwhelming to the senses.

I rode thru village after village whose sole source of water was the one well along the dry riverbed. Once moment I’d be in sand-swept, bare, rocky desert, the next moment I’d round a corner in the valley and find a village of a few dozen hardy Moroccans. The very idea that they could survive there staggered me. I had no idea what they did to survive, or what they grew to eat, yet there they were. Mile after mile I worked my way out of the foothills and farther into the Western Sahara. The steep gorges of the mountains gave way to the ever-widening Draa valley as I rode east. The searing winds were picking up and I had to keep telling myself that I would be returning along this road in a day or two and I could stop to take pictures then. I had to keep moving. As the force of the wind and blowing sands grew, I had to lean down nearer the tank and increase my speed.

The last 80 km to Zagora took the longest time of any ride I have had in my life. It seemed to take an eternity to get there. What made the ride even more surreal was the fact that since around noon, I had not seen a living thing. With the heat, and the scouring winds, every native of the region (human and animal) was hiding in the shade and protection somewhere. I was the only idiot out in the sun and the winds.

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