listen to africa

Bex on the road. © Listen to Africa.

Over the last couple of months meandering our way through France and northern Morocco, we’ve been in fairly densely populated areas. There’s never been any need to carry much food or water, or to give much thought to where we will sleep the night. We were never more than a hour or two from all the facilities that we have become accustomed to.

As we head further south and the Sahara looms ever closer, distances between settlements are becoming greater by the day. We are finding our selves having a brief discussion in the morning, along the lines of: “How long do you think it will take to get from x to y? Should we fill another bottle of water in case it takes longer than we think?”

Our daily distances have been steadily increasing as we get fitter and become accustomed to the heat (up to 40°C in the middle of the day). We regularly cycle 80 or 90 kilometres a day (with ever increasing ease) but, until a few days ago, we hadn’t broken the 100km per day barrier.

Having passed the main conurbations of Rabat and Casablanca, the map is starting to look rather blank and the other day we were faced with our first long stretch. A quick tot up on the map revealed about 130km with out any sizable settlements. Instead of wild camping, we decided to use it as an incentive to cycle a bit further. The time has eventually come to start peddling a bit harder and stop finding excuses to stop at every other turn in the road.

We set our alarm early (a rare occurrence) so we could get a reasonable distance under our belts before the heat of the day necessitates a long siesta. We follow the coast road out of town and we are soon coasting along on a gentle down hill with a good tail wind, heading straight for a large chemical plant. As we approach, we are soon coughing and spluttering as we cycle through acrid smoke billowing out of dozens of chimneys.

As soon as we are out of the smoke we stop for a rest and let our stinging eyes recover. Our next obstacle is a large headland. We manage to cycle about half a kilometre up the hill before we stop, then resort to pushing. The only good thing about steep uphills is they usually reward you with a nice downhill the other side.

The road continues gently undulating and we still have the wind behind us. After about an hour, two racing cyclists catch us up. They cycle beside us for about four kilometres chatting away in French with Bex (my French being limited to hello and ordering a coffee). We arrange to stop for a coffee with them in a café 6km allong the road. At the café, we talk about cycling in Morocco, Mauritania and West Africa (which one of them has done before).

We say our goodbyes and set off – the temperature has crept up without us noticing while we were sat in the shade. Luckily we have the pleasant breeze to cool us down but as soon as we stop we have to rush for the shade of a tree. We continue ’til lunch time then stop at a large village that stretches along the road. Most people are under cover, sheltering from the sun and the dust laden wind. Donkeys tuck themselves along walls and munch away at their food in nose bags.

After lunch of kefta tagine (a traditional Moroccan dish) we set off on the long road to Essaouira. The afternoon passes quickly and before we know it we reach the 100km mark, the barrier that is more mental than physical. Our elation is short lived as we approach our largest hill so far, and the legs that only minutes before were feeling strong soon go to jelly. We spend the next 30 minutes pushing the bikes up hill, stopping frequently for rests.

We reach the crest of the hill near the red and white mobile phone masts, then have wonderfull freewheel most of the way into Essaouira and treat ourselves to the luxury of a rented appartment with hot running water and a well earned rest.