I am probably the worst person in the world to sleep with. Not because of my legendary love-making abilities, but the fact that I tend to snore and I get very irritated if I can't get straight off to sleep.

I had got irritated that night because next door to my room, over a 3 foot wide street was the terrace of a cafe. Even after 11am, people were making noise, playing a banjo and singing. I imaged them to be a bunch of right on western kid, off their face on kif having "The time of their lives". This did not help to better my mood.

When I listened closer, the people were talking Arabic, and they were singing love songs and songs of friendship. I had to alter my mood. Here were these kids, probably had very little but on what would be considered in the Western world to be Friday night, they got together to make music and sing songs. They may have had some pot too, but that didn't matter now! It was a heart warming thought and showed a society, in my opinion, much better than my own.

Breakfast with a view from the terrace

I was up early, having breakfast on the terrace, overlooking the medina. Why didn't they just have one satellite dish and lots of wires? It was a wonderful place to be. I brought my bike to the hotel to load her up and prepared for the traffic onslaught.

I had blown navigating city traffic way out of all proportion because of the fear of weighting my foot badly and dropping the bike. It was now causing me irrational fear that it really ought not to. But it had to be done.

I went through one empty square, got to some traffic lights, onto a dual carriageway and was out of town in 20 minutes. I don't think Moroccan cities are early morning places!

Onto the relatively busy national routes for the 100km trip to Volubilis, the Roman city. Coming from the far north western outreaches of the then Roman empire, I was more than curious to see what it was like at the far south western reaches of that empire.

I eventually arrived after taking some wonderfully quiet rural backroads where the wheat was being harvested, often by hand, I arrived at the site and was directed to a parking spot by the ubiquitous florescent jacketed car park tout.

Thee appeared to be just one family in residence now

I paid my 10 dirham to get in, sidestepped the faux guides and got up to the old town before to many of the coach trips arrived. The ruins were pretty spectacular, much larger than those in the UK and also more complete. The forum was quite evident with steps up to the capita.

Looking down the main street to the Triumphal Arch

. Most impressive was the triumphal arch with Latin inscriptions all over it. Given the choice of Housesteads on Hadrians Wall or Volubulis, I guess most Romans would prefer this outpost. No duffle coat needed here.

I had a coffee in the totally un-themed cafe and was just enjoying a bit of sun when my mate, the parking tout came to find me to tell me my bike had fallen over. There was Betty at 45 degrees crashed up against a wall. We both heaved her upright and I found that her sidestand had sunk into the hot tarmac making her fall over and smash the mirror on the wall. And the Romans were meant to be great engineers! You would of thought they would have known how to tarmac a car park wouldn't you.?

I was considering writing a letter of complaint, but I wouldn't know where to send it to. I gave my helpful tout a few dirham and left.

The scenery could easily be anywhere in southern Europe, rolling hills, fields of wheat and a warm breeze. I continued on towards Chefchouen, where I had spent my first night in Morocco.

I stopped by the side of the road to have my flat bread with a bit of peanut butter. As virtually always the case in Morocco, I was being observed. As I looked over the landscape an old couple tending their field waved to me, I waved back. A little while later, the old chap emerged from the bushes to say hello and ask me if I wanted any weed. I was in the Rif mountains now, so I suppose it was the way they greeted tourists. He asked me where I had been and had I liked Morocco and he seemed genuinely pleased that I had.

He then waited around to see if anything was going for free, as is the usual way, and for once there was, I gave him a can of sweetcorn and the rest of the peanut butter, because I wouldn't be needing it now and how his face lit up! He shook my hand warmly and wished me Bon Route as he disappeared into the undergrowth.

I got to the roundabout in the valley below Chef, which I recognised, this was the death knell of my Moroccan adventure, coming upon the place where you first started. I found the campsite whilst avoiding the professional dope merchant and was greeted by a fellow biking traveller, Chris from Leeds who was a regular on Horizons Unlimited. He knew of me. Probably because I caused much merriment on the Maroc forum by asking how many bog rolls I should take with me. I had had visions of carving down the piste with an 24 pack on Andrex quilted strapped to the tank.

Mmmmmm. Andrex quilted.....

I went on a distribution spree managing to give some teenage Moroccan campers the rest of my food and Chris the spare emergency tissues to be used as bum wad when things got desperate. I topped up Bettys oil, tightened and oiled the chain, strapped Humpy, my new mascot to the indicator and that was me done ready to go

Humpy, ready for a new adventure