I was glad to leave Efroud and get back on the road again. I was also glad I would not be taking the southern piste and sticking mainly to the highway leading to Zagora. The pistes bashed us both about and always caused some worries in my own mind. I don’t think I would be able to cope with a long piste in this heat, especially if it had a few difficult sections, I would have a look at some of the pistes around Zagora rather than here.

The main road was very quick with few villages and even less traffic. I saw very few people walking along the road or on bicycles. There were a lot more motorcycles though. Motorcycles in Morocco are very plentiful, usually small 125 types and named Docker, but I suspect they are probably Chinese. There are bigger Dockers but these have been strapped to a flat bed cart which can carry about 9 people. Well that is the best I have seen so far, you might be able to get a few children in the spaces in between.

A lot of things appear optional with Dockers, one optional extra, rarely taken, is a helmet, and an equally rarely chosen one is a number plate, it often just says Docker on it. Dockers are adaptable machines transporting up to 3 people, a number of livestock combinations and goods to a weight of approximately half a ton, and of any shape.

Anyway, we chugged along at least twice the speed of a Docker (50kph) through an increasingly arid landscape. Nowhere now would shepherds be seen or any type of livestock. The palms had disappeared, replaced by lonely straggly trees. Just a mile or two from the road large mountains rose up out of the flat plain. I took a detour off the road to go and have a closer look only to find myself grounding Betty out and knocking the bars out of the risers so the handlebars were all funny.

Tea break

I had to get the tool kit out to put that better, but it meant a number of people stopped their vehicles because they thought I had broken down. How nice.

Eventually I reached Tazzarine, and as it was late morning, a coffee was in order. I walked into a cafe and was greeted by the owner who spoke very good English. I asked him about some 6000 year old cave paintings that were close by and he gave me good directions to go and find them. It turned out he used to do a lot of guiding for tourists, but became disheartened by many clients attitudes, so he opened up the cafe. It was really interesting talking to him and I made sure I gave him a bigger than usual tip.

To get to the cave, I needed to go down a piste 26 km, so this I did. It appeared a most unvisited track by tourists because I was causing quite a scene riding through the villages with all the kids waving. At 26 km things seemed almost right and I took a little trail off into a remote mountainside where I imagined the cave might be. After a few km, it turned into a dead end where it looked like fossil hunters had been breaking up rocks. I tried to manoeuvre Betty around but ended up falling off awkwardly with Betty's tank downhill. The smell of leaking fuel was quickly apparent. Things suddenly got serious.

Because of the bikes position, there was no way to pick her up with the added weight on her. I quickly removed the top box and the roll bang and righted her. There was a lot of fuel everywhere and I was worried I had cracked the tank. It had taken a big hit, but it was ok. The fuel filler tap had not been done tight enough.

I decided to forget the cave paintings and head on to Zagora. Returning to the main piste, I followed the trail to the main road. Unbeknownst to me, I had taken a side route off that slowly sent be back north again, rather than south. Something you would have thought I would have noticed, but, I didn't! The piste was hard work, 1st and 2nd gear stuff, with widely changing surfaces. The environment was quite amazing following the oued and then running into high plain. I was trying to keep the speed up and revs low because Betty was threatening to overheat again.

Going way too fast, we went into a riverbed and there was no saving it this time. It was going to be painful for the both of us. I was flipped over the high side as Betty smashed down onto her side. I must have smashed my ankle on something because it was hurting a lot. Again, off with the luggage and sunny side up again. There were some even bigger dents in the tank and the engine crash bars had been severely bent. They had done their job.

"And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell..." Betty righted after the fateful smash in the oued

We got going again, there were 30km of piste left to do, and proceeded at a sensible pace. It was not so easy to control the bike with the ankle like it was but I didn't want to look at it just in case it ballooned up. I stopped for a number of specialist 4x4 off road adventure type things which sped past me enveloping me in dust without so much as a thank you. I have a new enemy...

I eventually came to a gap in the mountains where I looking down to what I thought was Zagora, but was actually Nekob. It didn't really matter because it was a fantastic view. An old man who had chuntered up the hill on his Docker wished me a good day, and everything was ok.

Coming through the mountail col to see some welcoming tarmac roads and civilisation.

I had to ride another 80 kms to get to Zagora. The date plantations down the Draa valley were a sight to behold but the towns looked as dilapidated as ever. I imagine they would not benefit one little bit from the tourism industry down the road, just watch the rich tourists come and go. One kid threw a stone at me. Little shit, but I don't really blame him.

Date Palms of the Draa Valley

So into Zagora and I soon noted I was being followed by an excited youth on his Docker. He was gaining on me, millimetre by millimetre and I could hear him shouting at me about a hotel. Just for the fun of it, I went a bit quicker and he fell behind me, then I slowed a bit, so he tucked in like Rossi and got into my slipstream, ready to make his move on me again to offer a great hotel deal in the town. I sped up a bit more, and the look on the poor boys face!

In the end, I was caught by the lights, and declined his offers, he went round the roundabout and back to the grid ready for his next victim.

Everyone has to have their photo taken next to this sign

I found the hotel I was looking for quite by accident after parking by the Timbuktu 52 jours sign. Walking about was quite painful so I went and had a shower to cool down and see what the problem was. It had swelled up a bit but wasn't too bad, it just needed some rest so no more pistes for a few days.

I had a quite wonderful Tagine Kafta at the literature cafe in the town which had an art exhibition and lots of books on offer. I do find some great places! I was really interested in the carpets which were made from palm leaf.

Tasty Tajine

Back to the hotel and I had my first beer in Morocco. Coming in a tiny can and costing 25 dirham, it was not cheap, but I reckoned a cool beer in Zagora was deserved!