Day 32 (6th of March)
The day starts and wow, it’s freezing. I am at the highest altitude of all the trip: 2’100 m above the sea level. However, once I pass the “Col du Zad”, I enjoy 30 km of descent, definitively leaving the Middle Atlas and entering the transition area to the desert and to the High Atlas.
I clean the bike and cook some pasta. I realize that I am running out of gas, so I set the objective of buying new gas in Midelt. Midelt feels very welcoming and I start looking for the gas. Some guys in the Zouk help me without success. The gas container I have does not exist in Morocco. Sh*t! I guess I will have to tell Gaspard to bring many more from Spain when he rejoins in Marrakesh, in 9 days from now.
Anyways, the guys are really nice. We have a great time in the Souk. For some reason, they have a Catalan independentist flag in their cellphone stand. I ask them why, and they say it’s because they really like Spain. I realize it’s gonna be complex to explain all this in my limited French, so I nod my head, and smile.
I wait for Hafid, my couchsurfing host, in a local cafe & tee place. These bars are really popular in Morocco. Men of all ages, specially old, meet there in the afternoon until 10 or so in the evening. They play chess, or parchis, or just talk. No alcohol is served. Neither food – maybe just some cookies or fried eggs-. I wonder how they make a living charging 0.50€ per jar of tee.
Hafid is an English teacher in the high school of Midelt. He is really welcoming and from the first moment he states that his house is now my house. We have a fantastic Tajin for dinner, talking about difficulties in Moroccan society and politics. He also teaches me some words in Amazigh.Very fun evening. I start to realize that people in this area are somewhat specially welcoming.
Amazigh is the name that groups the different tribes that have lived in Morocco for millenia, also previously to the Arab conquest in the VII century. Their language is Amazigh and has nothing to do with Arab, although the Moroccan Arab – Dariya – is heavily influenced by Amazigh. Another word to refer to Amazigh people is Bereber. Hafid explains me that he doesn’t like that expression because it comes from the latin word “Barbaric”.
Day 33
The day starts raining but, just when I am climbing the mountain pass in direction to Er-Rich, the rain stops and the sun comes out. I play some music while cycling and it is fantastic. Then, again, I have a 20 km downhill, so easy. From Midelt onwards the National road is not so crowded and the cycling is really enjoyable.
I stop in a small town to buy some food. However, the shop owner, Abdeslan, invites me for tee with his friend Omar. They are in their 60-s. We have lunch together and they tell me very interesting things about Islam and Amazigh culture. They are really old wise men, seems to me. They recommend me a cheap hotel in Er-Rich and that’s were I head, while the rain pops out again.
Hotel Tislit is managed by an old, super small man that well could be a character of Assassin’s Creed. He sleeps in a tiny bed on the corner of the reception. I get a quite decent bed for 6€, and spend the evening relaxing.
Day 34
I take the offroad again in direction to Tinghir, where I will reconnect in the national road in direction to Ourzazate. It takes literally 30 minutes off the national road to be invited again for lunch. This time by Youssef and a 2nd Hafid. They are both young and have just been parents. They show me their respective babies and we talk a bit about football and I learn some new Amazigh and Dariya words. These people are fantastic.
Heading towards Amedagou, I think how easy and pleasant everything is being in this trip. And then… voilá. Have you heard about Murphy’s law? If yes, you probably know what’s coming:
Gaspard calls me to update me on his plans. I decide not to stop and to pick up while cycling. A car appears. I turn. The bike is heavy and I lose control with just one hand. Catapum! I fall off my bike. Luckily I just get some blood on the knee, but the sustaining stick breaks, the direction turns and I suspect that the shift extension part has bent. I shout a bit. How am I so stupid?
I do some minimal maintenance to be able to keep going and, a bit upset for having disctracted myself I arrive to Amelagouh, astonished by its gorge.
I stay in Chez Moha. It’s a beautiful camping with Amazigh decoration. Ahmed, the owner, invites me to have dinner with his family, despite I have refused to have dinner included in my stay. Really, this people are in another planet in terms of kindness.
Day 35
I start cycling through the Gorge. The village is partially located inside. In the exact last house of the village, I meet Ismael and Moha. Ismael is normally living in Spain, in Tarragona, and Moha used to live there but now works as a fishermen in Western Sahara. They are so happy to see a Spanish. Again, breakfast invite. We talk a lot. I am somehow relaxed to be able to speak Spanish. The gorge is so fantastic that I accept their invitation to stay one night with them and to go around so they show me some places.
I soon realize that Amedagouh must have climbing routes, and I am lucky enough to meet Paco, a french that pioneered climbing in the area in the 90’s. He has a van and basically spends all his time (and money?) in climbing. I feel impressed, he conveys a lot of peace. I feel like I will return here.
The caves of the gorge are full of fossils, minerals and pieces of broken artisanry that Moha says date at least 200 years old, when people used to live in the caves. The whole Gorge is like a fairy tale. “In this area they say there are demons” – mentions Moha. I am having the time of my life.
Day 36 (10th of March)
An early start takes me through the Gorge. I stop all the time to take pictures. Once I pass the gorge, the landscape turns much drier and now it looks like pre-desert again. I meet some kids, Moha, Said and 2 others, that are cycling back from school. They are 14 years old. Some of their bikes are really old and broken. Most cannot shift gears. They do 25 km everyday back and forth to school. And it’s not precisely flat. They are sooo strong.
We do a pause and I help them fix a bit their bikes. I also lubricate their chains. They are so glad. I feel like I need to give back to these people. I cook pasta for all of us and they give me a delicious almond bread. Moha tells me that he has done it. It’s really good.
We say goodbye – not without exchanging Facebook accounts, of course – and I continue through the gorge of Todra. It’s insane! Again, a climbing mecca. However, its proximity to the national road makes it quite crowded. I soon realize that I have left the wild Morocco I was in, and I am back to the touristic, mainstream areas of Morocco. Lunch invites are gone for good, let alone home stays.
I find a camping for a relative good price. Rashid, the owner, has a brother in the Basque Country. I find out that everyone in this area has relatives there. Seeing how life is here, I can understand much more of the cultural shocks – even some times difficulties to integrate – that some inmigrants experience in Europe. Among other factors, here everything is about the community. In Europe we have much more individualistic view.
I finish the day smoking a cigarrette with the worker of the hostel and drinking tee. My Iphone note of arabic and amazigh words keeps expanding and expanding.
Distance cycled: 1986 km.
Cumulated elevation: 16379 m+.
Cycling Pirates 
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