March 8, 2012
Asif Melloul
very slow going
Breakfast is on the terrace. At around 1,200 m, frost covered the ground when I first went out at just after 7:00, but it's vanished now and the German duo and I chat over the usual offering of bread, jam and coffee while basking in the warmth of the March sunshine, with a pet cat for company.
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The giant slab of La Cathedrale's face is behind us when, at almost nine o'clock, we get our bikes ready and ride out onto the narrow road. It's only a minute or two later when we bear left and cross a small bridge, after which the the route splits. Theirs is right; mine is left. I'm back on my own.
The piste is in good shape. For a couple of kilometres it winds around the slopes, then rises up a rutted section where I walk for a bit before getting to a sharp right bend that leads into a gorge.
The Asif (river) Melloul is pretty long - I was told it runs hundreds of kilometres - but the 35 km stretch from La Cathedrale to the village of Anergie is its most dramatic part.
Sure enough, after rounding a bend, its grandeur strikes me. Looming over the route is a wall of rock, the debris of which litters the bumpy path, while the river is a long way down on my left. One slip and I am toast, and any bits of stone falling from above will be hard to dodge.
I drop down, taking it steady, with sharp stones scattered along the track. After riding around 8km a bridge spans the river, yet it's already almost 11:30 - a lot of my time has been taken up taking snaps. Still, it's not as though 35 km will take too long. Or so I think.
It's almost 1:00 when I get to a traditional Berber house near a footbridge made of logs where the guide said it would be okay to eat and sleep. The owners, apparently, are used to travelers, but with just 20 km more to go, I keep going. Shortly after, within a few kilometres, the piste gets worse and a small group of Berbers pass by on horses - they stop and gesture that the river ahead is deep; up to their thighs.
What to do?... mentally I've passed the point of no return. Keep going.
My bike computer reads just 22 measly kilometers at 3:30pm. Basically, I'm walking a lot due to the riding being akin to pedaling along a pebble beach: impossible. There's no real track, just a trace of where Berbers have been with their horses and donkeys. Even pushing the bike up the steep sections proves hard and my speed is so slow the computer often stops registering it.
There are also short bits where my feet get wet - where the river has flooded the piste, but it's no big deal. So, the deep part the two sets of Berbers have warned me about must be further ahead. Great.
There's one 50-metre-long section that has me taking off the panniers and trekking back and forth - climbing a few metres down to the river - as it's too difficult to lug the loaded bike. This all takes time.
Then the sole of one of my SPD sandals comes loose, flapping as I walk. The chance of getting it glued back on around here: zilch. My clunky Crocs get dug out of a pannier.
The sun goes behind the peaks behind me, yet it doesn't get cold as I'd anticipated and at around 6:30 my computer only reads 27 km - the last 4 km covered in almost 3 hours of hard slog.
Lighting the way is my cheap LED and the walls of the gorge are now simply black shapes, looking even more ominous as the piste weaves below them. One loose rock and it'll be game over.
The moon appears round eight o'clock, coming over the V of the gorge ahead, but staring at the dim pool of oval LED light has already tired my eyes.
Glistening in the moonlight, a spring runs down the piste, while the river makes that familiar rushing sound of white water, at times loud where rocks are blocking its path, at other times flowing relatively quietly.
By now I'm resigned to not making it the whole 35 km and have been looking around for a spot to pitch the tent. With a rock-face on my left and a fast flowing river on my right, this is no piece of cake, especially in the dark. But I get lucky.
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The gorge opens out slightly and a piece of river bank appears flat, with small patches of silt where I can sleep. A few loose stones get slung out of the away and I cross my fingers there won't be a flash flood in the night; the spot certainly seems a better bet than sleeping under a possible rockfall.
OK, this isn't Anergie, but I've given it my best shot and my tent's mesh is up in a jiffy and after looking up at a multitude of stars for a few minutes, my eyes close.
Today's ride: 32 km (20 miles)
Total: 107 km (66 miles)
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| Comment on this entry | Comment | 6 |
Great Guardian article that you linked to on that other site, FYI. Full of interesting insights.
3 years ago
Yes, that article is food for thought and in a way dissects what makes any forum something of a minefield.
3 years ago
3 years ago
3 years ago