East towards Imilchil

March 10, 2012

nother night with Berbers - in Tizget Ait(?)

There isn't much of a discussion -my bike is already strapped to the roof of Hammou's 4x4 when I look over the terrace wall at just gone 8:00.

My cycling sandal has been glued back together, for which I pay the princely sum of 10dh - a euro. And I get the half-full bottle of super-glue to take with me in case of further problems! Winner.

Hammou gave me a book to look at last night, one about mountain biking in the Atlas, and during breakfast I flick through it. A Spanish publication, I can't really understand the text, but there are symbols and quite obvious info; like travel times between A and B. It reckons 12 hours are required to get to my goal - Imilchil - but based on my progress so far, I'm tempted to double it.

One of the two other passengers in the vehicle is the goat herder from yesterday's river rescue. He isn't wearing the wooly hat.

During the ride Hammou says he'll leave a sign as to where to turn off for Imilchil: a stack of three little stones in the road where the piste begins winding east. It's a nice, thoughtful touch.

Weaving around the south side of the mountains, it only takes us 15 minutes to reach the pass, where snow is deep.

Once my panniers are clipped back on and the 4x4 has disappeared from sight, I spend a minute looking around at the vista: it's great, without any sign of habitation.

Wearing a fleece jacket as well as a thin windproof one (it's chilly), I start dropping down, but it doesn't last too long - around 5km - then a long incline presents itself, curving up ahead across the wide open terrain.

Likely spotting my yellow jacket a mile away, a goat man has wandered over the treeless landscape to see me close up and is standing right beside the road. As I often do, I stop and shake his hand, and also get my breath back. Despite the obvious language barrier, we have a laugh... he seems to think I'm bonkers riding solo, while I try to tell him he must be bored totally silly, marooned as he is in the middle of nowhere.

After 10 kilometres, the road really kicks up and I start pushing. It looks like this is going to be a hike, but then the three stones appear in front of me, plus a curved arrow formed of dry earth, that's pointing down a dusty trail. Bless Hammou.

This is the start of the piste route to Imilchil - without the signs I wouldn't have noticed it. It's just a vague track.

It feels a little disconcerting turning off the paved route, one which offers some sense of security, or at least predictability, in this seemingly endless wilderness.

A short distance along the piste a man on a horse rides by and we exchanged a few words, and to my amazement, he speaks a bit of English, saying there was a café in a village ahead. Before I get there, he's caught me up and asks if I'd like tea in one of the houses nearby. It's a nice offer and one I gratefully accept.

The route continued up and down in long sweeps. Houses are spread out along it, flat and low, looking like ones in Tibet.

There's a souk in the biggest village and I have a quick look around before riding further east.

After 29 km I come to a village - Tizget Ait - where I ask about a gite, as it is now 3:00. The elderly man gestures for me to follow him and he leads me into his house, where he says I can sleep.

We sit on rugs on the floor beside a stove that warms the long living space. The room has a slight medieval feel, with the dim light, beamed ceiling and spartan décor.

Later, dinner is served in the same spot, the wife preparing everything at the far end of the same room while seated on a low stool. There's no sink - just a single gas ring on top of a propane bottle, yet the tangine, and freshly prepared bread, are a true delight. It's only after us men have done eating that the wife - and her friend who's popped in - get to tuck in.

As before, my offer of payment is rejected out of hand.

Today's ride: 27 km (17 miles)
Total: 137 km (85 miles)

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