I run from the tent to the toilet block. I just make it no more. Shit jets out filling the toilet bowl. I can't think what I've eaten. Not having eaten salad, the classic cause of diarrhea. The food I have eaten has been steaming hot killing harmful bacteria. And it can't be heatstroke as temperatures have been in the low thirties at this thousand metres plus altitude.

I clean myself and wash my hands well. I feel fine as I stroll over to the restaurant for breakfast in the morning's low sunshine.

The breakfast is all laid out on a long table; crepes, bread, jam, honey, eggs and decanters of coffee, tea and juice.

The blond haired Danish school group, aged about sixteen-seventeen and about thirty-five in number sitting along two tables parallel are a wall of noisy chatter and staring at smart phones. Their three teachers sit round a small table talking quietly. Then there is a whoosh and silence as three slim boys having got to their feet and walked out to stand at the head of the tables for all to see, each holding a piece of paper with prepared notes and the first boy begins a speech, his eyes down on the piece of paper out of shyness. One of the teachers, a tall middleaged man with high forehead and in white shorts for the desert walks over and takes a seat with the speaker's classmates and looks up at his student in pride. For me it is difficult following: its "Vi haar reist i mar-roc......." then the stud through the tougue effect pacific to Danish makes the dialog un-comprehendable. The first boy finishes and hands over to the second. When the third finishes, there's a moment silence followed by a clapping round of applause. And the teacher says an encouraging word.

With scraping chair legs on the floor and chatter they all file out leaving me to eat my fill, before rising to pay the bill coming to a reasonable 150 DH for camping, dinner and breakfast. Then I make a dash for the toilet.

I'm on the road shortly before eight-thirty and cover the remaining twenty kilometres to Midelt easily in little more than an hour. A bigger town than expected. Beginning with a scattering of houses a good few kilometres out leading into a thoroughfare that goes on and on with small shops, cafes and the milling around of crowds of people and chaos of cars and scooters. There are banks, though disappointingly Moroccan which for some reason don't work with my card.

The street narrows and goes up a rise, then comes to a tee at the top where the obvious way ahead is left. I'm unsure I'm still on N13 towards Ar Rachilda, but there isn't any other road on the map apart from this red road on a brown background.

Coming downhill from the tee, I see on the right a big touring motorbike with silver box panniers on its stand by the curb. Alongside a short European woman in leathers waves. I wave back and spot Free Wi-Fi upon the tinted dark glass door of the café the bike is parked outside.

I struggled with French ordering a coffee and asking for the Wi-Fi code from the young guy behind the counter, then take a seat and open the netbook. He has a TV screen on the wall on a music channel in Arabic. I couldn't help look up at the screen as a gorgeous young Arabian woman with extremely white skin in contrast to dark features and in skimpy western Summer wear pranks along singing through a smart pedestrianized district pushing off respectful advances of men with a wave and a smile. A different world from the reality I've seen so far in Morocco, where women are strictly be-scarfed and wear a sour expression as if resigned to their second class statues.

On this site I write a return message in Philip Malone's journal guest book, close the netbook and get up and pay the six Derhams before leaving.

The street ahead is into the smarter side of town and there's a French Credit Agricole, so I'm happy. The ATM works and I add a thousand Derhams to my dwindling few hundred.

The road onward is a straight line across a high desert plain with a range of hills ahead, which I reach near noon as the temperature climbs and the steep gradient ahead looks daunting. The road swings right, drops down bridging a dry river then straight up across a hillside. I drop the chain on to the small front ring and spin steadily determent to take it easy.

A few kilometres up a raggedly dressed woman standing among bushes on the left calls out "Messeur...!" and motions with a hand to her month that she wants something to eat. I keep riding. Not only because I've no food to give, I fear a risk. Turning the next bend my fears are confirmed. Two dark figures standing on a wall on the right, retenting the road along the outside. When I reach them the smaller, would've been twelve-thirteen jumps down off the wall and motions with a wave of his hand downward for me to stop. When I show I've no intention of stopping and swing out as he comes at me. I look sideways down into the whites of his eyes as he shouts mocking insults and looks back at the bigger guy for approval. And as I ride hard to get away he start running after the bike. I sprint with all the effort I've got and am soon gasping for air. My heart in my mouth as I think he's gaining on me and I won't get away. My stomach churning and pain in the chest. Rounding the right hand bend ahead I glance sideway and he's nowhere to be seen. A feeling of relieve.

The climb levels out at over nineteen hundred metres and I begin a long cruise down. Reaching the plain below there are more boys at the roadside shouting as I pass. I feel safe as I'm still rolling off the descent at 40 km per hour. Some are perhaps just curious and present no harm to me, but on my own with no one else around its better to play save and not stop.

I reach a small place not shown on the map with a gas station where I pull in as it has long gone lunchtime. The proprietor is sat at an outside table with a calculator doing accounts, but breaks off to fetch his wife to serve me lunch. The basket of bread she sets on the table looks tired and is when I try it. The targine put on the table and the lid removed has been allowd to cook dry. The meat is slightly burned. I have a coke as well. When I ask how much I owe before leaving, he says sixty Derhams. Expensive for poor quality food.

The rest of the way follows a canyon then opens out upon a plain before returning to a canyon further on.

Approaching six o'clock as I pass a signs for Jurassic hotel, restaurant and camping 3 km, a Toyota Land Cruiser passes and slows to a halt on the gravel shoulder ahead of me. The driver is out when I come level. A man in white with Arab headdress, he welcomes me, telling me his people are Berber and points to a sticker on the windscreen to say he is a qualified guide and excursion driver. Then asks do I want a lift to the Sahara. When I decline he becomes insistent and its hard explaining that having cycled from my country here, my burning wish to cycle the whole way. "I put bike on roof rack, no problem. You be at Sahara tonight and I do you deal on desert excursion, camel riding tomorrow" "No I want to ride there" I stress, and besides I'm not interested in camel riding excursions. Seeing he isn't winning he asks "Where you sleep tonight?" "At the campsite three kilometres ahead" I tell him. "Uh!" he exclaims "Camping not good. Too near river. Lots of animals, pincher" he nips his forearm with forefinger and thumb to demonstrate. "Lots of snakes. Dangerous" Really. what a ridiculous tactic so I except a lift and buy an excursion. I put on a look of grief stricken concern. But say I prefer to camp.

I'm the only tent. There's a swimming pool which needs draining and washing for the season. The man is right, being near the river, or perhaps the stagnet water in the pool has attracted lots of big flies. There's a few mosquitoes and really big antes. Where I sit at a picnic table I drop a small piece of paper and before I can pick it up, the paper is being carried away. I haven't seen any snakes though.

The restaurant has lots of stickers of approval, including a French guide book's 2014 award, telling me it is a quality place. Dinner when it comes is a big plate of boiled rice and tuna salad for starters, a chicken targine, a plate with a sliced half melon and bunch of black grapes and yogurt for desert. I don't inquire what price. I just eat.