Motorcycle Explorer February 2015 Issue 4 | Page 90

Africa / Stage 2 For a few days, I roam through a wonderful desert landscape, dotted with make it under my steam?… Kilometre after kilometre I look at the desert and imagine stones and rocks in all shapes, sizes and colours. I ride through a valley along a rolling, rocky ridge, and see mountains in constantly changing shapes and colours, from red, to almost black and to the dull green of myself riding through it. It must be possible, I think optimistically, until enormous sand dunes come into view… oxidised copper. An occasional tree or bush, and sometimes meagre tufts of grass, fi ght to survive in the arid landscape. Now and then, where water is a little less scarce, there are clumps of lean palm trees or green patches of cultivated land where the people stay indoors in the daytime to avoid the heat. I come to a town where I can enjoy the luxury of water, food and a place to camp. I pitch my tent among the many German and French campers, cook my spaghetti and want to turn in early. But the nearly deaf German next to me has his satellite dish tuned in to a channel from his homeland. Th e voice of a German comedian bawls out across the campsite and my neigh- bour roars with laughter. In my mind I can see him leaning back in his chair, beer in hand, watching the box. A noisy reminder of how touristy this country is, I think. Hungry for more adventure, I dream my dreams. Th e King of Morocco has called upon all his subjects to pray together this coming Friday for rain to come to the region. Th ere has been none at all for four years and when I return from my side trip to the Dadès Gorges, where the fantastic view made me nostalgic for my trip along the Kara- koram Highway in Pakistan, the area is still dry as a bone. Th rough the mountains, with their breathtaking views, I reach Marrakech. I pull up alongside two motorbike cops who are sitting wasting time at a junction to ask the way to a campsite. Th ey ask me very politely how they can be of service to me. While they are practising their rather poor English, I inspect their police bikes. One has an old Honda without a front fender. Th e forks are leaking oil profusely and there’s not a trace of tread left on the front tyre. His older colleague rides a BMW and is apparently either higher in rank or has been in the force longer, as his wreck has tyres that may be well below the offi cial police limit, but which look fi ne enough to me. I want to take a photo but the cops tell me their superiors wouldn’t allow it. Shame, I think as I drive back onto the road, while the friendly public servants stop the traffi c for me. Dear reader, © J. Lucassen I follow the coolness of the coast to the Western Sahara, annexed by Mo- rocco. Th e price of fuel falls by half, the checks where they need to know my father’s and mother’s names increase, but there is not much to see I hope you liked reading this chapter of Life on 2 wheels. Th e text and pictures are copyrighted. If you like to share this story with your friends, then please don’t send them this PDF-fi le but send them the following link of my website where they can purchase a kindle edition. other than a shipwreck in the surf. I lose myself in my own thoughts, and start wondering how I am going to get through the Mauritanian desert. Hundreds of kilometres with no roads at all!… Just sand and, later, the beach. Will I have to buy a camel to pull me through it or will I be able to Happy readings, Sjaak http://www.sjaaklucassen.nl/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=171&Itemid=258&lang=en i n fo @ s j a a k l u c a s s e n . n l - w w w. R 1 g o e s E x t re m e . c o m - w w w. S j a a k L u c a s s e n . n l