dry sandstone canyons , windswept mesas and buttes , and views as far as my eyesight could cope with , yet not a single tree or sign of life . There were a few clusters of low square houses dotted here and there , yet mostly I saw nothing moving at all .
Winding down off the passes , in the bleakest , most windswept , and isolated places there would be a single man or woman sitting at the side of the road completely alone , wrapped tightly against the bitter cold and keeping an eye on a few sheep or goats . Where they came from or how long it took to get there was a complete mystery .
The road swooped further down the valley , becoming smoother and more welcoming by the bend . Eventually I squeezed into the Todra Gorge and popped out the other end a few thousand metres below the Tizi-Tiherhouzine into a red , warm , dry , oasis-like climate with waving palm trees and camels at the side of the road . Utterly , gob-smackingly bizarre given the blizzard-ripped mountaintops I had just ridden through . But that ’ s Morocco . With the challenges of the mountains now behind me , I rode triumphantly into Tinehrir . It was time to relax with a cup of mint tea under the stern gaze of a local Berber-turbaned man who helpfully directed me towards the Tazzarine road where , just to complete the contradictory components of the day , camels wandered and desert sand blew up against a milestone that said it was 730 kilometres to the next town , Si ’ id Ifni , across a stony , arid , burning emptiness . JT
TRAVERSE 56