where old women bake fresh bread , handmade carpet workshops , cobbler shops . During a stop in N ’ Kob the sky full of yellow sand told us we ’ d not be able to ride in the palmeraie . A sandstorm was coming .
Under a sun made pale by the sand we reached Zagora , where there was the famous sign “ Timbuktu : 50 days ”. We spent the night at Lahcen Sarti ’ s hotel , expert guide , and rally tracker , with a good chat transmitting the happiness of simple things . After the unlikely mecanique on the Atlas with their rough tools it was time for a pit stop at Garage Iriki , an unavoidable stop for every overlander regardless of wheel numbers . We were many riders needing for a check , so there was time to lose in the shop nearby contracting the price of odds and ends , just for the pleasure of doing it . As usual you engage a pantomime in which you accept a drink of tea , pretend to walk away due to the high price , yet don ’ t give up until you reach the bargain price . One of the funniest things of travelling !
Everything told us we were on the caravan route , close to our destination . The road was a straight line through the rocky plain and , after the dune of Tamaguert , we started rising to the last pass . Asphalt was still perfect , but we rode slowly in an orderly row ; the wind was up again bringing clouds of sand as fine as flour and getting into everything . We chewed on sand , breathing its smell while it lay like greasepaint on our sweaty skin . The sky turned ochre red , and the view reduced while wind gusts shook the bikes like twigs , grinding the riders like in a sandblaster . Monsieur Sarti ’ s motto comes to mind , “ Watch the desert carefully , then humbly evaluate ”. Villagers greeted us like we were participants of an actual rally , making us taste the glory of a clouded finish line . The caravan of
TRAVERSE 109