Riding the Marrakesh Express

Tales from the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, from many moons past.

The mystery Moroccan dancer, all shrouded in his hooded jellaba, had the crowd somewhat bemused with his nifty moves. He also had the staff at the traditional palace cultural evening somewhat amused. Then his true identity was revealed; it was time for me to leave the floor again. Giggling belly dancers shocked Japanese tourists and drunken cyclists looked in confusion on as I left the stage and the evening continued.

It was day something or other of our road tour through the Atlas Mountains and imperial cities of Morocco, and an evening of local hospitality had been set aside in the city of Fez, famed for it’s Tommy Cooper style hats. The following day was to be a fascinating souq tour and shopping trip, where we would learn everything you could possibly even want to know about carpets, herbal medicines, and so much more that it’s difficult to remember.

This had been a somewhat welcomed respite from the first half of the trips biking, which hadn’t quite gone to plan. It was late November, and the last of the seasons scheduled trips along this particular route. A whole five rain free months had passed by before our arrival, and nothing wet was anticipated to materialise for a few more weeks yet. But seemingly someone had cruelly crammed in sack of Britains finest wet stuff with their hand luggage, and the bag split on leaving the airport departure lounge at Casablanca. And boy did it ever split in style; monsoonal and maybe even typhoonal style! For almost three days solid it howled and poured down, which seriously restricted our flatland riding over the first few days.

Then one fine morning the shutters opened and the sky miraculously cleared, at last the biking could now begin in earnest. By this time we were somewhere just to the west of the High Atlas Mountains, unfortunately due to the opening weather we had arrived somewhat blind to the region, though this veil was about to be lifted to unveil the true beauty of the Atlas.

Rolling high along a mountain plateau the orange brown landscape of the Atlas lay out before us, a sight far removed from the mountains of Europe and the west. Much of the Atlas range carries this irrigated and colourful make up, and the land is dotted with Berber settlements while mule riding Berber hill people pass by every few minutes, usually waving and smiling in a way that’s genuinely welcoming.

Cranking further into the days ride and the group had split, everyone taking things art their own peace and in private contemplation. Over the first half serious pass of the day we hit a thundering 7km descent, twisting and winding it’s way into a deserted valley, with huge sections of road washed out from the previous few days downpours. Climbing out of this valley was amazing; the sky was crystal clear, the sun was bright and the air so clean.

Following a brief lunch stop things got more serious, and we hit the first real pass of the High Atlas. In all it must have been around 13kms long and very reminiscent of something you’d expect to find in the high sierras of southern Spain, and every bit as tough! Panting out from the pass and onto a high mountain plateau the day was running short. Behind us the sun sunk slowly into the days earlier hills and the landscape turned to an even warmer orange colour. It was time to load up the bikes and head for home to prepare for another diverse day in the saddle.

With around 12kms of climbing to sort out the breakfast we grovelled onto yet another High Atlas plateau road. Cedar forests swung by monkeys had lined the way so far, but with times verging on winter and a near 2000 metres of altitude for company the vistas had changed somewhat. For miles and miles we battled into a relentless headwind, surrounded by fantastic snow covered vistas, not at all the kind of thing you expect to see in Morocco. Sure enough it was a testing day, but personally speaking this was the best. I mean, how often do you get to see such a place in such rare glory, even if you do pay for it with effort along the road?

All that now lay between us and the respite and hustle of Marrakech was a closing day in the saddle to reach the mighty waterfalls of Cacades d’Ouzoud. Once again the sun had joined us for the ride, and the air had that refreshing mountain crispness about it. Over the days first pass and the not too distant peaks of the High Atlas appeared before us, all neatly iced with the early snows of winter, dramatic to say the least. The magnificent colour of the middle landscape seemed so much stronger than ever. Like a biblical chocolate Christmas cake the sweet brown landscape rolled sweetly into the rugged icing of the mountains, while donkey-riding characters decorated the fluffy surface. Breezing along through high Berber villages and a landscape dotted with kasbahs made for a fantastic end to a great trip and some awesome biking!