The Road To Morocco

Imagine, you want to spend a couple of weeks in Morocco. You’ve never been there. It’s a 400 mile ride from your base on a Spanish campsite to the ferry port; and the weather is fine.

How is it, that on Wednesday, almost the moment we locked up Barri the VWT4 camper bus and left him and our fondly waving friends behind in the campsite, the weather began to change. Not enough, you understand, to make us rethink our ‘plans’. No. Just enough to make the first couple of hundred miles, shear murder. The wind blew stronger and stronger and gusted wildly. We ended up at a steady crawl and hanging onto the handlebars like silly puppets on strings as the wind attempted to lift us off our saddles.

Overnight, we had a sheltered spot for our little tent and the bikes, but we could hear the wind howling all around us, all night. At least it didn’t rain and the evening slipped by quickly, helped by the folks in the campsite bar who were very welcoming.

Thursday came, grey and easily as windy as the day before. We set off, fresh and enthusiastic. The moment we hit the main road, the A7, it started all over again. Just like the previous day, the scenery was jaw dropping in it’s diversity and rugged beauty. The sea on one side and mountains on the other; the reason we chose this route. Were we able to enjoy it? Not a chance. We settled on stopping every hour to recover; Jen for hands and Wally for his white finger, which the bike seems to provoke mercilessly. What a pair of crocks. The wind increased massively as the day went on. We took to slip streaming behind trucks for a bit of stability. It was remarkably noisy all the time and pretty frightening to ride some of the time. Could it get any worse? Hell Yeh! It began to rain. Why us? Peering through my road grease, rain smeared visor, a sign loomed large; Deer. We wondered what else nature could throw at us.

It took us 3 hours longer than our estimate to get to the edge of the port city Algeciras and the agent who would set up our paperwork so that we could get into Morocco without hiccups.

Enough was enough. We headed for the nearest hotel (not the one next to the agents!) and luxuriated. No boats sailing Friday, the sea state was an issue. It seems we’d decided to ride 400 miles in hurricane force winds. No wonder we were tired.

What a pair of numpties.

3 thoughts on “The Road To Morocco

  1. Weather, just like life at times, is capricious. Take it easy friends. I’d like you back in one piece. You did say you had all the time in the wirkdπŸπŸ˜€πŸ₯ΊπŸ™πŸ½πŸ€­πŸ˜˜

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