Mojo Hunting In Morocco: A ride report of sorts.

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During the night the world dropped out of my bottom and I slept only three or four hours. I took the necessary drugs and hoped they would block the deluge until we made the hotel that evening.
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We rode up through the cedar forests with Fez as tonight’s destination.
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The roads entertained and the sun shone. I sent a text to my lovely assistant and told her I could be a while.
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Wild Bill stopped and shouted his orders to us from the front every now and again. None of us could hear them so we just nodded our helmets and carried on regardless.


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I asked this small boy what he’d said at one stop, he said that the red headed man was crazy with the heat and told me to make good my escape at the next available opportunity. A wise head on young shoulder I thought.
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We had a coffee in the ski resort of Ifrane and then onto the Old Town in Fez.

Chelsea were playing Man Utd on the TV in the bar so I ignored the delights of a medieval city for a beer and a pointless game of football.

Maybe the heat was getting to me or maybe I just needed to be within trotting distance of a flushable WC.
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Tomorrow we head south for the deserts, Wild Bill promised camels, sand dunes and swimming pools.
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That night I slept in a large room with five other men. You get to sleep with fewer men when in prison. There wasn’t a toilet brush either, oh the humility.
 
Day three dawned. After the standard breakfast of bread, jam and coffee that a Wimpey’s would be ashamed to serve saw us on the road. Today we were to ride 300 miles south to Merzouga, though Sefrou, Boulmane, Midelt, Rich, Errachidia, Efford and Rissani.
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At lunch we rode our bikes through this gateway………
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And parked them in this courtyard, much to the annoyance of a group of French OAP’s who were stood around discussing the spiralling cost of angora wool V-neck pullovers until we disturbed them……..
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After refreshments we carried on south.
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We came across the “Tunnel of the Legionnaire”. At the other end a chap was guarding it, not sure why?

The end we stopped at had a the usual fossil/trinket seller. But this one had a twist. He claimed to have visited Bognor Regis a few years ago and asked why English people always laughed when he told them this.

I couldn’t think of an answer so I got The Boy Burton to buy one of his trinkets.
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We rode along the side of a palmery for a while before a long stretch of straight, extremely hot desert road.
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Wild Bill led us off the tarmac road and down a mile or so of nice gravel to the Kasbah Mohayut
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The Pan Galactica rider was cursing him until he saw the inside of the place. Well worth the rough ride.
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The bar was particularly welcome…
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We paddled then ate dinner and then retired for an early night, tomorrow would be a long day, especially for me but I didn’t know it then.
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We paddled then ate dinner then retired for an early night, tomorrow would be a long day, especially for me but I didn’t know it then.
another Flash Gordon type cliffhanger :bounce1:bounce1


will our intrepid explorer survive?

Tune in next time to find out
 
G'day Waldin,

Kylie and Danni here (we've hi-jacked Mike's log-in).

Look sport, we're about to get it on with him but he says that he won't join us until you've finished this report.

So do a couple of Sheila's a favour mate, stop being a bludger and pull your ruddy finger out!
 
another Flash Gordon type cliffhanger :bounce1:bounce1


will our intrepid explorer survive?

Tune in next time to find out

G'day Waldin,

Kylie and Danni here (we've hi-jacked Mike's log-in).

Look sport, we're about to get it on with him but he says that he won't join us until you've finished this report.

So do a couple of Sheila's a favour mate, stop being a bludger and pull your ruddy finger out!


Shhhhhhhhh....... Keep it down you two, it's getting to the exciting bit.
 
During the night half the known universe dropped out of my bottom and I slept only two or three hours. I took the necessary drugs and hoped they would block the deluge until we made the hotel that evening.
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There was a knock on the door at four twenty. The camels had arrived. We crawled out into the dark desert and looked at the dromedary type beasts. Ali Bar Bill mounted his as did Wild Bill and three others.
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I, on the other hand crawled back into the Kasbah and decided a camel ride to the top of the dunes wasn’t on my list of things to do that Thursday morning.
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I took my camera and cigarettes onto the roof found a comfy chair and promptly fell asleep for half an hour.
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When I woke up the sun was rising.
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And after a while I saw the camel train returning.
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Wild Bill and Ali Bar Bill were on foot, They’d sold their camels to a passing Spanish tourist and were now discussing the feasibility of setting up a used camel salesroom in Erford.
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Back at the Kasbah the Landie was loaded with the luggage and left meanwhile we all had a lazy couple of hours before getting on the bikes and leaving ourselves. All but for Walter though.
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He’d packed his bike keys in his luggage on the Landie, which was now well on it’s way to tonight’s hotel. Ali Bar Bill was contacted and told to turn around and I shot off to meet him on his way back. The rest left with Wild Bill, leaving a very embarrassed Walter at the Kasbah to wait for me to return with his keys.
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I stopped for a picture in Rissani and then again on the desert road.
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A hundred miles later I was back with Walter and we had the bike going. I then rode down the same stretch of very straight, very hot desert road for the forth time in the last 24 hours.
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Me and Walter stopped for coffee at a nice little café mid afternoon and were just enjoying the peace and quiet when the rest of the cavalcade turned up. Not sure how we’d managed to but we’d passed them at some point.
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That night we stopped in another very nice Kasbah in Tinahir.
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It had been another fun filled day. We decorated our room with wet washing, ate yet another chicken tagine and drank more cold beer. Oh, the drudgery of it all.
 
I woke after holding onto the contents of my bowels all night. A pleasant change. First stop today was a ride up the Todger Gorge then back down and then up the Dades valley for lunch and then back down. Tonight we would be in Ouarzazarte.
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On the way up the Todger Gorge we popped into see our friend Ahmed at the Brothers Hotel. He was all smiles and did his full on Boratt impression for us all.
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Then up into the Gorge.
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We rolled down the Gorge and headed for the Dades Valley. You all know what’s coming now don’t you?
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Yet another picture of that road, you know the bendy, twisty, winding one….
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There you go, done now, until the next time.
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At the café near the top we watched a guy doing a bit of plastering.
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Bet he wasn’t getting danger money.
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Back down the valley and a hot afternoon spent riding to Ouarzazarte. When we got there the temperature didn’t fall although the beer helped.
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I had a worry free fart that night for the first time in days. Life was good.
 
He’d packed his bike keys in his luggage on the Landie which was now well on it’s way to tonight’s hotel.
Ali Bar Bill was contacted and told to turn around and I shot off to meet him on his way back. The rest left with Wild Bill, leaving a very embarrassed Walter at the Kasbah to wait for me to return with his keys.

A hundred miles later I was back with Walter and we had the bike going. I then rode down the same stretch of very straight, very hot desert road for the forth time in the last 24 hours.
l.

If you'd had tx'd me i'd have told you a little secret of how to you don't really need keys to get the bike going. :augie


We decorated our room with wet washing, .


Also known as a GSers mobile.

 
Wild Bill told us that as we’d been very good and smiled a lot he’d let us have a day off tomorrow. All we had to do today was make it down to Zagora in the south in one piece.
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Not a problem. But first we had a diversion North to Ait Benhaddou to see the fortified city that sits on the Ouarzazarte river which seems be a favourite place for film stars to work.
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I didn’t take a photo as I spent most of my time there talking to a carpet salesman with The Boy Burton. We laughed our selves silly when we eventually heard his best ever, lowest price especially for us, his friends from <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>. He chased us up the street but we couldn’t hear him for laughing still.
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So here’s a photo I found on the tinterweb.
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This is also a list of the movie pictures filmed there.
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* <st1:city w:st="on">Lawrence</st1:city> of <st1:place w:st="on">Arabia</st1:place> (1962)<o:p></o:p>
* The Man Who Would Be King (film) (1975)<o:p></o:p>
* Jesus of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Nazareth</st1:place></st1:city> (1977)<o:p></o:p>
* The Jewel of the <st1:place w:st="on">Nile</st1:place> (1985)<o:p></o:p>
* The Living Daylights (1987)<o:p></o:p>
* The Last Temptation of Christ (1988)<o:p></o:p>
* The Sheltering Sky (1990)<o:p></o:p>
* Kundun (1997)<o:p></o:p>
* The Mummy (1999)<o:p></o:p>
* Gladiator (2000)<o:p></o:p>
* Alexander (2004)
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Down the road again and a stop for lunch that eventually took over two hours. We ordered tagines and watched as moped riders were dispatched into the hills to fetch them.
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The view was pleasant enough while we waited though.
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Then on to the Hotel Fibule for two nights in Zagora.
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Tomorrow was a day off so me and The Boy <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Burton</st1:place></st1:city> decided to do what we enjoy doing when we get time off, we thought we’d go for a bike ride.
 
After a dip in the pool we donned our Sunday best riding gear and set out south for the town of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Mohamed</st1:city></st1:place>, the end of the road.
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The ride went like this,
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Desert,
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Bendy road over a ridge,
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Bendy road down a ridge
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Desert,
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Bendy road over a ridge,
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Bendy road down a ridge
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Desert
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Shithole of a town called Mohamed after 60 miles.
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Then the same in reverse back to Zagora.
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Still, it got us out of the house.
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Photos on top of one of the two identical ridges we passed over on the way there, or it could have been coming back, not sure now. I can see how old Laurence got all mixed up when he first wandered around in the desert now.
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When we got back we had a drinks and cakes with the locals in a pleasant little tea shop in <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Zagora High Road</st1:address></st1:street> then headed back to the hotel.
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The local mechanics had been tasked to fit wider pegs to the 1200 and wider flatter pegs to the pillions pegs on the Pan.
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Below are the results of their endeavours. I’ll let you decide on the merit of each adaptation.
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That night we dined on half a lamb/goat that had been cooking in a sealed clay oven all afternoon. We watch it being broken out of the oven and then being hacked at by Tattoo off <st1:place w:st="on"><st1>Fantasy</st1> <st1>Island</st1></st1:place>.
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And very nice it was too. Sadly lacking in mint sauce, <st1:place w:st="on">Yorkshire</st1:place> puds and roasties we made do with Cous Cous.
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A pleasant way to spend a day off. I went to bed a happy man.
 
Up and at em tiger I shouted at The Boy Burton as I leapt out of bed, fully revived after my day off.
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He farted and rolled over so I went for breakfast alone and packed my bike while it was still moderately cool. Not a long way to go today but I was still looking forward to it.
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We passed through Adgz which defies pronunciation then hung a left for Tazenakht.
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People stopped and looked around, took photos then got on their bikes and rode on again.
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We lunched in Tazenakht which seemed nice enough, plenty of shops to amuse The Boy Burton.
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It had a hint of <st1:place w:st="on">Milton Keynes</st1:place> about it though, not sure why.
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By teatime we were in a Motel type place just outside Taliouine. The town prouds itself on claiming to be the saffron capital of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Morocco</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Which was bore out by that nights chicken tagine (can you see a trend here?) which was so yellow it looked like someone had dropped a highlighter pen into the mix.
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On the campsite was a 65 year old Dutchman and his wife who’d been travelling in this Land Rover camper conversion for eight years. His longest trip being <st1:City w:st="on">Amsterdam</st1:City> to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cape Town</st1:place></st1:City> and back. A nice chap and a nice vehicle.
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The view from my chalet wasn’t too shabby.
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I went to bed that night and dreamed of travelling around <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Holland</st1:place></st1:City> in a camper van full of yellow chickens.
 
Steptoe said:
I'm being a really big **** today. I should remember the last time I went to Morocco and pissed my pants when a kid walked past my tent.

+1 to that
 
Originally Posted by Steptoe
I'm being a really big **** today. I should remember the last time I went to Morocco and pissed my pants when a kid walked past my tent.




+1 to that

Actually i shat myself. But lets call it cholera, it makes for a better story . :D
 
Bwuddy good show what, what and all that, Waldin.

I have no Idea why, but I'm reading this top notch, banter laden report in a WWII RAF B&W movie stylee. Seems to work though.
Spiffing pics & all that.
Carry on Waldein, as you were.



Actually i shat myself. But lets call it cholera, it makes for a better story . :D
As long as you were still going forward, that's all that matters.
 
Someone in the crew explained to me that these were what motorcycles had attached to their rear wheel before shaft drives. I could see why they made a better multi ring gas stove for tagine parties.
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We breakfasted alfresco and then headed off. We went roaring through small towns like a group of motorcycle riders roaring through a small town.

The stopping, photographing then riding on thing carried on happening.

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Coffee out of a tartan cup was a treat at a café and reminded me of dear old Ronno, we were treated to some fine kettles too.

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We had a late lunch where my Mojo drew a bit of attention. While there a slightly drunk Moroccan informed me he had been to England in the 70’s, Bognor Regis in fact. What is the attraction of the place to Moroccans?

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Then came a bit of a surreal shenanigans, Ali Bar Bill and Wild Bill led us to The Blue Rocks.

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Spot the Pan, oddly enough his fork seal blew the next day.

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It felt like being on the set of the Flintstones. Boys being boys played on their motorcycles and generally had a rip roaring time. Most entertaining.

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We found our hotel and had a rather noisy night due to it being Friday and having to partake in early doors. A group of French Moto-Cross-Off-Road-Type-Of-Thing bike riders sat in a corner and stayed well clear of the odd English people.

I retired to my room in a pleasant state of mind. The picture on the wall would have made a Welshman feel at home but made me a little uneasy. I dreamt of blue sheep and tartan dinosaurs.

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Wild Bill decided all this tarmac was no good for his image and enlisted the more foolhardy of us to do a bit of an off road loop with him after breakfast.
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All we could do was grin and bare it.
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There were villages hewn out of the earth and castles in the sky. All very Tolkien like.
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Then we were back on the main roads with the rest of the pranksters.
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The last night before Marrakech deserved somewhere special so we ended up in what was once a Pashas palace. A very handsome abode, with a rather natty gentlemen’s club for a bar. And peacocks in the gardens.
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In our room I got The Boy Burton to put the kettle on for a cuppa while I dressed for dinner.
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<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
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<o:p> </o:p>
I asked The Boy Burton what a Pasha was and he explained it was a nightclub in <st1:place w:st="on">Ibiza</st1:place>. I was a little dubious but he knows about these things.

Our aircon worked a treat that night. I woke up at four in the morning and put my socks and fleece on. It was like a home from home.
 


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