11/19/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 103 : The desert is always browner on the other side

Although I laud the bicycle in how it connects me with the locals (people see me and want to talk), a bicycle can also be pretty isolating. Last night, besides the one small Moroccan family playing Pink Floyd songs, there was also a new couple near me. I knew they were “new” because Ted kept touching Celina after pretty much anything he said. They had met in bible study during COVID - so that means online, kind of. They have been together almost a year. He had worked at Stanford at the linear accelerator, but love (and 12x more paid vacation) brought him to Germany. We sat on robust pillows set on rugs under the gleaming stars; our amazing dinner illuminated by flickering candle light. It was wonderful to speak English, laugh at jokes instead of awkward moments, and swap stories. We talked for hours. I let loose and ate the potatoes and cold eggplant, dosing insulin to the hilt and my mouth burning from my eggplant allergy. Ted may have something a bit more challenging than me: a nut allergy. He had his epi-pen out and they confirmed over and over that the food had no nuts. He said, “if I eat nuts, EVEN WITH the EpiPen, I still need to go to the emergency room.” I could see why they confirmed 20 times with each dish, because as glampy as this place was, emergency services were not on the menu. He said, “I’ve almost died 6 times, but each time it is a little less scary.” To this, I could relate.

But back to the isolating part of bicycle touring. I don’t mind this too much, but I notice it all the time. You ride your bike for hours every day - sometimes mostly in solitude. Once you arrive at the destination, you’re often too tired to do the main attraction. At the Erg Chegaga dunes, the two things to do are to sand board down the mountain, and drive around in an ATV. After a long day of pushing a bicycle through sand, the idea of walking up a sand mountain to slide down doesn’t have that same type of appeal. I’m OK with that. The isolating part is that after these trips, people ask, “did you X, Y, or Z?” It’s nice to have some “common ground” to discuss… but no, I didn’t do the ATV, the camel ride, or the sand boarding. “Well what did you do then?”

Well, how about I tell you what I did today!

I started in the cold morning, pushing my bike through sand for two hours achieving nearly 9 miles in that time. Breathing was measured and through clenched teeth to avoid inhaling the flies which were taking lots of little walks around my face like it was an amusement park for flies. They wandered around the edges of my mouth and eyes. Dozens of flies would ride on my body as if I were some sort of desert-fly Uber. No, they don’t leave tips - just annoying tickles. Public Service Announcement, flies: You have wings. My land and sand bound body is not the best way for you to get somewhere. Every time I stopped, I became fly headquarters. This led me to wonder: does every cubic meter of air have 50 flies buzzing around, waiting for me to arrive? Do these flies follow me after I swat them all off and ride away? How do they universally appear just one second after I stop?

I saw no people or cars for many hours. Then, on the horizon, a slow moving motorcycle appeared. Something was moving up and down on the motorcycle… it was Fabian - on a bicycle! My third cycletourist encounter of the trip! The first words out of his mouth were in English, “That was just some of the best riding I have ever done in my life.” Fabian was one of the very few people I’ve met while traveling who I immediately knew I liked a lot. If we lived in the same town, we would be best friends, seeing each other every day. I liked His glowing and happy demeanor. He said he was from the Dolomites, born of Italian and German parents, “but that’s a long story, so it’s all I’ll tell you now.” We talked and talked, and on several occasions, he apologized for his bike-nerdery. I guess he didn’t know who he was talking to. Luckily, he has a WhatsApp. I think that he too has a good section ahead of him.

Many hours later, I met two men waking 3 camels in the desert. One man spoke a few words of each French, Spanish, and English. He tends to “chevre” 🐐 (he went “baaaaa” to make sure I knew that word). He sometimes takes tourists on the camels too. He asked me if I had seen the other cyclist (Fabian). Wow, that was hours ago! If you think pushing a bike through the desert is slow, camels are slower. They seemed like they were truly equipped to be out in the desert for eons, and judging by the wrinkles on their faces, perhaps they already had been. I’m starting to look like that.

Finally, a cell phone tower appeared on the horizon, meaning civilization was ahead. In town, I had a great time chatting with the owner of the only open store in town. Many men came inside to get in on a part of the translation business with the stranger - each helping with whatever words they knew. The shop owner got right to business: “What do you think of trump?” The men all leaned in to see my response, suddenly intensely quiet. I gave a thumbs down, reflecting not only my opinion, but what I also thought was a safe bet. Wrong! I bet most of you guys don’t know this, but there is maybe kind-of a country just South of Morocco called “Western Sahara.” I say “kinda” because Morocco thinks this land belongs to Morocco. Other countries recognize the independence of the Sahrawi people who live there. Guess who recognized Western Sahara as part of Morocco? Mr. Trump. And Biden is trying to reverse that, which is why the guys on the store eagerly gave Biden a thumbs down! We all laughed; it was in good fun. But now I know that I’ll be safe giving Trump a double thumbs down after I cross the next border!

All in all, this was a great two days of very challenging “riding”. If I were to do it again, I would come back on a full suspension, coil spring fat bike and ride the sand instead of the rocks. Of course, I think that because that’s exactly what I did not do. The desert is always browner on the other side.