There are three types of road marked on our Carte de Touristique Moroc map. The autovia, or A1 freeway, which mere cyclists are not allowed to use. Major secondary roads, of the type we rode along on our first day riding from Tangier to Larache. These are relatively well used, but also well maintained. They have petrol stations selling cold soft drinks at regular intervals, and the only significant obstacles to be avoided are donkey carts and the odd truck coming fast at us in what the driver considers to be the overtaking lane (i.e. straight into the path of oncoming traffic). Then there is the third type of road. Minor roads, just light grey lines, but marked nonetheless.
On our second day of riding, buoyed by the success of the previous day, we decide to follow one of the minor roads. It is more direct - only 125km to our destination instead of 140km. It roughly follows the autovia, so it can't gain much in altitude. Surely it will be like the major secondary roads, only quieter? Perhaps with one or two more donkey carts? Maybe a few more potholes? What other difference could there be?
Sand.
Lots and lots of sand.
Thick patches of the stuff, every few hundred metres, deep enough that our front wheels sink and our rear wheels skid out of control. Deep enough that we have to clip our feet out of our pedals and paddle along like ducks to maintain balance. There are also many more people. On the secondary roads, we mostly saw groups of men sitting at roadside stalls that sell big bags of unshelled peanuts, mandarins and avocados. (Avocado is treated like a fruit here - I order fruit salad for dessert one evening and received a bowl of chopped apple, banana and avocado. Odd, but not completely awful.) On the minor road, however, there are people everywhere. Farm workers. Men just loitering in paddocks. Schools full of children playing in the street, many of whom seem to want to mob us. We ride through a souk, where the road has completely disappeared under sand, weaving our way through donkeys, trucks, people, men on rattly bikes with no brakes. All the men talk to us, of which we understand 'bonjour', 'hola' and 'salaam'. Mostly they are friendly or curious, although I am getting good at keeping a fixed smile and playing deaf to comments like 'bonjour pussycat'. In my cycling trackies, I have never felt less puyssycat in my life.
Our road takes us through some of the poorest communities I have ever seen. The souk is set in a wide field littered with rubbish, among which merchants lay their stock out on blankets. Aside from fresh produce, it is mostly junk. It is a relief to arrive in Kenitra, a friendly university town where we are ignored by the locals and where I feel less conspicuous since about half the women are not wearing head scarves.
Days three and four we opt for the big secondary roads, arriving today in Moulay Idriss. Formerly a town not open to infidels like us, and for muslim pilgrims, a trip here is apparently worth one fifth of a trip to Mecca. It's a cheery spot next to extensive Roman ruins. We have acquired a new painting for the Matt and Kate Collection - an 'ink on cement bag paper' work depicting a woman carrying water on a bicycle. Partly because the artist was so determined to show us the bicycle in his art that he cheerily suffered several rebuffs before we gave up and gave him our attention. Partly because his bicycle was good. Maybe if Morocco was not the place it is, he would be doing something more with his talent than painting on bits of torn cement bag. In any event, the piece will be on display and open to the public upon our return in the new year.
