I learned about The Adventurists on a hot, dusty afternoon at Burning Man 2017. Brad was talking about doing The Mongol Rally, an insane six-week event that involves crossing the old world in a mediocre car. It really piqued my interest, and upon returning home, I fired up the Google and started my research.
The Mongol Rally was too much for me at the time. However, I stumbled upon the Monkey Run, one of the stupidest events I’ve ever heard of. Riding across either Morocco, Peru, or Romania in a Monkey Bike? I was instantly in. Eighteen months later, I was on a plane to Marrakech on my own — not entirely sure what to expect but extremely excited nonetheless.
Day 0: Marrakech
A bumpy bus ride across Marrakech took us to Kasbah Le Mirage, a hotel on the eastern outskirts of the city. We were all giddy to finally give the bike a look.
Eventually I got the chance to ride my Bike…Number 20, which I warmly named The Not So Powerful.
Before this trip, I had never ridden a motorcycle with manual gear shifting. I spent a couple of hours learning to do that in a variety of terrains. After feeling comfortable, I signed the waivers and went back to the hotel to start talking to folks about routes.
I had a vague idea of a route I wanted to do, so I set out to meet people that were interested in doing it or had a similar idea. Seth ended up having the same route idea as me, and he was cool with me joining his crew. Rich and Keith ended up joining us that night too. As the night came, we dined, drank, and celebrated the beginning of what would be an incredible adventure.
Day 1: Demnate
I woke up at dawn, too excited for the day ahead. The sky was hazy…I could barely make out the hot air balloons rising east of us. After a quick breakfast and a hilarious start line, we were on our way.
We rode on gravel looking for the highway that was going to take us straight to Demnate. Early on, we found a gas shack: a tiny little hut where questionable gasoline by the liter was being sold. The gas was stored in old glass 1L Coca-Cola bottles. We filled up and shortly after, we were on the highway.
The highway was fairly boring and nerve racking at the same time. The asphalt quality was good, which allowed us to reach the maximum speed of the bike: between 40 and 45 kilometers per hour. The bikes at max speed were loud…ear buds would have been a great idea. The trucks, buses, and cars passing us at 80 km/h were super scary. The wind gust pushing my bike forward signaled that they were coming fast and steady behind me. As a new rider, this was very uncomfortable.
We reached a cafe spot and found Morgan, the final member of The Homeboys. He had been riding solo and felt at peace now that he had a crew. It was there that we decided to take a detour from the monotony of the highway. Seth found a reservoir we could check out and we headed there.
Once we reached the detour, the road was empty and the landscape was very picturesque: rolling hills, grassy fields, some plantations, and many villages forgotten in time. As we started climbing, the bikes got the first taste of real work…and they struggled. Nonetheless, we didn’t have many issues on this first easy climb. Eventually, it started raining sporadically as we descended towards Demnate. The boys took advantage of the down hill to really test the bikes; I on the other hand, as the newbie, took it slow realizing that part of the road was wet.
Once we arrived to Demnate, we decided to keep going to find a place to stay somewhere east of the city. As we started our climb it started pouring. We had seen a hotel sign a few hundred meters back and we decided to check it out. A few of the boys went ahead to find the hotel, but they gave up after some time of searching for it. Eventually, they opened a stable to spend the night at until a kid walking by showed them the hotel. As we walked in we realized we had arrived at a very nice Bed and Breakfast.
The place was incredibly beautiful. A wonderful French couple greeted us and checked us in. This would be the nicest hotel I stayed at in Morocco. Dinner that night would be the best dinner not only of the trip, but of the year. To this day I still dream of the Tagine we were served that night.
We drank, ate like kings, and relaxed by the fire. It kept raining hard throughout the night. We looked forward to a wet ride into the mountains.
Day 2: Tabant
We woke up bright and early and after a delicious breakfast, we headed back to town to fill up our bikes (at a regular gas station this time) and we headed west towards the mountains. Along the way we ran into The Idiotic Foreign Legion: a trio of insane gentlemen (Ollie, Barry and Thomas) who had no idea where they were going and they decided to join our crew (now at 10). We continued up this beautiful landscape of rolling hills, grassy fields, and gorgeous valleys. The ride most of the day was a pattern: we would climb up to a cell phone tower then ride down to a remote village. Rinse and repeat.
My bike was one of the best ones climbing, and I was one of the worst drivers riding down. So usually I would reach a top first, then reach a bottom close to last. The road was good for the most part, with wet, muddy patches here or there. At one point we were waiting at a bridge when Morgan arrived to informed us that Hammad had fallen. We waited for about half an hour until he arrived. Luckily his injuries were superficial in nature, and only one of the hinges of the front light broke (which was quickly fixed with duct tape). Half his body was covered in mud, which made him look like two-face from Batman. This would be the only major fall of our ride.
We eventually arrived to Ait Blal, the village we had scheduled to have lunch at. We couldn’t find a place to eat or even buy snacks. Everything seemed closed.
Eventually someone pointed us to a Boulangerie where we bought some flat bread and continued on our way.
An hour after leaving Ait Blal, it started drizzling. At the same time, we arrived at our first major challenge: a 1,000 meter climb up to the first true mountain pass of the trip: the pass to Ait Bouguemez. It was on this climb that we realized how awful a 49 cc bike can be. My bike, being one of the best climbers, could barely get up in first gear. Add to that the pouring, cold rain, and it was just awful. It took us close to an hour to ride 4 kilometers to the top.
As we crested the top and headed down to the valley, the skies cleared and the sun came out to dry our cold bones. This gave us a boost to really enjoy this downhill ride. We were pushing 60 km/h down this perfect asphalt road devoid of traffic. It was one of the first marvelous rides down. The landscape became more mountainous. The land was more fertile in the valley and we started to catch glimpses of snow-capped mountains. The villages became even more remote as we went on. Eventually we arrived to the hotel where we were supposed to stay. A villager kindly informed us that the owner of the hotel had gone to a bigger village and would not return for another week. It was late, we were wet, and it started drizzling again. We started getting worried.
Eventually we turned back. After 20 kilometers riding in rain, two of the boys found an Auberge. Yes! Shelter! I was elated to be dry again. We settled in for some tea while that night’s rate was negotiated. We were blessed with a beautiful sunset.
We negotiated a rate of 200 dirhams (20 euro) for the night with dinner and breakfast included. We enjoyed the chicken Tagine until we were informed that there would be a change in the rate.
Because we ordered chicken Tagine and the owner went to get a ‘premium’ chicken, the rate would now be 500 dirhams per person. Things got tense when we found out. It was pitch dark outside and we were exhausted. The negotiations between the owner and Thomas (who spoke french) took forever. Eventually, we managed to negotiate the rate to 250 dirhams. Thank you Thomas!
I slept soundly that night due to exhaustion.
Day 3: Ouaouizeght
The previous night Seth and I showed the Idiotic Foreign Legion boys our route. They felt that the bikes would not make it through all the mountain passes we intended to pass, so they decided to turn back. We would not see Ollie, Barry, and Thomas until the end.
That morning we woke up bright and early. The valley was foggy, humid and chilly, but we could see that above the fog it was a clear, beautiful day. As we were leaving the village, we decided to detour up a dirt road to the first pass of the day. It was brutally steep. Some of the bikes struggled to get up. As we rose above the fog, we were presented with a gorgeous bluebird day. It took us close to two hours to go up 8 kilometers.
The climb came at a cost. Rich’s bike tipped and his clutch handle broke. He struggled to shift gears and would need to fix it if he wanted to finish. We continued up, now on a brand new asphalt road until we reached the snow line. Being a beautiful, cool day, we decided to test the bikes on the snow.
After playing in the snow a little, we were faced with a decision: Do we continue going into the mountains, facing uncertain road conditions to our destination 130 kilometers away, or do we take the less remote, more direct route which was 90 kilometers long? After careful consideration, based on the time of day (2:00 pm), the state of our bikes, the road ahead for the next few days, and Rich’s issue with the clutch handle, we decided to take the easy route.
The first part of the route was an epic 50 kilometers downhill ride on perfectly asphalted, no traffic road down to Azilal. I felt bliss riding down that road. The landscape looked like Tuscany. The weather was perfect. Everyone was feeling good. We stopped quickly for lunch at Azilal, were Rich managed to fix his handle. We continued our ride down to Bin El -Ouidane reservoir, just savoring the views all around.
We made it to Ouaouizeght by sunset. After a few beers, we all went to sleep. We had a long day awaiting for us.
Day 4: Agoudal
Based on our planning, this was supposed to be our hardest day: 160 kilometers long, all in the mountains. As we headed towards the first pass, the scenery reminded me of home: Green hills and mountains everywhere. It made me think that exploring Colombia on a small bike would be pretty fun. After crossing the first pass just outside Tagelft, The scenery turned barren. We clearly crossed to the dry region of the country. We stopped at the top of the second pass to take in the views.
As we continued heading east, the climate kept getting drier and drier. The scenery went from green to reddish as the day went on. The road kept going up and down, through valleys and canyons.
Our stops were short, as we were really committed on making it to Agoudal. After one final brutal climb (I think our bikes had gotten used to being driven full throttle on first gear by that time) we made our big stop of the day: a late lunch stop in Imilchil.
Imilchil is one of the main centers of the Berber culture. It is home of the Imilchil Betrothal Festival, during which fathers bring their daughters to find a suitable husband for them. According to Wikipedia, up to forty couples per day take their wedding vows during the festival. It was also at Imilchil where I saw the Berber Alphabet for the first time.
The ride from Imilchil to Agoudal was mostly pleasant. It was a cool, dry afternoon on a straight, slightly downhill road. The scenery looked like Mars at this point: dusty, rocky, and reddish. As we approached Agoudal, my “friends” played a prank on me. There was a giant puddle that covered the road. As I approached it, I saw the bikes on the other side so I figure it would not be that deep.
I soon learned that they took a tiny side road to avoid the puddle, and they told kids to cover the entrance of said side road. I finished yet another day soaking wet.
At our Auberge in Agoudal, we ran into the Kiwis, and we all ate, drank rum, and shared war stories from the week.
Day 5: Boumalne Dades
We got up bright and early and by sunrise we were riding the gravel road uphill towards the Gorges du Dades. The ride felt desolate: by far the most remote region of our trip. For the first few hours we didn’t encounter a single soul. Eventually, to our left, the gorge appeared. It was marvelous. It looked like The Grand Canyon.
We took a break at a little abandoned hut at the top of the final mountain pass of the trip. It was about -6 degrees Celsius with the wind chill. I had to stop every few kilometers just to warm up my hands with the heat of the motor. Eventually I caught up to Zak, who was riding down the switchbacks in neutral. His engine had seized. It was worrisome, as we were in a remote area. We continued to ride down until we reached the valley floor, where we re-grouped.
There were two things I packed that no one else did: a water filter, and a 10-meter-long dynamic rope. Finally, a situation where I would use the rope! I girth hitched the rope to the back of my bike then tied it to Zak’s.
Hammad went ahead to look for a mechanic while I slowly towed Zak through Iznaguen. Eventually we stopped at a local restaurant and craft shop where a mechanic was waiting for us.
While the bike was being checked, we waited. And waited... And waited some more. We ordered Berber Tagines which Hammad immediately cancelled, causing a barrage of hate from all of us. I grew bored and started playing around. After much shouting, we finally got our cancelled eggs.
After a few hours of trying to start the bike, it was decided that the bike would have to be taken to Boumalne Dades by truck, where it could be looked at by a motorcycle mechanic at a specific shop. Hammad and Zak would take the truck and meet us later that night.
The five of us that remained continued our ride down the gorges, on a beautiful asphalt road and gorgeous spring weather. This was my favorite ride of the trip.
As we were riding these pretty awesome roads down, we reached the world famous switchbacks of the Gorges du Dades.
This ride was absolutely joyful. Perfect weather, the bikes running well, the scenery was next level, and the company was great. What more could we ask for! We arrived at Boumalne Dades at sunset, drank a few beers and went on to check on the bike. After a couple of hours of work, the bike got a new engine for 15 euros. Good as new! I ate dinner with Morgan and went to bed soon after. The mountain portion of our trip was over.
Day 6: Erfoud
We had planned to make it to Tineghir the day before, but due to Zak’s troubles, we came up short. We weren’t too worried, as we knew the rest of the trip was going to be flat. We woke up bright and early and started the 50 kilometer ride to Tineghir
The ride reminded me a lot of driving through Nevada’s desert landscape. Blazing sun, barren land, mountains rising in the far distance. Cruising on 4th gear full throttle was also nice. After a quick breakfast in Tineghir, we continued our way through these flat, boring roads until we got tired of the monotony and the copious amounts of tour buses heading to Merzouga. We took a small detour to a highway construction site and decided to do some circuit racing.
I was absolutely terrible at racing. It really showed how much of a beginner I am when it comes to motorcycle riding. We spent an hour playing around then headed to lunch. The day continued pretty much the same. Drive at max speed on flat asphalt roads, admiring the barren landscape. We again got bored of this type of driving so we stopped — this time to play with our bikes off road.
As we saw storm clouds closing in, we decided to head to our final destination of the day, Erfoud. Erfoud is one of the biggest towns on the western border of the Sahara desert, close to the border with Algeria. It rains something like once every five years; we happen to be driving the one day it decided to pour. Yet again, another day were we ended the day soaking wet.
Day 7: The Dunes of Erg Chebbi
On our final day we woke up leisurely, knowing that we were only 56 kilometers away from the finish line. During breakfast we had tea with one of the riders of the Merzouga Rally, and we got to see his KTM 950 Enduro. It was quite fun comparing one of the best motorcycles in the planet to a Dakar Rally machine.
Soon after breakfast we were cruising through the beautiful desert road passing each other, joking around, and overall having a great time.
About 12 kilometers from the finish, we decided to off-road to the end. It was fun for the most part, but our bikes were definitely not made for dune riding.
Around 2:00 pm, we arrived at the finish line, on the foot of the dunes of Erg Chebbi. I was floored by the fact that we had made it in one piece. It was an incredible adventure; pushing those bikes through their limits, in all weather and road conditions.
937 kilometers over six days, through one of the most beautiful places on the planet. This will be an experience I will never forget. I will be forever thankful to the Homeboys for the companionship, to the rest of the riders for battling through, and to The Adventurists for coming up with such incredibly stupid ways of seeing our world.
