A Touch of Class in Agadir

I spent a few days in Agadir enjoying the Frenchy food and culture, running a few errands and getting my head straight about the upcoming border crossing to Mauritania. I had a long stretch of dead-straight bitumen ahead of me through the disputed territory of Western Sahara after which I'd be crossing into the "real" Africa and cutting the cord with conventional tourism that was still loosely attached.

I went to a Decathlon store to replace my missing shoes and get a few other bits of clothing—having learned a bit more about what I needed.

I'd under budgeted on underpants and was carrying a bulky down jacket that really wasn't necessary further south than Europe. I sent that and a few other bits and pieces, like a plastic plate and my TuneECU cable, home from the post office (at great expense).

One evening I also got a chance to catch up with Dennis and Karsten, who I'd met at the port at Tangier Med, and we went to an American-themed burger joint and enjoyed what really were excellent burgers. Dennis, operating on a very small budget, had found a quiet car park in a residential area where he could camp out for a few days undisturbed. The nice thing about the cities in these Arabic countries is that they feel very calm and safe at night—and I think that has a great deal to do with the lack of alcohol and conservative culture. People are generally very honourable.

After dinner I got a tour of Karsten and his rather impressive sound system—the style and volume of the music would place Dennis in a good position to run legitimate bush-doof for a few hundred people, and no doubt had the locals convinced another earthquake was on the way to destroy their city once again.

I didn't really need to hang out in Agadir much longer but I was starting to feel really nervous about the next step. I had at least one very sleepless night. I was procrastinating, spending too much time in my room sorting photos and talking to friends, family and my significant other online and not doing enough facing the music. I didn't have anything specific to hang my fear on but Mauritania just felt so intensely unknown to me and it was getting to my head.

I had also been thinking about riding the infamous "railroad track" which ran through the desert along an industrial railway line from a port city just across the border to the town of Choum in the interior of the country. That would mean about 500km of deep sand to cross. It was something I'd dreamed of doing ever since I'd heard of it, but I had no idea whether I was up to the task or whether it was even possible on my big bike. I'd originally planned to tag along with a four wheel drive for that section, the driver of which I'd met on a Facebook group, but due to my delays in Spain I'd missed the window and if I was to make this dream a reality it was going to have to be solo. I had heard of it being done on bikes, but I hadn't yet found any evidence of anyone doing it on a big bike or solo.

Though I hadn't made my mind up about the railroad track, just the idea of it was adding to my anxiety and I was working myself into quite a state. Despite that, I knew that I couldn't avoid moving and I would have to get back on the road eventually. It was time to move.

I started getting things sorted, organising my money and trying to contact a "fixer" I'd been given the number of to help me with the Mauritanian border formalities. I treated the bike to a wash at the modern service station next to the hotel and did some maintenance, giving the chain a clean and lube and the bike a general go-over. The bike took a bit of oil, needing about half of the 500ml I was carrying.

I went on the hunt for my tyre parcel and the nerves flared up again when it took some time to locate. Eventually a manager was called and after a number of other staff were recruited for the search they were found in an unused hotel room on the ground floor.

The tyres I had on the bike were still in very good shape, so Agadir turned out to be a premature point for a tyre change. I decided to carry the new ones as far as I could manage before changing them, despite vowing before I left that I would never carry tyres!

Rejuvenated after a few days of civilised life, I was ready (not ready) to get back out there and head for the Mauritanian border.