BMW field test - Morocco (day 1)

Sitting on the runway at Rome Ciampino airport, Giulio looked uncomfortable in his economy seat. He appeared to be wearing regular pants and only a hoodie, but that concealed a full set of motocross body armor that he was wearing underneath because it wouldn't fit in his hand luggage...

Meanwhile, Witold cradled a metal container of gin he had just bought at the duty-free shop, and conveniently shaped like a small jerry can, its clever logo proclaiming "enGINe oil". That would have to suffice and sustain him throughout the trip in what was supposedly a dry country. We did in fact find decent beer even if only sporadically.

A most unusual way to begin a motorcycle trip, and one we all agreed felt uncomfortable. The reality was that we simply would not have had enough time (and possibly tire treads) to ride to Genoa, then sit on a boat for three days, only to then ride for 700km before we could even begin our true itinerary.

The alternative would have been a ferry from Civitavecchia to Barcelona, a thousand kilometers to reach Gibraltar, cross over and then still have to ride another 700km.

Morocco is a deceptively large and vast country. Flying in and getting to our meeting point on the outskirts of Marrakech was not all comfort and convenience, on the contrary it felt like quite the achievement in and of itself, but the true hero was Matteo, who had set out almost a week prior, aboard his Toyota Land Cruiser with a gigantic trailer in tow that carried ten (!) motorcycles:

Once the bikes were offloaded and the luggage redistributed (I kept only a small bag on the rear rack with some tools and spares, plus the rain gear), we left the trailer behind and began our trip. Almost everyone else was well equipped with modern navigation aides, so I just made sure to always have someone in front of me and otherwise focused on riding, especially when we were offroad (an unfamiliar environment to me). After a tedious stretch of road to leave Marrakech behind, we began the first climb up the Atlas and it became immediately obvious that these were proper, enormous mountains.  The tracks we followed took us decidedly offroad, along paths that are maybe used by livestock and some motor vehicles, though in some stretches there is no way you could make it through with a four-wheeler. 

Those single tracks just weren't wide enough, or else the ruts cutting across the ground were deep enough to swallow a bike and would require some serious skills in a 4x4. So began the often time-consuming process of stopping, evaluating the track ahead on foot, coming up with a strategy and then riding it, one by one. When my turn came for the first climb that required some skill and attention I wasn't apprehensive, instead I relied on torque and second gear to pull us up and over without hesitation or second-guessing my line. And just like that, I was through, Witold clapping like I'd accomplished something difficult, though it really wasn't. Throughout the day I quickly realized how this machine is able to climb, slowly and in first gear if needed, almost at a crawl, often in second gear seemingly crunching the terrain under its rear wheel but never unable to pass an obstacle, if reasonable. It may bounce around underneath you, but provided you have the correct body position, on the balls of your feet, shins tight to the sides of the bike, torso slightly forward, arms slightly bent and - above all - looking far ahead for your "exit", it is all easily manageable. You do need to have a clear idea of where you want to go and commit to that line once you've chosen it: there's no changing your mind because you'll crash if you do. This sometimes happens fast and requires maximum concentration. It's a wonderful way to strip away all other thoughts, but also means that soaking in the scenery is not really possible to the extent I would have liked. It also contributes to draining your energies so that by the end of the day you're tired all over, mind and body.

Somebody on the tour took a wrong turn and got lost, he turned out to be a bit of a... special character let's say. This delayed us greatly and we had to skip a high-altitude loop that sounded very interesting. Next time perhaps.

We still made it to the Tizi-n'Tichka pass at over 2,200 meters, where the wind howled and the air was cold. The small digital thermometer on the GS's handlebar showed just a bit over 9°C and we all scrambled to put on as many layers as we had in our small packs.

In a rare example of foresight and clear thinking, I had packed a merino turtleneck and another couple of long-sleeve tops that definitely came in handy throughout the trip. Here, in the fading light and with clouds crowding over us, a few raindrops adding a sense of urgency to the scene, we had little time to appreciate this as the gateway to the Sahara. Since our tour would have been mostly across desert areas with temperatures close to 40°C, we all had T-shirts and those ventilated, mesh-type jackets: effective in the heat but totally useless up here.

By the time we reached Telouet in the evening we were already covered in dirt (something that would repeat every day of the trip) and thrilled to be there: we were finally away from cities, up in these endless mountains and finding our footing.