BMW field test - Morocco (day 6)

The ride out of M'hamid begins unapologetically with a wide, sweeping sand track; soft, beautiful yellow sand that requires gripping onto the bike with your inner legs, pushing your weight as far back as possible, and then a steady throttle in second gear, fast enough to maintain momentum and float but not so fast as to overtax the engine. The front wheel does float but the sensation can be rather disconcerting at first, almost as though the steering dynamics have suddenly reversed.

After a few meters though it becomes the most stupidly fun thing we've done so far, and we're powering into the sand banks, jumping over small dunes, weaving our way through the track like it's some sort of playground.

This continued for some time, until the ground became gradually firmer and we started climbing imperceptibly towards Tissint. You could still see some of the "Dakar reenactment fans" hanging around, but there weren't as many as the day before on this particular desert crossing.
One thing that became much more frequent were stones. Small and loose at first, almost like oversized gravel and therefore easily passable, but every now and then there would be bigger or sharper rocks. You could tell when the terrain changed by the sound the wheels made over the rocks: steady and low when riding on gravel, but suddenly louder and more alarming when we hit the big ones. The occasional sharp blow felt at the handlebar was not too bad, but when the entire track was nothing but rocks, it slowed us down and made for quite the balancing act.

Somewhere around here: 29°51'55.2"N 6°02'49.6"W we found ourselves cresting a large dune. From the top, our heading meant we would have to ride downhill and into a sandy flat that must have been about 400/500 meters wide. The descent itself was not difficult, provided you remembered that - unlike tarmac where you can just coast - sand requires you to power on even downhill. Once at the bottom though, I very quickly realized something was wrong.

It was a trap. 

An infernal bowl filled with quicksand, impossible to grip or navigate. I could feel my clutch starting to roast almost right away so I stopped and let it (and myself) cool down. As soon as I was able to get moving again, I took off in second gear, leaving the clutch lever well alone and made a monumental effort to just power through until I reached the other side. I hated every moment of it.

Luckily, temperatures were decidedly mild, otherwise I surely would have overheated. As you can see in the photo below, the sky was overcast and for a moment it even seemed like it might have rained.

Another long, sandy section led us to an oasis, with palm trees, water and birdsong, just as you'd expect (29°52'58.2"N 6°07'08.0"W). This was right around midday, so we stopped for a long pause and had some food.

One very unexpected thing we found in this place was the cold: the wind had picked up significantly, and we had to layer up to stay warm.

Lulled into a false sense of serenity by the peacefulness of the oasis and the nice food, we jolted back into action once we realized how much farther we still had to ride that day.

Later in the afternoon we met more stones and at one point I lost pressure entirely at the front wheel. Looking down towards the rim confirmed that the bead on my Continental TKC80 had jumped inwards. With the bike on the center stand, I used a couple of CO₂ cartridges to expand the tire back into place: the rapid burst of pressure was just enough to pop the bead. After a while, Matteo caught up and we used his on-board compressor to inflate the tires, upping the psi rating for both to make them a bit firmer than what I had been riding on up until that point. Off we went, with no more trouble on the rocks but... now the bike no longer worked in the sand. We reached another long sandy section and I ended up eating it, twice. Fair game the first time, I shut the fuel off and quickly started digging under the bike to help me right it. Witold came over to help and I got going again. But the second time, not ten meters away made me so angry that I shouted one of Italian's worst profanities at the top of my lungs. Later in the day Witold told me he could see that over the following 15 minutes I was riding angry, and it's true: I was tense, angry at myself for not being able to just do it and it took me a while to go "it's the tire pressure, stupid."

By that point we were on much firmer ground, with an absolutely dead flat plain that stretched out in front of us for a dozen kilometers. With little reference points to gauge speed and progress, it became slightly disorienting at times.

The odd tree started to appear again, here and there, and the landscape changed once again. At this point there was an actual gravel track we could follow, stopping in the shade to drink when we could.

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the heat was particularly noticeable here; it was a bit of a struggle to collect ourselves and push on. An unexpected series of bends and another climb took us towards the next stage of our day's itinerary.

And then we reached what must have certainly been the most surreal of all the landscapes we traversed during our trip. This was made all the more striking by the fact that the clouds had returned, bringing relief from the heat. Despite the vastness of it all, such as we had experienced for days now, here there was only a narrow, deep, single track, clearly defined and seemingly a clear path to follow. Only it turned out to be where all the moisture had accumulated: the appearance of cracked soil was only that, an appearance. In reality, as soon as the weight of your front wheel pressed down, it gave way to sludgy mud. Giulio and Witold, about 50 meters ahead of me, had dismounted and were frantically waving to get out of the track and onto... the rest of the plain. This place where we found ourselves was covered in the strangest dried clumps of twigs, and it was only later that I realized these were all rose of Jericho, as far as the eye could see. Remarkable...

Tissint now lay just 30 kilometers and one camel crossing ahead of us, one final stretch for the day. Another incredible trip that put the R100GS to the test, the bike once again proving just how capable and competent of a machine it really is.