02-02-2007, 03:02 PM
Joined: Feb 2007
Suddenly 4 bikes stopped in front of us, the Italians. They ask us if we have a GPS, I return the question, No they haven’t, a compass ?, No they haven’t, a map ? No they haven’t. In fact they are lost. Because of the sandstorm the group has been divided in two and they lost sight of the others. Good.
They ask if we can guide them to Zagora, If they pay a beer it’s okay. “Andiamo”, Welcome on board.
There are a BMW 1200 GS (without plastics wears ) the guy is a very good driver ( he has made 5 Dakar and three time finisher), a Greek with an Africa twin who speaks a little French, one guy with an old Honda 500 XLR and at last a guy with a BMW 1150GS who is not a very good driver. He seems to be afraid and anguished.
Our bikes are smaller and loaded but they have some difficulties to follow us, we have to stop after 2 or 3 km waiting for them, with this speed we are not yet arrived.
We go through Oum jrane, once again at the exit of the town, I take a wrong track, as often, thanks to the GPS, I go straight off track in order to find the right direction, we cross a small stony field following a sandy area with very small dunes, this way is not very complicated but the guy with the 1150 is not able to follow, the Dakarist turn and go back to help him to cross over. We continue, finding the right track. We have to stop each 5 mn.
We stop for drinking some water, the guy with the 1150 arrives, I give him my bottle of water ( they haven’t water also ) he throw the cap on the ground and after the bottle, “hola I don’t agree man “.
The Dakarist is anxious because the gas, hours are going on, everything’s going well.
We start again, the front wheel of Patrick’s bike is becoming flat once again, but slowly he decides to continue like this.
I would like to take the track which pass south of the Djebel Adafane before Zagora, but showing behind every time, I didn’t take care to the GPS and we took the North track more comon, anyway it will bring us to Zagora.
Once again we have to wait for the Italians. I stop, Patrick decides to continue slowly because of the puncture. I’m waiting on the side of the track when two little girls, around 4 or 5 years old, come towards me. I can see far away a nomad camp. They are watching me without saying a word. In my backpack I have a part of the today picnic we didn’t touch, I give them bread water and chocolate. Regarding the clock, it’s possible that we stay this night on the track, anyway.
ERIC DN screwed with this post 02-02-2007 at 03:37 PM