Pressing on into the dark unknown...

As per my last trip, some work needs to be done on my ‘efficiency of getting ready.’ I almost typed ‘organising’ but I think that would be unfair as I am organised but it just seems to take me FOREVER to sort myself out sometimes (isn’t that different?). I get the feeling my new friend ‘Danish Mick’ now waiting for me in the Gambia is one of those types that effortlessly just does his ‘stuff’ and so a compromise may have to be made. This was perfectly highlighted by my inability to get on the road for 8am sharp as two big rides, a boat crossing and a border crossing lay ahead. So then after defrosting my toothpaste and toes, packing up and of course three attempts at getting my earplugs just right I finally hit the tarmac at 10am.
A better ride followed but like the day before I remained cold all day. Not surprisingly part of this was down to the altitude which included riding alongside the impressive looking ‘Sierra Nevada.’ From there, Granada and Malaga passed and I was now into the Spain I know, it being ‘Andalucia.’ A visit into this region isn’t the same without passing into ‘Arroyo de la Miel’ to see my grandparent’s old villa and the Spanish neighbours that have lived in the same very small cul-de-sac for my lifetime and beyond. They include Juan who was unfortunately alone and of course Pepe and Maria who couldn’t be more Spanish if they tried. Despite Pepe trying to empty the contents of his fridge onto my bike and much chatting about absolutely no idea I re hit the road at around 3.30pm getting more than a little concerned about the time due to me needing to get to Rabat, Morocco by nightfall as a safe campsite (GPS programmed) and visa application procedures awaited...
No chance. A fairly quick boat trip was nearly slowed down by the usual Moroccan toe rags trying it on at the ferry terminal. Not sure which of the old favourites it would’ve been had I played along but I guess that was for someone else to find out. Got to Cueta pretty quickly on a sea cat across a very choppy Mediterranean sea but I struggled to find my way out of this Spanish enclave and onto African soil proper. Eventually I found the border and it was pretty much as I expected. Chaos. Last year’s trip with all its border crossings had prepared me though and I honestly think that without this experience I’d have come out of the other side three times slower, some euros lighter and possibly even missing a few items.
This still didn’t save me though from the horrible feeling that you know you can’t meet your objective, you’ve no plan b and not even any local currency, just in case. With my GPS not able to direct me by road now, some friendly policemen advised me on heading to Tangiers in order to then continue to Rabat which would take around three hours. It was 8.30pm and already very dark. The road from the border, like Bilbao, immediately headed ‘up.’ This time though it was a dodgy mountain road in bad repair in the pitch black. Not good when you have a tinted visor! So I was forced to ride in my sunnies and concentrate VERY hard. I’d like to comment on how Morocco looked but the following three and a half hours of almost terror behind my glasses didn’t allow me to see any more then that small speck where my not great headlights ran out of light in the distance. Actually, that was the only bit of real light the whole way to Rabat so not much to see anyway. The road did eventually, after 100km, finally turn into a pretty good (but still unlit) dual carriageway which finally got me to Rabat at 12.30am, still freezing and needing to set up my tent etc having found the ‘campsite!’ This wasn’t quite as hardcore as the 18hr ride to Kabarosk in Russia with Steve but just as worrying as any problems would’ve meant finding myself in the very very deep stuff. Fortunately ‘Des’ again, carried me through it like some growling gunship where we’re both having a day and a half off in Rabat whilst waiting for visas for Mauritania and Mali...