On a Bike and a Prayer

day 28. slip streams to the sea

I woke at 7.00am having dreamt of gear shifters all night.   The pile of ratchets, springs, and teeth lay on the window sill.   Within one hour and with a lot of swearing and blistered finger tips, it was bolted back on the bike.   Although, stiff and awkward it did its job, and with a small adjustment to the derailleur, top gears were achieved - and we set off for Taroudant midway to Agadir some 162 kilometres west.

The road was blissfully easy and after a couple of gentle climbs we were cruising behind one another in single filed slip streams of pure speed - tyres drowning and chains purring in pure perfection.

Taroudant was reached by mid afternoon with a brief stop for a sandwich on the way.   Place Assarag was were we were aiming for.   It lay up a jumbled terrace of tangled allies in the northern edge of town.   The square was surrounded by budget hotels and we selected a pretty one facing south with a peaceful terrace.   The streets below were clogged with a perpetual insect like rush hour of mopeds, bikes, horses, cars, wheel-barrows, buses, trucks, purdahed women, semi-naked Westerners, blind legless beggars and crew cut children - veiled in a permanent mist of diesel fumes.

Dentists displayed gruesome products in gaudy cabinets.   There were schools of bilingual typing, schools of hair dressing, and shops selling everything from toilet roll to washing powder, chocolate ice cream and yogurts.

After stashing the bikes on the balcony, we went for a crawl through the disorder in the street - swooping on selected shops and feasting on yogurts and cakes and orange juice, like deprived vultures.  It was like being a sugar-starved child in a huge sweet shop.

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