Ninety-six degrees under the Saharan sun. Day two. Forty miles in, ten more to go. One hundred and twenty five before the trip is through. The hill gets steep. Steeper still. Out of gears and maxed out. But I keep a consistent pace. My mind and eyes begin to wander. The gap grows between myself and the riders in front. Alone on a lunar landscape, the bike fades away as my thighs melt. Hot wind and the faint sounds of Sigor Rós crackle from my phone’s speaker. I never ride with music but in the moment it felt right, and fitting. Among an endless sea of bright red dirt, yellow sand, towering purple and blue volcanic rock, only music made in an equally barren, alien, and ethereal environment could match the moment. Ten minutes, six seconds of space travel.
The crunch of gravel under rubber overtakes the moment. Phone off and pocketed again. Out the saddle and right back in it. Powering through. Ten more miles to go to cold cokes, hot mint tea, and cookies. This is adventure biking in Morocco.
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