Testicular Pain Exercise

2010. SIX DAYS IN THE SOUTH. DAY 5. MOROCCO

DAY 5. M'HAMID-Foum Zguid: 265 kms.

This fifth day we got the surprise of Richy resigned out. In view of the recurring problems of consumption of your machine, our friend decided to stay at the hotel resting and incidentally get their hands dirty carburetor. The plan previsto para esta quinta jornada suponía hacer noche en Foum Zguid, de manera que si Richy no venía, se quedaba no uno, sino dos días solito en M'Hamid. Yo imagino que si decidió quedarse en el dique seco fue tanto por no ser una molestia para el team Suzuki como por no maltratar más a su austriaca. Una vez aclarados los términos de la escisión, nos preparamos para la partida:

Inicialmente repetimos parte de la ruta del día anterior. Se trataba de avanzar por pistas arenosas y divertidas hacia el cauce del Draa, pero antes de llegar al gran río, Amarok sufrió un tropiezo:

In one of those areas where the sand is not grainy, but very fine powder, our guide was the first day talegazo. It happened on a very twisty track with deep ruts. When I found him prostrate and fine particles coated in the Sahara. The man hit her hard and was somewhat bruised, with a sore shoulder and a hand, but Amarok is very hard, and we were not M'Hamid back so early.

reckon on that road to Foum Zguid Amarok is stirred at least six blows, but remarkably, only complained. Once the shock redone, we continue to Draa, we find our shot the day before, gas may open and confident like a sandy floor quite comfortable.

Along the way, a surprise:

Indeed, the rotting remains of a camel:

After a little look around the anatomy of the beast, follow the march

few miles

this:

The Draa looks straight, but is snaking across the plain. No ripping to give you any corner because you always have the perspective is very broad thanks to the wide channel, but actually made little progress. Finally we left the river and we got into a sea of \u200b\u200bfilthy mounds, one of the worst places on earth to go on a bike (that had not already said in another time?)

look here an astronaut on the moon. You had to move all the time in second gear, and rattle when you looked under it made you hate the day you decided to go on that road.

Fortunately, all the tortures in this land are finite, and after a good thrashing, we got in a sea full of small dunes:

This land we knew him well. The bike will suffer permanent and different types of sand (soft, compacted, firm, etc) are happening, but if you take a good pace can be overcoming all obstacles without bury you too. Still, in the most unexpected moment you walk into a trap and becoming stuck:

Here Amarok like an insect trying to escape the sticky embrace of the wilderness,

When you least expect the ground gives way under your tires and bury you up to the axles. All you can do is, if you're alive, while dismounted and gas to run beside the bike. This technique for me was either a couple of times, but runs a lot. The other option, as you know, is not insisting to gas, stay where you are and not make things worse, knock over the bike and with patience, dig.

After passing this stretch of dunes, we returned to the hamada, and until the end of the stage. But before we had even a brief time of trial over rocky hills:

then a stretch of savannah

But did not last. The vegetation was disappearing and gradually returned to the sand and stones:

enseguidita And more hamada and "hamada whore."

The liveliest and distracted the day we had already covered. Ahead now we had no more to cover tens of kilometers in a straight line towards Foum Zguid. The monotony of this section of the stage was interrupted when we approach a hill we stepped out an army to intercept and proceed with the usual interrogation. We had nothing to go south to Algeria and to our right path we followed. Well then, if all the ground is too:

Plains huge, very wide tracks, endless horizons. What a suckling pig. This section was once part of a dakariana stage, and every so km to small pyramids on either side of the road, imagine erected to include a reference in the road book.

The last track we took was rather a narrow, very straight but full of boulders and stones invisible, those that will shake the address when you least expect it and make you think you've irretrievably dented front rim. Well, I do not know how I did it but I caught a rather large rock with the rear wheel going into the fifth that made me back off and shook me violently to one side. The incident had no consequences, but for a split second I was flying to the ground and crashing in a bad position to a respectable speed. If had gone to 120 and not 80 think it would have bounced out badly and I would crack a few bones. That night in the hotel Foum Zguid heard someone say that he had put the bike at 165 km / h.

finally ended the agony of that nasty door and left the tarmac. Now we only go about 40 miles to just deadly black at Foum Zguid and once there, refuel and find accommodation. Village at the gas station off road bikes were legion, I calculate a dozen. Think there is not any other people with services worth more than a hundred miles around, so that is a central point on the routes crossing the region. Concluded

refueling Amarok led to the suburbs in search of a hotel where he had stayed there previously, namely this:

After a negotiation between Amarok dog face and responsible landlord, we were offered a reasonable price and there we stayed. Then came an organized group of about 10 KTMs, and among all motorcyclists filled the hotel from the Moors (it was empty when we arrived). For dinner we got couscous, long the worst food you can offer in Morocco. Only understand the popularity of this dish because of the euphony of the word, because it is so dull and poor compared with the tajine (stew of meat and vegetables) or harira (soup).

above the stage that day sooner than ever. Sure, there was no need to fix carburetors or fuel transfer. We had time to swim in the pool pleasure, relax, plan to return to M'Hamid quiet the next day and return to Spain. After five days stumbling through territory so monotonous, I began to be saturated in the arid southern Morocco.

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If anyone wants to read another review almost identical to mine, you take a look at this thread:

http://www.embarrados.com/enduro/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=40204&p=326265 # p326265

all going to the same places doing the same things, and many also do not conceive if they are not the same bike and with the same colors worn by the world champions. And in the car ambientillo is similar, there all huge 4x4s were many hundreds of horses and people dressed from head to toe with all the official merchandise of Toyota or Mitsubishi. Beside him I was an outcast:

And with respect to the route itself, the sixth day I say I can not enjoy anything because we had gone to do and see, was done and redone, I think. Everything was to return to M'Hamid for a trip as short as possible so as not to waste any time.