Western Sahara (Ride Report)

Day 181

Tarfaya – El Marsso

There’s a choice between the dual carriageway, slightly inland, or the old coast road for the next 100 km or so until they meet up at Laayoune, the last big town before Dakhla. The coast road should be quieter and there’s a petrol station about half-way. The surface is good.

It turns out to be quite busy, I’m not sure why the lorries are choosing this road as the distance is the same and it has a lower speed limit. Also the shop/café at the petrol station is not open at 11 AM, apparently the owner is still asleep. 

I cross the border into Western Sahara without any signs or checkpoints. It seems this area is less disputed than it used to be, there’s evidence of a lot of Moroccan money being ploughed into building stuff here. There’s still a lot of sand and not much else for a very long way.

Day 182

El Marsa – Boujdour

Staying at the hotel in El Marsa are Olly and his Canadian friend, driving “the last Reliant Robin ever made” to South Africa for charity and for the record of being the only traversal of Africa in a three-wheeler. Given that they’ve so far broken two leaf springs and the roads will get much worse later on, they will need a lot of luck on their side. The motorbike behind belongs to Harry, an ex-policeman from Belfast, with a destination of the Tropic of Cancer.

I set off for Boujdour, the last town before a large gap on the map, and about an hour later the motorists pass me. The day is a long slog through featureless desert, occasional views of the sea, and loud but harmless dogs. The first petrol station at 50 km has no shop but the next at 80 km does. There’s just one hotel in Boujdour, so they can charge what they like. 360 Dirham for a room with cold water, no breakfast. In the morning I have to wake up the guy at the desk, sleeping in the baggage store, who then tries to charge an extra “garage price” before letting me get my bike.

Day 183

Boujdour – Jaiffia

It’s 350 km to Dakhla and there doesn’t appear to be anything between bar the odd desert café and some petrol stations. The day is very hot and I stop at every available point to stock up with water and drink some fizzy drink. There are supposedly some wild camping spots at about 180 km, but as I’m flagging with the heat I pull into a petrol station at Jaiffia (marked only as “fishing village” on the map) and spot a Motel sign. For 50 Dirham (about £4) I get a bed, there’s no electricity or water and a smelly squat toilet. Other people stopping here sleep in their cars, and by the sound of it the garage workers sleep on the roof.

Day 184

Jaiffia – Dakhla

Stopping short leaves 200 km to Dakhla so I set off at first light, which is about 8 AM, we are an hour ahead of GMT despite being around the same longitude. 

The ride is mind-numbingly tedious but mostly flat. There’s very little traffic, mostly lorries full of sheep and tanker lorries.

I bump into Harry, the Belfast motorcyclist, on his way back north. He dropped his bike when at the tropic sign, no serious damage but some back strain from trying to get it upright again. He seems to be having type 2 fun. When I ask him what Dakhla’s like he just grunts.

The approach to Dakhla is a long peninsula forming a bay perfect for kite surfing. I’m not looking forward to cycling all the way back along here into a head wind.

Day 187

Dakhla – Imlilli

I’ve hooked up with Leo, an Italian who’s going to Dakar for a drumming festival, his ride companions gave up half way through Morocco. On the way out of Dakhla we catch up with Luca, a Swiss guy on his way south too. Getting out of Dakhla involves cycling north along the peninsula into the fierce headwind for 30 km and it’s very slow going until we get back to the mainland and turn south.

The wind pushes us fast through the desert and at 130 km we reach Ilmlilli, or rather a petrol station near the deserted town of that name, the last stopping point before a gap of 160 km. The café serves a delicious fish tagine and offers us a room where we can sleep on the floor. However when we come to turn in there’s a big discussion in Arabic about whether we can use the room, so instead we end up with a spot to put tents up next to the toilets. It’s still very windy and finding any purchase for the pegs is difficult in the sand, but despite the noise my tent stays up all night.

Day 188

Ilmlilli – Bir Ganoud

This is going to be a long day, so we stock up with water and set off at first light. Luca decides to leave later and split the ride in two, spending the night in the desert. A sign warns that it’s 158 km to the next service station, there are no villages between and only occasional fishermen’s tents where we pass close to the sea. At first it’s quite beautiful with sand dunes and cliffs, but after a while it’s just flat desert with plastic rubbish blowing around. At one point there’s a large pool of water (the West African monsoon passed through last month) and what I think is a great egret.

At the half-way point there’s the single building other than phone masts for the whole distance, the Café du Desert, run by the very friendly Mohamed who lives out here on his own. This is our only stop for the day, with the tail wind we roll into Bir Ganoud before 4PM for another very welcome fish tagine.

Day 189

Bir Ganoud – Guarguarate

The plan is to ride to the border through the 85 km of uninhabited area, stay there and cross the border in the morning. I’ve picked up a tummy bug, didn’t sleep much and am not feeling great. We pass Luca who had decided to press on yesterday and ended up ahead of us. He’s a slow rider, stopped when we pass him, he urges us to carry on without him.

About half-way Leo breaks two rear spokes. He’s able to ride on, it’s one spoke each side, and I arrive 20 minutes after him at Guarguarate. This is shown as a town on the map, but there’s nothing here apart from a few hotels and petrol stations, and the 1km queue of lorries for the border. Certainly no repairs available.

After some consultation we are told there are no good bike shops in Mauritania. There are three bike repair facilities in Nouadhibou marked on a map updated by other cyclists, but with no comments. This is 50 km down another long peninsula. Leo thinks he could get there by six, including two hours to cross the border. He’s initially not sure about arriving late in a new town, new country. I’m definitely not feeling up to it but he decides to go for it.

I check in to the hotel and fall asleep almost immediately. I expect I’ll feel better in the morning.