The feeling that you’re lost while riding in the dunes of the Sahara Desert in a wind storm is a frightening experience. You’ve lost confidence in reading your GPS and the wind has blown away any clear sign of another riders tracks. Dune after dune you reach every peak hoping to see the sign of another bike or two in the distance. Fear rises in your stomach and the mind creates images of despair and you start to feel “Abandoned By The Gods” – an Arabic term meaning “Tuareg”, which happens to be the name of the rally that starts at the tip of Morocco in the west of North Africa, and takes you on a challenging 2800 kilometre self-navigated ride by roadbook and GPS through picturesque valleys, rock-littered trails and mountains of soft sand, that leave you with valuable lessons learnt and memories that will last a lifetime once completed.

Watching the pink orange glow light the sky as the sun set off to his right side behind the tall Atlas Mountains in the distance, gave English rider Alex De Cadenet a feeling of well-being. It also gave him a feeling of concern as he looked at his road-book revealing he still had another 180-kilometres to travel. Riding his KTM625 in his first ever off-road rally he knew to expect a challenge, but not on the very first day.

The sky soon darkened and things turned worse when Alex realised his headlight didn’t show even the faintest light. Lucky he was off the dirt and on the liaison stage to Missor, 450 kilometres southeast of Nador – the port where 160 riders started the 2007 Tuareg Rally behind schedule due to one very late ferry ride from Spain, and a long wait getting through customs.

With very little off-road experience, Alex felt more at home on the tar, but as the night sky turned black, and with no street lights in sight, he knew he couldn’t ride much further with no headlight, especially with locals walking, or riding pushbikes, or with the odd donkey, sheep and dog sharing the road in the darkness in what seemed to him the middle of nowhere.

Seeing a truck or car wasn’t a problem, but their shining lights left him blinded, and judging where the edge of the thick-lipped road ended or a ditch lay was near impossible, so he pulled over for safety.

Another rider eventually came up on Alex, and seeing he had a problem offered to ride close in front to light the way. 150km later and with Alex feeling very weary from focusing on an unfamiliar road in poor light, they pulled over into a service station to top up their tanks. As they got off their bikes another rider pulled in close behind them holding his head-torch with his left hand to light his way, and smiling through his helmet with relief at finally reaching civilisation, he said to them in a German accent, “Ahh, dis is da road to hell tonight aye fella’s”…

Alex took one look at the rider wearing a patch on his jacket showing he was part of the Tuareg organisation and he instantly felt better, thinking to himself, “Well if this guy is also finding today hard I don’t feel so bad”.

He then rode out of the service station behind his night-riding friend feeling more confident about the remaining distance to Missor and the day to follow, but then thoughts of arriving there around 9pm and having to stick together his route sheet for day two and load it, plus check over his motorcycle, find his bed for the night and feed himself, made him wonder just what he’d got himself in to.

Most of the field arrived at Missor before dark and were recalling their day’s adventure and mishaps over a cold beer by the time he arrived. The top professional riders arrived well before dark and their support teams had everything well under control, many of them treating the rally as preparation or practice for Dakar, a chance to hone their navigation skills and test their equipment on terrain that the Dakar course passes through.

Every year the Tuareg Rally grows in size due to its popularity. It caters for riders of all levels. It’s well organised and run by friendly passionate people who donate their time to ensure the event runs smoothly, and that the riders are as safe as possible along the way.

Every day each rider has to be fully prepared for the day ahead. Not only themselves, their bikes and toolbag, but the must-have-items or you’re not-starting-the-rally-today-mister, such as – a minimum three litres of water, GPS, mobile phone, insurance details, medical kit, compass, flares, safety blanket, lighter – and if it ain’t shown and ticked off before getting your start-card for the day you don’t get one…simple!

Temptation

Finding your rhythm during a rally where you’re riding up to 500km a day is often met with alarming, heart-racing experiences. There’s the roadbook and GPS waypoints to get used to while riding along at fast speeds. One look down to see the next turn at the wrong moment can cause all sorts of grief. Picking the right time to look, like when the trail is clear of rocks or obstacles and thinking a turn or two ahead helps.

Then there’s the problem of trying to pass other riders in the dust, as leading woman rider Tamsin Jones found out on day two when she veered off course to blast around a group of slower riders, and not having time to double check her roadbook she passed through the dust to be greeted by a low, rusty, old barbed wire fence – where she was meant to turn left – coming right at her. Too late to slow down she decided it best to try and ride straight through it, heart-in-her-mouth, front-wheel-high style, hoping it would snap, and lucky for her it did and she survived with a valuable lesson that saw her think her actions through more clearly all the way to winning her class come the end of the rally.

Alex, feeling more confident as the rally progressed also had a big moment when trying to pass another rider on day two, except he wasn’t as fortunate. Trying to pass a guy with a blue Mohican on his helmet the rider crossed his line and clipped his front wheel, and next thing Alex is over the handle bars landing directly on his head with his bike resting over his body. “At first, I lay there, still conscious but confused, knowing I was injured but not really feeling any pain” he recalled later. “Then a dune buggy passed me by, just managing not to run over my legs that were still spread out over the track. I wiggled my toes, my legs, my arms: still operating. But my back, I slowly jiggled it, ahh, ok, there's some pain now, ahhhh! I lay there groaning for a little while, my mouth filled with liquid, its iron-like flavour telling me it must be blood. I methodically examined my teeth with my tongue and there's no doubt, bits were missing from my back teeth. My lips seemed to have outgrown even Angelina Jolie. Then I realised what the clicking/crunching noise must have been: my jaw is throbbing something rotten!”

Being helped up and his bike moved off the track by a German female rider didn’t help Alex’s ego, but he put on a brave face eager to push on. He didn’t get far as his tank was leaking fuel and his body aching. The German rider insisted he wait by the side of the track in the shade of a tree while she rode 30km to the next checkpoint to give them his GPS coordinates so they could send assistance.

All competitors are told that an injured rider comes first in the rally. Assess the situation, if they are badly injured wait with them for assistance to arrive after calling one of the many numbers provided. In Alex’s case he was shaken and bruised, but well enough to wait for help by himself.

Stopping for an injured rider doesn’t lose you time, as Alex signed the German rider’s card to mark the fact she had helped him for 15 minutes or so, which is then deducted from her overall time for the day. This encourages rider’s that are worried about losing time, not to stress when coming across an accident.

Roadbook Ends Here

A blanket of bright stars with cool air at night set the menu for each following day – crisp early mornings, rich blue skies, with the temperature rising towards the 30s just after midday, making for perfect riding conditions.

Riding along, twisting in-and-out, up-and-over the Atlas Mountains during the first two days towards the dunes near Mersouga in the east, close to the Algerian border, offered spectacular views across plains that eventually faded into a grey haze.

The riding terrain constantly changed from fast open smooth dirt 4WD tracks to trails dotted with rocks, to rough overpasses that climbed back and forth to the top of a mountain range then twisting its way back down to the flat ground towards the next …very exhilarating!

In what seemed the middle of nowhere, and many kilometers since seeing any sign of a mud house or structure of any kind, kids would pop up out behind a rock waving as rider’s passed.

On the rockiest of hills leading high into the sky and over a mountain range, young men walked their pushbikes where riders had just struggled to navigate themselves.

Across dry barren plains a mother proudly stood behind her son, who sat in a wheelchair waving frantically at each bike that flew by as if it was the greatest day of his life…How far did she push him to get there? Where did they come from? Who knows, but you quickly learn that anything seems possible in a country like Morocco.

Entering the dunes towards Mersouga gave every rider a taste of what’s to come over the following three days. Winding the roadbook forward, while stopped at a turn, to see it directing you towards massive red/pink/yellow coloured mounds of sand, stirs up an eerie feeling that its time to really get your act together. The roadbook is useless in the dunes, and if you haven’t got your head around using the GPS look forward to flapping off one dune to the next until you realise you’re lost. The Tuareg organisers sum it up pretty well in the roadbook, saying, “The human that enters into the desert will be another human if he comes back”.

One rider, actually a journalist (but his name will be kept a secret, cough, cough), found this to be true when he decided not to wait for another rider before entering the dunes in a wind storm.

Feeling confident in his GPS navigation he followed the route for the first five kilometers until the tracks that gave him confidence in the route totally disappeared due the heavy winds.

Never-the-less he pushed on, stopping at the top of each dune in hope of seeing another rider, but there never was another, and the deeper he went in the more he felt he was becoming lost.

Doubt crept into his mind as he thought back to his conversation with another rider earlier in the day, talking about a few riders missing waypoints, a problem with loading them from the start, he had said.

“Am I even heading towards the correct waypoint?”, the journalist started to think to himself.

“Surely if I was, there’d be another set of tracks. They can’t have been covered this quickly…could they?”

In the distance he saw the largest dune so decided to climb it. Close to the top he lost control for a second and fell face down in superman fashion on the steepest side. It wasn’t a hard landing, but the angle popped his shoulder out of its socket, and as he looked back up at his KTM450 lying on its side he really couldn’t believe it was happening.

“Now I am really screwed”, he thought.

“How the hell do I get myself out of this one?”

He knew there was only one way, and for the following few minutes he moved, pulled and pushed his right arm in every direction possible until he finally felt it go back in, the first time he’d ever managed to do it by himself.

Relief flooded through his veins, and like light at the end of a tunnel he picked up his machine, faced it down hill, started to slowly descend the steep slope, and looked across in the distance to see a white tent, which he instantly knew had to be the checkpoint, and it was.

Even if he did cut short a few waypoints he made it back safely in good time, carrying with him one of the biggest lessons he’d ever learnt … Never enter the desert alone, especially in a wind storm!

And he wasn’t the only rider to fall victim to the desert as Dutch rider Daan Cornelliseen came out the other side at Mersouga, but he did it in a lot of pain. Riding his XR400 he came over a peaked dune too quickly and came down hard in the soft sand on the other side placing too much pressure on his wrist, which hurt like hell when he realised what he’d just done. “Luckily I had another rider with me”, he said afterwards. “We phoned our support team instantly, but being surrounded by some of the steepest dunes I didn’t think they had a chance to reach us in their 4WD, so we strapped up my swollen wrist and waited for a call.”

After a while it dawned on Daan that he’d have to ride out of the soft dunes. It’s one of those situations where he wasn’t bad enough to call in a helicopter, and with support up against the odds of making it in, he had no other choice. So he started his bike and in pain rode slowly up and over every sand dune in his path until he finally came down the backside of the last, an hour or so later for an easier ride into Mersouga. Daan received expert treatment straight away from the Tuareg doctors and X-Rays revealed he’d broken his wrist. He flew home the following day.

Le Mans Mersouga Style

Alex woke up on the fourth day with a swollen head still in a daze from his accident on day two. Determined to reclaim some pride he ate breakfast, put on his riding gear, and set about trying to make the Le-Mans style start line at the start of the dunes, where the town of Mersouga ends and the mountains of sand begin.

Learning to ride in the sand is difficult for experienced riders let alone injured newcomers to off-road riding, and the low-point of Alex’s rally took place trying to deal with it. “It’s a little embarrassing to have 150 riders staring at you trying to make the start line. Both legs paddling in the sand, the bike is revving its nuts off, and it feels like you’re going nowhere. When I eventually made the top of a sandy hill near the riders, one of the organisers walked over to me saying I couldn’t stop there, so I had to do it all over again. This had to be the lowest point of my rally I thought to myself. In that moment I wished I was riding my friends bike so at least everyone else thought I was him”, he recalled with a laugh come the end of the day after his bike’s battery failed 300-metres from the start line and he didn’t get to complete a lap.

It was a different story for the professional class though, as the roar of their bikes filled the air after the field of riders ran to their bikes from twenty feet away and fired their engines. Today saw them navigating laps of the dunes using different waypoints each lap. The faster riders aimed to complete four, while the less experienced riders happy to finish two, each lap timed and added together to work out the overall winner.

Support teams waited anxiously for their riders to appear over the last dune each lap. They had their fuel pumps ready, water and food ready feed them, and tools on hand for any quick repairs needed.

The atmosphere was similar to that of a race day. Some riders pushed themselves too hard over dunes, cart-wheeling head first down the other side, and it was clear the rivalry between the Dutch team Memo Tours and the German team Kaiser was the greatest, and with their riders running one, two in the standings it built for an exciting dune-race climax come the following day.

Big Dune Race

There was great anticipation among riders leading up to the big dune race that followed the same course for four laps and then finished at the top of the highest dune close to Mersouga on day five.

“Will my bike make it to the top”, many asked.

“You won’t have a chance riding anything under 525cc’s”, said the experts.

“Just build as much speed as possible and don’t even think of shutting off until you reach the top”, said another.

Talk of fifty or more riders stuck from half way to the top in previous Tuareg Rallies put doubt into those lacking confidence in their ability and machine.

Under starter’s orders rider’s raced off in groups of four, the fastest first, down to the slowest. Each lap took around 20-mintues to navigate using the same waypoints each time, and after one lap the tracks left etched in the sand gave a clear indication of the course, although the faster riders still used their own lines to make the quickest straight-line dash between each point.

Three laps down and on his fourth, Wolter De Graaff from the Memo team held a slight advantage over the three riders behind him, all separated by under a minute. Support crew and locals had already climbed the massive dune to watch the final sprint to the top. A 45-minute climb with the sun beating down, each step feeling like their shoes filled with concrete, but once reaching the top the 360-degree view alone was worth every groan.

Then out of nowhere Wolter, riding his Husky 610, screamed over the top of the dune from the wrong side while the other three riders behind him raced around the base of the dune to the bottom checkpoint before making their attack on the correct face of the dune to the final checkpoint at the top.

Wolter obviously didn’t listen closely at the briefing. You could tell he was fuming when he looked down realising his mistake – leading all the way to the end only to let his rivals pip him at the final checkpoint.

As more and more riders attacked the hill with as much speed as possible, the more they failed. Bikes half buried, and bodies climbing like mad towards the top made it harder for the next rider to find a straight line up the dune. Cheers and laughter from above didn’t help those so close to making it either. And once the final few riders made their attempt and the excitement faded it was agreed by all the big Mersouga dune race is one of the most fun stages of the rally.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent either riding camels or relaxing around one of the many accommodating motel pools with cold refreshments and many moments of laughter, at usually another riders expense.

Enough Sand For Now Thanks!

Saying goodbye to the dunes and Mersouga on day six was a welcome relief for many riders, not because they didn’t enjoy it, but more because they’d ridden enough steep, deep, sand-mountains to last them for at least another year. The feeling of reaching a hard dirt surface and traveling at high speeds again with the scenery changing every fifty kilometers or so made for a pleasant change.

The route followed a stage of the 2007 Dakar for a while, the Erg Chebi, as it stretched out across open plains, then looping back west and then north to Missor before making the final Moroccan stage to Nador to catch the waiting ferry back to Spain the following day.

Along the way a 10-kilometre section of track embedded with sharp rocks that stuck half out of the dirt sent heavy jolts through the front wheel and arms with every one hit, feeling like at any minute your arms would fall out of their sockets.

Tricky technical stages up and down snotty rocky hills were thrown in for the professional class, proving to be a real challenge for most. Then along rough dirt roads that wound through valleys surrounded by tall mountains either side, leading into almost dry river-beds running for many kilometers, and then entering into the difficult canyon stage called “Schlucht ohne Namen”. On either side as the riders rode through it, near-vertical walls peered down from high, almost as if they watched every one as they passed.

At other sections through remote villages farmers ploughed fields using donkey-power and woman tended to gardens as the day drifted along at a lazy pace. Some kids threw stones when riders didn’t stop, signaling they weren’t happy they missed out on a sweet, or conversation in Arabic or French, that most rider’s didn’t understand anyway. Riders racing against time, Moroccan kids with all the time in the world.

Alex, still riding with his broken nose, pulled ligaments in his back and legs, improved his riding technique and stage performance over the last few days. He was ecstatic to finish each stage without too many dramas, and his navigation skills picked up to the point where he only got lost sometimes. Seeing riders along the way lying on the ground with dislocated hips or broken bones waiting for medical assistance made him even more determined to keep his bike upright.

Once it was all over and sitting back in the comfort of the beach hotel in Spain he felt he’d really achieved something, saying, “I just got to the point where I didn’t want to fall off anymore and I didn’t. I made it back in one piece, just, and I’m really happy with that at my level. For me it’s not about competing with the other riders, which I learnt the hard way. It’s more about being out there and taking the time to witness the beautiful Moroccan landscape and talk to the people. One can easily get pulled into the seriousness of the event, but there is also another side, which is just enjoying riding the bike and appreciating your environment, well that’s where I got to in my mind from riding the Tuareg Rally.”

For the record, Team Kaiser took the honors, just piping Team Memo Tours, and the party celebrations went on long into the night. The rivalry between the two teams looks set to be even fiercer come the 2008 Tuareg Rally … You want to join in on the action?

Tuareg Rally Support

Joining the Tuareg Rally with a team like Memo Tours really is the ultimate way to enjoy riding the event stress free. They look after all your needs from the very start. You just pay your money and they look after your entry, accommodation, food, backup support during the rally, and are there to help you if any repairs are needed to your bike each day, remembering any damage to the bike is paid for by the rider.

Memo Tours bring a supply fuel in drums to Mersouga for the three days costing each rider around 50 Euros each, but during the other stages you pay for the fuel, roughly 20-30 Euros (35-50 Aus) a day, as you go.

Coming from Australia you need to make your own way to Spain with your own riding gear – including Camelbak (3-litre), protective items such as boots, knee pads, goggles, etc, and then Memo Tours will be ready with your hired motorcycle – either a very well prepared rally-kitted KTM 450/525 or rally-kitted Yamaha WR450 – and they will also supply a tool kit.

Bringing your own GPS is recommended, but it is possible to hire one off Memo Tours, remembering they are expensive and any damages have to be paid for.

There’s two levels of accommodation, the cheaper option sharing a large room at Missor and a Moroccon-style tent at Mersouga with many other riders. Usually you’re so tired at the end of each day a set of ear-plugs will see you sleep peacefully anywhere. The other option is sharing a motel room with another rider or two at each stop. This is something you can enquire about when booking your rally with Memo Tours.

The total cost of the package, including bike hire, excluding airfares (Memo Tours can arrange this if needed), money for damaged bike parts, fuel along the way, for the 2008 Tuareg Rally is 5500 Euro (close to 10,000 Aus). Cheap compared to 100,000 dollars plus for Dakar.

For more info you can email Goba at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it or speak to Memo Tours direct by calling Bennie or Monique on +31 622 557 305, email: This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it Web: www.memotours.nl Tuareg Rally web: www.tuareg-rallye.com

Morocco

Morocco has a population of 33,000,000. It has a long coast on the Atlantic Ocean that reaches past the Strait of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Morocco has international borders with Algeria to the east, Spain to the north (a water border through the Strait and land borders with two small Spanish exclaves, Ceuta and Melilla), and Mauritania or Western Sahara to the south (depending on the disputed Moroccan claim to Western Sahara as its Southern Provinces; it has administered most of the territory since 1975).

The Atlas Mountains are a mountain range in northwest Africa extending about 2,400 km through Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia, including The Rock of Gibraltar. The highest peak is Jbel Toubkal, with an elevation of 4,167m located in southwestern Morocco. The second highest mountain is the M’Goun of 4071 meters. The Atlas ranges separate the Mediterranean and Atlantic coastlines from the Sahara Desert. The Sahara is the world's second largest desert (Antarctica is the largest) and is located in northern Africa. It stretches from the Red Sea to the highlands of Ethiopia.

Australian’s require a visa to enter Morocco, and are advised to check with their local doctor what injections are required two months before departure, although many riders on the 2007 rally didn’t take such precautions and it wasn’t a problem. Injections are always a personal decision when traveling.

Local currency is the Dirham, roughly working out at 11 to the Euro dollar, but most riders carried Euro dollars paying for fuel at the rate of 10 to 1, and accepting Dirhams for change, so its advised to carry small notes so you don’t end up with pocket full’s of worthless notes come the end of the rally.