As I slumped over my handlebars not quite able to take in the information that I had just been given.
After 120K of stressful hard miles over roads that West Sussex County Council would be proud if I am told that the Hotel I was promised did not in fact exist.
The even more shocking news is that it was a further 40K away it was getting dark and it was cold and wet.
Africa is big yeah? Morocco is big and the bits that are not touristy are famously not touristy which means there are yawning gaps between big towns where the hotels are.
Morocco is going through an extensive-road building program which in effect means that actually for quite a lot of time they cannot be classed as roads at all and for those periods of time normal rules don’t apply and cyclists can basically fuck right off.
So here I am in a one horse town at my wits end.
A gravely voice appeared in my ear saying “Taxi” I looked up to see a very tall Tanned and craggy Berber gentleman who flashed at me his life saving which were impressively where his original teeth used to be.
I said Taxi to hotel, he lobbed my bike into the nearest Mercedes which surely must have of had a matching panel somewhere so we are off I thought?
Not so, the berber gentleman wasn’t going to let that taxi or indeed any other taxi leave until it was full. Through a series of clucking noises he was carrying out an auction the prices lowering as the cans filled up.
This gave ample time for the local kids to take the piss out of the crazy old man and his bike.
As time went on the older kids were getting a bit more brazen and a fucking nuisance.
All of the sudden the Berber swung around growled at them and they legged it l, I take it this was not a man to mess with.
He turned to face me his face broke out in an enormous smile he slapped me on the back and laughed, this was the point at which I fell a little in love with this Star Wars extra.
1 hour later I am in the only hotel in the town, no lock on the door, no toilet or shower it was freezing but hell they had coffee