A few shots from November tours on the new KTM 390s. Severe September floods in the south wrecked many routes, or made them rougher than normal.
CRF300L Index Page
CRF300 Rally quick ride
In a Line
Light enough to tackle any trail I dare, but too tall and uncomfortable as a do-it-all travel bike for most.
Review
October 2023 I got my CRF shipped to southern Spain to leave in Morocco for six months. I flew down to carry on scouting new tracks for my next Morocco route guide, while also leading my one-week tours with 310GSs in between times.
I’m not quite finished with the 300L yet, but last week it turned 10,000km (6200 miles). High time to share my impressions after 8 months of riding.
Taking comfort
I bought a very well equipped 2021 300L from its second owner with just 1000 miles on the clock. It still needed a bigger tank, radiator protection and tubeless wheels (plus whatever’s shown in the graphic above). The bike came with a lowered seat (read: thinned out). At 34.5″/876mm it was 0.7″/18mm lower than Honda’s claimed OE specs of 35.2″/894mm. I tried to make the thin seat more comfortable by adding a 20mm neoprene pad under a Cool Cover which increased my back end’s mileage. But judged by side stand angle, the 17-inch rear wheel with a stock width AX41 tyre didn’t lower the back noticeably.
I then bought a stock black seat (full foam) and, with my added padding, probably went up to 35.7″ or a whopping 907mm. Then one day in Morocco I knew I’d need a low seat for a tough day, so removed the padding and Cool Cover. My backside was pummeled at the end of that 300-km ride, but I never refitted the Cool Cover and kept the neoprene slab held down with a bungy.
Later, I ditched the neoprene too and wore some Moto Skivvies and have settled for these plus opiates on a bare stock seat in a bid to keep it as low- and me as comfortable as possible. It’s still too high for easy mounting/dismounting, though the anterior agony got muted on some days. As we all know, once the drugs wear off, getting off/standing up for just a few minutes can offer respite.
286cc
The 300 is only 36.4cc bigger than a 250L when you’d hope that’d be nearer to 50cc. I owned a 250L in the US a decade ago and for what it was (left) enjoyed it greatly. Along with other factors (like the existence of the CBR300R and worldwide >300cc licensing regs), I guess there’s only so much metal in a 250L barrel to bore out.
I knew it before I bought it of course – a quick ride of a 300 Rally didn’t set my hair ablaze – but the increase in power on the 300 is negligible. It’s still essentially a ‘250’ with the same-ish 27hp as a WR-R, along with all the inherent benefits and limitations: light enough to tackle or turn around on anything the seat height allows, while being a slog on long uphills or a headwind, plus uncomfortable after more than an hour or two. So not much different to my previous WR250R or KLX250 then. In many ways my less powerful Himalayan 400 suits my ‘old man’s’ riding style better, but was no faster on the road.
The best things about my 300L are the easy 400-km range from the Acerbis tank (despite the maddening cap) and the Rally Raid suspension. While both ends might benefit from a bit of tweaking for my mass, it just works; very occasionally bottoming out at the back and never at the front. After a few weeks in Morocco I thought the rear shock was sagging a bit, raking out the forks and slowing the steering. So, lacking the shock tool, I dropped the clamps around the front forks 5mm to produce the same levelling-off effect, but can’t say it rode any better.
Something’s Off
The way I’d set it up something felt off on my bike. For a while I thought it was the tubeless AX41 tyres. No so much the tread pattern which is pretty conventional, but perhaps the added sidewall stiffness in the tubeless carcass, intended for GSs and the like, not dinky ‘250s’ weighing 100 kilos less. Airing down to as much as 20psi didn’t help.
Then I tried dropping the forks 5mm, as mentioned; no noticeable change. So was it a high CoG, especially with a full 14 litres on board and exacerbated by the tall screen, radiator bars with side bags and so on? It certainly felt less stable tanked up, but no more than you’d expect. I tried to avoid setting off for potentially tricky unknown tracks with a full tank. I even blamed the hefty Outback Mototek rad bars, but while heavy, they’re actually set pretty low down.
17/19 wheels. Was it worth it?
My main motivation was to convert the stock wheels to tubeless, not have smaller wheels. I knew the stock front 21 rim wouldn’t have the required ‘MT’ safety lips. As MT 21s are rare anyway, I thought I may as well try a 19 as an experiment; it’s a better all-round travel size and there’s more tubeless tyre choice. Then it turned out the rear 18 wasn’t MT either, so I may as well try a 17 which also offers greater do-it-all travel tyre choice and might even lower the bike. Note: fitting a 17 raises the gearing a bit – you won’t pull away in 2nd so often. But it also throws the speedo out from ~8 to 14%. You’re going a lot slower than the speedo indicates and may want a DRD or similar black box to correct it. But: fitting an oversized Mitas E07 at 10,400km put the speedo error back in the ~8% ballpark. DRD not needed.
I rushed the original job and had a manageable slow leak from the 17 and a meltdown on the 19 front arriving in hot Marrakech (fitted a tube). But the 21 I left at home has held its air fine for months. In Marrakech the mechanic re-sealed the rear in between my trips, cleaning then applying a continuous band of Puraflex. He then did the same to my 19 front and both hold air fine now. Summary: technique works if you take your time and allow a day or two of curing.
All done, the bike was barely lower and, as mentioned below, the 19’s benefits only became evident with the screen removed. Obviously, I can’t tell a 17 from an 18 on the back, but running a front 19, at the donkey speeds I ride at I can’t say I noticed any detrimental effects on the dirt over a 21. Crossing gravelly oueds, I did try riding feet-up, but the front soon tucked in and deflected, as you’d expect. Through thick bull dust same thing: go deep and the wheel folds. So much for improved flotation from the fatter front: you need to attack such crossings with momentum to push the front through (see AMH8, p205), while wrangling the bucking bike and spinning back end. We know how that can end, so I often paddle like a duck.
Bend swinging on the road the AX41’s ‘50% vacant’ contact patch held me back, but I did perceive – or persuaded myself – the 19 tracked better through bends than a 21 would. Occasionally banked over it would twitch, but the asphalt surface is rarely pristine and debris-free in Morocco. So 19: no difference over a 21 on dry, loose dirt at trail riding speeds. Deep sand, mud ruts and snow may be different. On dry asphalt it corners with more perceived confidence, depending on tyres and minimal CoG interference.
Talking of the Bridgestone AX41s, the rear TL had had it by the time I rolled back into Marrakech, having covered only 7000km or 4400 miles. I ran it at around 25psi, though it would lose about 7-8psi overnight. I went out of my way to select a tyre of identical width to the stock 18-inch IRC, but next tyre am going fatter all round: a less knobblesome 130 80 17 Mitas E07, partly because that’s the nearest the shop in Morocco can get in TL. It span less readily on loose dirt and certainly rode the roads better, like a 310 with its massive 150 rear. The front AX41 got replaced 2000km later with a bigger 19″ E07. Initially it felt heavier but the bike rode more like a supermoto on the road and is OK on the piste.
Returning in December for a week, I got to the bottom of it. Undertaking day rides, I left my baggage in the hotel (<6kg), but also removed the screen (1.5kg?) with an MRA spoiler. The bike now felt a lot more chuckable and connected. I could even ‘feel’ the 19-inch tyre’s benefits and managed the odd side-slip on the dirt, as on other bikes.
Was it purely height + weight, or also a ‘vision’ thing? Who knows, but after a week I refitted the screen and all my clobber for the ride back to Marrakech over Jebel Saghro, including a tricky a ‘4WD only’ descent, and the bike felt OK. My parameters had been reset, though I’ll definitely remove the screen again for day rides and even tours. It’s not needed and only takes 5 minutes.
In the late 70s I remember my 900SS was mysteriously transformed once I removed the half fairing. On that bike it was definitely about being able to see the front wheel (or just the front) directly, a bit like a forward control (‘cab over’) vehicle like a a VW Kombi or my old 101.
Ditching what little overnight baggage I carry certainly helped (and no tailpack made swinging the leg over so much easier), but removing the screen turned the 300L to what I’d expect: a fun, nippy, lightweight trail bike.
And yet every bike I’ve had for the last 15 years has had a screen of some sort, including the 250L (a plain, light Slipstream windshield which I reused on several later bikes). With the 300L I think it was a cumulative amassing of stuff, not just the screen, but the bigger tank, heavy radiator bars with side bags, handguards, tankbag, GPS, breakfast. From the Mototek crashbars upwards, and with a full tank, that’s up to 18kg of added mass over a stock 300L all up on the front, or way over 10% of the bike’s stock weight. Too much.
With that sorted, it’s only really comfort that holds me back, not helped by the fact that my knees are going (or are having a bad year). I’ve always been a lazy ‘sit when you can; stand when you must’ rider, but now I’m less able to hop onto the pegs or even just weight the footrests like I ought to to spare the hit when crossing a run-off ditch. Standing up is actually a good stance (compared to a 310GS), with knees pressing into the cushy sides of the seat just like they should. There’s a bit of a stoop for me (6′ 1″) at the bars, but that’s without any risers that I usually have to fit.
I do stand up on smoother terrain at the end of a ride to revive the backside and stretch out, but find, even in my TCX dirt boots, that my insteps ache after 20 minutes. Fitting wider footrests is something I overlooked in the prep, I now realise. Africa Twin Rally footrests fit right on they say, and have a third bar to support the load, but I bet other pegs fit too. The cheapest AT pegs I found were £80 on ebay, with DRC, or similar but unbranded Chinese alloys, costing around £50. Then I realised that replacing the missing footrest rubbers for 20 quid a pair will probably have the same effect, but same soreness so must be much TCX boots.
On the dirt I wouldn’t want any more weight nor need more power, but would love an inch less height for what I do. In the US (and maybe elsewhere one day) they now offer a 300LS, with inch less suspension and an inch less in the seat. For those without a calculator to hand, that’s two inches lower seat height.
The 300LS should have been the stock 300 back in 2021, with an ‘HS’ option for the lanky hardcore. Over ten inches of travel is excessive for a trail bike like the L; the CoG is too high making it twitchy, and it discourages ownership by less tall folk. I’ve never came close to hitting the bashplate which could easily be 2 inches lower, as on the LS. Honda could even take another inch out of the springs and put some padding back on the saddle where it’s still needed.
It’s a shame the TracTive shock from Rally Raid isn’t length-adjustable like the Wilbers on my XSR700 or YSS on the Him, though of course there’s nothing to stop me fitting a lowering Kouba Link (or similar knock off), then raising the forks in the clamps some more. In fact I have talked myself into trying just that for the next lap.
There were some long spells of oued paddling (too loose or rocky to ride) at which time the low first gear was just right, ticking over at 2mph or so, with no need to feather the clutch. But as mentioned, my speedo read-out was way out until I fitted a fatter Mitas when it went back to stock 8% error.
All in all, while the 300L was a great deal and is making my task out there easy, I’m at an age where I want a lower saddle alongside the low weight to be able to chuck it about with greater confidence, and get on and off without scuffing the saddle with a boot. I’ve matured into one of those old guys I met on my 250L in Canyonlands 10 years ago who’d ditched their KTMs for TW200s (left). Plus I’d like more day-long comfort, like a 310GS, though am not sure I’ll ever get it. All this holds back the fun of being on a planted bike like the 400 Himalayan.
On one of the tours one of the riders who owned a 450L wanted to try my adapted 300L, so I hopped on his rental 310GS. What a great bike that was, and not just the cushy, full-width saddle! Something about the steering also felt just right (this was before my de-screened epiphany). He also thought my 300 was off, and put it down to the 19-inch conversion. As John M at Rally Raid will tell you, the 310 (especially with his RR mods) is a much under-rated bike, though he rides a low-wheel 300L too.
Of course I never expected a 27-hp 300 to be the long sought after do-it-all travel bike. That machine is more likely to be a twin or single around the 450cc mark, like the forthcoming CFMoto 450T or the Himalayan 450. I bought the more dirt-focussed CRF for the specific purpose of bagging pistes in southern Morocco while leading a few tours. I could’ve saved myself the transit costs by hiring a 310GS, but the Rally Raid sprung 300L is a better ride off road, especially if you don’t know what’s ahead. And anyway, I wanted to try the popular 300L, and can’t wait to do another couple of months riding in Morocco. The long ride back to northern Spain in late March, not so much.
Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda.
Next time I will…
See also:
Africa Twin 1000
BMW F700GS
BMW F750GS
In a line:
It took a second, 1200-km week’s ride to like the 890R a bit more, despite the harsh ride at times. (BIke used to guide my Morocco Fly & Ride tours).
• Tubeless tyres
• On the move feels light for claimed 210kg tanked up
• Recorded up 72mpg (60US; 25.5 kpl) = 500-km range
• Great stability thanks to 20-litre pannier tank
• Fully adjustable stock suspension
• Easily understandable menu
• Cable clutch modulated well
• Big footrests
• Brilliant brakes
• Solid build quality
• Modes aplenty and cruise control too, + USB, GPS 12v sockets
• Riding under 5000rpm, vibration was OK
• Mitas E-07/Karoo 3 tyres worked fine, road and trail
• Good aftermarket protection on the tank
• Engine sometimes felt/sounded rough as an air-cooled single, especially on start up
• Hard seat
• Not much engine braking
• Screen too low to work on the road
• No stock attachment points on rear subframe
• No preload adjustment knob on the shock
• Fuel gauge and range reading erratic or vague
• Suspension harsh over small bumps
• Quickshifter present but not enabled
• Display supplementary data too small to read
Review
Looks-wise I don’t really get the KTM ‘alien insect’ thing; for me it all went wrong after the 640 Adventure and I marginally prefer today’s near identical Norden 901. But second time round in Morocco I got on with a 2021 890R a lot more.
Having ridden the 890 once already for a week, I set off for one last 1200-km tour lap on a huge BMW F800GS Trophy. Even with over 100,000 on the clock there was nothing much wrong with 800 and the engine delivery was creamy smooth (so much for 270° cranks…). But it didn’t feel right: ungainly, high seated and just a plain handful, even before I filled the underseat tank. Maybe it was just over-pressure tyres, but I was relieved when the cooling system burst a seal an hour or two into the ride (blocked thermostat?) and they brought up the same 890R I’d used a fortnight earlier that night.
Fyi this was only the second time I’ve ridden an 800GS, a hugely popular bike in its day. But I recall I wasn’t so impressed in northern Arizona over a decade ago. I’ll take the old tubeless ‘650’, ‘700’ or current ‘750GS’ every time. The rental shop got rid of the 850GSs after loads of problems.
Normally I’m a bit blasé with what they rent me in Marrakech and both times was given the 890 out of the blue, knowing nothing about the bike. But second time I made sure the KTM’s tyres were down to 30 psi, I ditched my tail pack for a tank bag so I could set my own bag further back. Result: a better ride with proper room on the seat. I wasn’t able to access the KTM’s tools (if present) to soften the WP shock preload, but see now all it needed was a big Allen key, not some obscure 2-pin tool. Now I know.
An 890R owner on the last tour explained that from new, the bike’s ‘Tech Pack’ is activated for the first month and includes Quickshifter+, cruise control, ‘MSR’ (engine braking control, like the AT) and the ‘Rally’ mode. I’ve never encountered this sales upgrade ploy but it’s a good trick; if you decide you want to keep the Tech Pack after it expires that’ll be £769 please. Or, to quote a press release for the 2023 890″ ‘An innovative DEMO setting gifts the rider the chance to try the full gamut of optional Rider Aids for the first 1,500 km before deciding whether to purchase and keep them permanently.’
The 890R now makes 105hp, but I doubt I ever used more than half of that or exceeded 6000 rpm riding normally. It’s hard to see how 105hp could be useful on the dirt when combined with over 200 kilos. I got up to 70 mpg, 10% better than I managed to squeeze out of my AT but which was far less confidence inspiring off road.
After some 2400km over a couple of weeks, for me the best thing about the 890R was the stability road and trail, contributed by the low-slung 20-litre tank. But I think there’s more to it than just low tanks; there’s the light weight too and the seating position with feet and hands just right. I noticed an unadjustable steering damper too (loads of places offer aftermarket adjustable ones). Initially riding the loose switchbacks streaming across Sargho west was easier on the 890R than my AfTwin, but it was easier still a week later on a dinky 310GS. Then coming back on my better set-up 890R, it was a piece of cake, bar the odd slip from the worn front Karoo 3.
The 310’s seat is better than the plank hard 890 too, though standing up is more natural on the KTM as your knees squeeze the soft seat. The ill-formed 310 is hopeless in that respect. Another inch of bar height and I’d have been comfortable on the 890R, but they say there’s not enough slack in the cables for that.
The R’s small screen was too short to avoid helmet buffeting but worked rather too well in the unseasonal 30-°C heat we had for most of November. Standing up was the only way to get some airflow through my Mosko Moto jacket’s vents while also airing off the sore backside.
This bike has a quickshifter but I later realised it wasn’t faulty, just not enabled (like the cruise control and other ‘Tech Pack’ features). I recall the quickshifter worked amazingly well on a customer’s 790 a couple of years back, but on this 890, clutchless shifting worked surprisingly well most of the time; up was a little notchier and needed a dip of the throttle.
I fiddled a bit more with the engine settings second time – the menu is easy to use without RTFM, though I found the supplementary data too small to read easily on the move. I also found the fuel range was a vague ‘>190km’ instead of an actual figure, and as it emptied it had a habit of dropping by 30% when restarting the engine, then jumping up again. I was told many overly electronic modern bikes have this issue now; it’s not just a float in the tank anymore but calculated off your recent riding pace. On my last day’s ride I was certain that at up to 23kpl the tank’s 20 litres would easily do 400km to Marrakech, so trusted in my trip odometer and recent mpg readings rather than the flakey range reading.
Full ‘Road’ power was nice but excessive for my needs; in southern Morocco there was little opportunity (or point) in exceeding 115kph for a few seconds. In the end I left it in ‘Off-Road’ mode (smoother power lower down?) with Road ABS on. The latter was especially effective and never an issue off-road; these days this whole ‘OMG ABS off-road!!’ is a red herring. ‘Off Road’ ABS disengages the back wheel so it can lock up (same as on the 310s); full ‘Road’ ABS worked on both wheels and was fine on the dirt. Now I’m not 16 anymore why would I want to lock up the back wheel? It certainly won’t be to kick off a power slide on some remote canyonside in the Anti Atlas
The bike came with a Mitas E07 on the back and a worn Karoo 3 on the front – both tubeless though the rims look normal. They felt secure enough on gravelly trails given the mass of the bike, and were fine on the hundreds of dry bends we swung through each day where the frequent spits of gravel moderated speeds and lean angles.
On faster rolling dirt tracks or deep road fords the suspension didn’t bottom out, but that just takes good preload and damping. On slow-speed irregularities the back chattered or kicked back violently. I dialled off the fork settings but it was the rear shock which needed less compression damping and maybe less preload too (there’s no preload knob, unlike the non-R 890). Dropping the tyres to 30psi certainly softened my second ride; another 5 psi off would have made it better still off road but things may have got a bit hot on the highway.
One thing I did miss hopping back on a 310GS after the first run were the KTM’s brilliant brakes, but other than that for what we do I’d settle on the lighter 310 every time. While less stable and with ordinary suspension, on loose switchbacks the little GS has less mass pushing your around.
With my bag shoved back, the KTM’s seat was more roomy but it’s still a plank. And my short day on the 800GS just underlined the KTM’s relatively rough engine (it sounded so bad we even checked the oil at one point).
All in all, the 890 was what I expected: an adventure bike which performs better off road than most of its 200-kilo+ class rivals. But with KTM’s shaky reputation for reliability (a previous rental had a clutch go in the middle of nowhere), for travelling I’d settle for less hardcore performance, smoother engines and plainer looks from Honda’s new 750 Transalp or Yamaha’s very popular XT700.
Africa Twin Index Page
‘Hotel Sahara’
Africa Twin in Morocco 1
Africa Twin in Morocco 2
Morocco Overland
After hurriedly leaving my damaged AT in Morocco back in March 2020, in October 2021 I finally managed to fly down, fix it up and go for a little ride, before flying back home. The plan was then to fly back in early November, do a tour with a group, then ride the Honda back home before it got too wintery.
With the current twist in the Covid shitshow it’s hard to keep track, but mid-October 2021 the UK was doing badly in the pestilence league. Hold your nerve they said; it’s a cunning plan to get the UK’s spike in early to avoid a big winter spike when there would be a spike anyway. Well, we’re getting a big spike alright – today it’s getting on for three times the October number, though hopefully without the drastic consequences of last winter.
Nevertheless, in response to the UK’s October numbers, Morocco suspended all UK flights so my tour had to be cancelled. Flying in via Spain or France was not a foolproof dodge: people tried that last year and got caught. Plus now, every extra country adds Covid paperwork complications. In the meantime, I still had to get my AT out of Morocco before the end of 2021, otherwise the Customs would turn the bike into a pumpkin.
By early November I’d heard of a Brit flying to Morocco via Portugal with no problems (which of course makes you question the point of the flight ban). So the Mrs and I got our heads round French Covid regs, took a train down to Marseille and rented a cabin in the hills for a few days – a pleasant Provençal interlude. It was great to be back in southern France.
Meanwhile, an old mate was passing out of the Med on the way to the Canaries and beyond in his refurbished catamaran which he’d picked up cheap.
‘Andy, pick me and the bike up off a Moroccan beach and drop us in Spain. We can do it in a day.’
‘No can do señor. Private boats are banned from mooring in Moroccan waters at the moment. We could do it in Mauritania?’
Mauritania? Who’d want to go there? Oh, me about 20 months ago. But from Morocco that border was still closed.
While in France I needed to track down a PCR lab to obtain a <48-hour negative result before flying from Marseille to Marrakech. One break in this paperwork chain and the whole plan crumbles. It’s only money and rebookings and inconvenience of course, but it’s still frustrating and stressful. One day we’ll all get used to these post-Covid measures, but like Carnets or visas for West Africa, it’s one hurdle after another and can take over the trip.
That night my resultat: négatif pinged on the mobile and by the next afternoon the Mrs was on a Paris-bound TGV and I was settling into my usual Marrakech hotel.
It was Tuesday. My ferry was on Saturday at 5pm – just a day’s drive to the north before a 40-hour marathon to Sete, in France. [There have been no ferries to Spain since Covid broke in March 2020.]
But first I had to track down a Customs office in Marrakech and get my long expired TVIP renewed. I could easily imagine the scenario:
‘Oh no no no. We can’t do this here, you fool!
You have to go to Casablanca to request a pre-appointment voucher application form. But they’re closed till next week.’
I found the place not far away in a side street with the familiar blue and grey livery of the Bureau des Douanes.
I walk in, he pulls his mask up. So do I. It’s the law.
‘New TVIP?’
‘Wait there.’
A minute passes.
‘You can go in now.’
Another sixty seconds later I walk out with a printed-off renewal notice set to expire December 31, 2021. Result!
I walked over to Loc Rentals and we talk about the whole darn situation, bikes and what not. They tell me their 850-GSs have been surprisingly unreliable t th point of getting ditched, while the 750GS version I rode a couple of years ago has been fine. In the last two weeks a bunch of my spring 2022 tours have filled up. I keep a fairly low profile so never know quite how this happens, but people are clearly gagging to get away on a mini adventure.
Still caked in Western Saharan dust, my Africa Twin is perched on the ramp down in the basement workshop, poised like Thunderbird 2, ready for lift-off.
Meanwhile, I’d got it into my head that I needed another PCR test to be allowed on the ferry. That was the case on leaving Morocco a few months ago; a UK stipulation. I find a walk-in lab nearby, but asking around online and reading between the lines on the Italian GNV ferry website, it seems my Covid vax proof should be enough for France (but not for Italy), as present regs stand..
I decide to leave Marrakech on Friday and return to the Hotel Sahara in Asilah. That gave me some elbow room for cock-ups and left just an hour’s ride to the port next morning.
Good decision, it turned out.
But not good enough.
At this point I was checking the HUBB Morocco forum regularly. Thursday evening someone posted that all planes and boats to France would be suspended from tomorrow night, 23.59.
Bugger!
This wasn’t a total border shutdown (that would happen three days later), just France following in line with the UK rule, so all was not lost. The Italian GNV ferry also served Barcelona and Genoa, so there was a hope it would simply re-route to either port, about the same distance to the UK, give or take a couple of mountain ranges. GNV’s website and twitter said nothing new, and a helpline woman said ‘see the website’.
It left the question: do I ride the 600km to TanMed port tomorrow only to be told next day’s boat was off? That would mean riding back to Marrakech, re-stashing the bike at Loc and joining the scrum at Marrakech airport to grab a flight to anywhere that was still on the list, and from there find a way on to the UK.
Leaving the bike with its expiring TVIP was the least of my problems. The Moroccans had extended it before; they’d probably do it again (in December 2021 they did, for another 6 months).
‘Last boat out of Saigon’
I woke up Friday morning to some good news. The Moroccans had relented and extended the deadline till Sunday! Saturday’s ferry would be the ‘last boat out of Saigon’ for a while, much like my last flight back in March 2020.
So by noon I was barrelling up the deserted A3 autoroute north of Marrakech with an easy 500 clicks to Asilah.
As I neared the coast I tracked the path of showers running up from the southwest, hoping we’d not converge. My heavy canvas Carhartt coat wasn’t really made for that, more for Montana blizzards. I slipped behind most of them but caught one short downpour. In the 120-kph breeze I dried off soon enough.
By late afternoon I’m back at the Hotel Sahara where this sorry saga began some 6000kms and 600 days ago. I’m the only one staying but at only 9 quid and far from a dump, this must be one of the best deals around.
Assuming I get on the boat tomorrow, there were still a number of hurdles to jump, not least a 1000-km ride across France. I didn’t want to check the weather – que sera, sera. Either it’ll be tolerable with the gear I gave or it won’t be.
I used to do that winter ride a lot in the 1980s, Marseille-bound for Algeria. Only now I have the combined miracles of a Powerlet heated jacket, a windshield and a protective film of late middle-aged blubber. Plus a meaty CRF1000L that can punch through the windchill at 120kph with one leg in the air.
It was just an hour to the port so I took it easy Saturday morning until a text from GNV ferries pinged while I was having breakfast at the Cafe Sahara.
Attention all passengers
• Make sure you turn up with ALL PCR/Vaccination documentation or you will not be allowed aboard
• Check-in closes promptly at midday
Shite, I’d better get a move on. The mention of PCR set the nerves a-jangling again until I realised the forward slash meant ‘PCR or…’ not ‘PCR and…’.
I stuffed in my croissant, knocked back my coffee, and then had the usual dance to get someone to wake up and let my AT out of the garage.
I rolled off the autoroute and into Tangier Mediterranean (‘TanMed’) port an hour later. This is a huge, Alcatraz-like facility 50kms east of Tangiers city, where labyrinthine causeways and ramps lead down to the quays. Sub-Saharan migrants who periodically assail the barbed fences of nearby Ceuta don’t waste their time here; it’ll end up with a stiff beating from the cops who patrol the 20-foot fence.
In the port, the first hurdle is to turn an internet-printed ‘ticket’ into fungible ‘GTF Out of Jail’ vouchers at the GNV counter. But first, you need to get past matey who’s taking photos of PCR/Vaccination papers. Except he’s wandered off for a fag. In the meantime at the GNV counter, a Remonstrating Man is having it out with the unfortunate behind the glass.
‘But I bought this ticket off ferryticketscam.com!’
‘Sorry sir, you’re ticket is not valid. Please move along. Next!’
Remo Man won’t budge; security are called and he moves aside to remonstrate with them instead.
‘Look, I bought it off ferryticketscam.com! It cost me 550 euros!’
‘Sorry sir…. we literally could not give an actual toss.’
In the meantime, the stalled queue is getting antsy, including me. It’s not helped by people joining the line from both ends or squeezing in with a nod and a wink. Half an hour later I’m there and snatch my handful of tickets and vouchers. I ride on to the Police for an exit stamp. He puts my passport into a reader, then mentions I need to get some piece of paper from Customs. Yea, yea.
Customs is a bit slow as my new TVIP print-out needs approval from the boss, but with that done, I slip past the long queue to the giant x-ray machine: a huge metal frame on rails and with cables as thick as your arm, that’s pushed back and forth by a lorry with a bank of screens inside.
On a bike, I’m invited to the front. Protocol-wise, it’s exceedingly un-English but no one minds at all.
Try it at home and ‘Oi, biker – wot you effing playing at?!’
This is why we like bike-friendly continental living.
We’re told to step away from our vehicles to limit radiation. Are they looking for explosives, stowaways, or just hashish which is cultivated openly on the slopes of the Rif mountains a 100kms south of here? Who knows, but next up an Alsatian gives us all a darn good sniffing. Moroccan wheeler-dealers in beaten-up vans full of whatever sells in Europe unload every last box and bag with resignation. Foreign tourists, and especially bikers, are hardly ever searched.
That all took two hours but I’ve reached the next level. I’ve taken my redpill and am ready for Extraction so I ride down to the queue assembled in front of the huge brick of a ferry.
I eye up other overlandy vehicles: a tasty 4×4 Pinzgauer from the 1970s or 80s done up in Tibetan prayer flags, and a huge quarter-million euro M.A.N camper that’s probably better inside than our London flat.
Another two hours pass then barriers get shifted and engines fire up. I’m invited to the front again and prepare to part with Moroccan soil and ride up the Ramp of Salvation to reach the final level of the Ferry Matrix Game.
But first another passport and ticket check, just in case I parachuted into the port with no one noticing.
‘Where is the passport exit stamp?’
‘I dunno, it’s there somewhere. Let’s have a look.’
It’s hard to read one faint, overlapping stamp from another. I’ve amassed loads over the years. Tuesday’s airport entry is there alright, but I can’t see today’s exit stamp.
He takes it up the chain of command and various cops get on their radios.
Bloke in hat: ‘Where is the police exit stamp?’
‘I dunno. Just give me a scribble and let me on anyway.’
They jabber into their radios and phones.
‘My friend. You must ride back and get the stamp. Don’t worry, it will take 5 minutes.’
FF’s Sake! I can’t face slipping back into Liquefaction. Hours ago immigration cop in his booth had one job: take passport, check computer database, stamp it and hand back.
OK, I suppose that’s four jobs, not including breathing, blinking and rearranging his bollocks.
I ride back, go the wrong way, get stopped, explain myself, radio calls, squeeze through barriers, get sent back, go the other way, ask a cop, he shrugs. Ask another.
‘Why did you not get the exit stamp?’
‘I don’t know, do I!? I handed him my passport, he did his thing and gave it back.
How could I proceed without it?’
This will the Last Ferry for months so I’m careful to lay on just enough indignation without becoming another Remonstrating Man. They take my passport. It checks out on the computer. I get stamped but make sure to see exactly what page it’s on. Then I bomb back, jumping the queues at the Customs, the x-ray machine, and the sniffer dogs, expecting whistles to blow and sirens to sound.
Back at the ramp I’m allowed to ride aboard, park by the few other bikes and load the tail bag up with all the mission-critical things I can’t afford to get pilfered. The Italian and Filipino crew direct me to my cabin where I spread out enough boarding cards to start a small casino.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a wee donkey, does it have to be this hard?
The 5pm departure comes and goes and the sun sets over the Atlantic but there are no promising throbs from the engine room. I’ve been on enough long, overnight Med ferries to know they never, ever leave on time.
7pm and down on the loading ramp another Man surrounded by hi-viz crew, indifferent cops and insistent GNV admin is Remonstrating like his life depends on it. Arms gesticulate aggressively. Voices are raised. Some shoving occurs.
He’s as mad as hell, and he’s not gonna take this anymore.
9pm. Another 100 cars and vans show up ride up the ramp. Maybe GNV is making the most of last-minute ticket sales. Who knows when this service will start running again. By tomorrow night all Moroccan borders will shut in response to the growing Omicron threat.
At 10pm, ten hours after check-in closed and five hours late, there’s a rumble and a judder from far below. The M/N Excellent pulls back from the bumpers and glides in between the breakwaters. This is the same confidentiality named Excellent that came in a bit hot at Barcelona port a couple of years back. Some muppet forgot the ABS was switched off after a spot of off-roading.
For me the immense feeling of relief when a ferry leaves a North African port has become embedded deep in my brain’s maritime lobe. After so many North African scrapes over the decades, not least this one, you feel like yelling back at the shore
‘Come and get me now, you bastards!
(And no, I don’t care if this boat rams into a Balearic island and sinks, but thanks for asking).’
Meanwhile, aboard the Excellent every 30 minutes the tannoy chimes up in three languages to tell you to wear a mask, it’s the law. Most Moroccans ignore this instruction, maybe because Morocco never got hit as hard as northern Italy did last year. Or maybe they have no reason to trust authority.
As long as you score a cabin to yourself, I love these long ferry crossings; when they’re not ramming quays, these modern ships ride the seas like a K1600 GTL with the platinum ESA package. ///delighted.ferrying.northbound
Part 4 shortly
Africa Twin Index Page
Morocco Overland
I’m parked up below the ramparts of the Saghro massif, just over the road from an old French-era fort where they filmed one of those ‘SAS: Are You Tough Enough?’ shows. Up in the hills, new-to-me tracks wait to be logged, but by the time I get rolling I realise I’ve left it way too late to do what needed doing before dark. I nose up a new track just to check it’s there, and up another new road over the jebel, but going for a there-and-back excursion seems silly.
Heading back to the hotel in the late afternoon heat, huge dust devils spin menacingly by the roadside. There must be some way of doing something new and saving the day. Yes: cross the ridge and ride Route MS1 out through Tafetchna and into the stony desert, then come back up the little-used east bank of the Draa river on a new backroad. I haven’t done MS1 for years and as elsewhere, tarmac has seeped up from the south and shortened the off-roading.
It’s only about 12km through the shallow gorge, but as always, it’s miles more engaging to be on the dirt and follow the track weaving through to the other side. In the shallow gorge, an abandoned track leads over the riverbed and back north, but I’ve never managed to make the link. One for next time on something lighter.
As more and more pistes in southern Morocco get sealed, obscure trails become TOIs or ‘tracks of interest’, but because they’re largely unused and unmaintained, they’re rougher and slower going. It’s a bit like mountaineering in the second half of the 20th century; once all the highest peaks had been knocked off, climbers had to start looking for harder ‘north face’ routes.
Once through the gorge, up ahead I remember the water tower landmark visible at the village of Touna Niaaraben where the asphalt now runs to the N9 over the stony plain.
Back on the bitumen, I nip down to Zagora for some fuel: the AT has peaked at 63mpg (52 US) on a mixture and 2nd and 3rd gear tracks and 120-kph road stages.
I then turn back up the Draa backroad – an east-side alternative to the main N9 but it turns out to be nothing special. On the edge of a village I pull over by a ditch alongside some shady palms for a snack, then get back to the hotel pleased I’ve done something new today. Tomorrow I’d need to crack on.
A few weeks ago a Moroccan geologist got in touch. He’d spent the summer in the mineral-rich massif of Saghro on his Himalayan and told me of a couple of new tracks traversing the ranges. I traced one 100-km crossing from Nekob on Google sat – for me the most reliable way to find new routes online because unlike maps, WYS is WYG. Once over on the north side, I could turn east via the new Kelaa bypass and finish off by closing the loop via the classic Saghro route over the newly sealed, 2316-metre Tazazart Pass (MH4) back to Nekob. An action-packed 400+ km day of discoveries lay ahead.
At the fuel station west of Nekob I remember to reset my Montana correctly, then set off to see what I might find. Not far out of town, three dump trucks roll in which suggests the piste will be better than average and may well have been built for- or by the mining outfit. Once I pass through a small gorge and the ascent starts, there’s only one semi-deserted hamlet for 90km; not enough reason a track might get built or improved.
Soon, the distinctive Saghro vistas rise around me, different from any other range in the Atlas mountains complex. Buttes and spires jut abruptly from the dust and rubble, recalling Algeria’s Hoggar. It’s no place to be a lettuce. Through it all the smooth, wide piste swings around the heads of chasms and across the arid valleys.
It’s not all plain sailing. As the twin rear axles of the heavy trucks scrub round the more acute switchbacks, the tyres grind the sand and gravel into a fine powder which I just can’t get to grips with on the Africa Twin. And that’s with a Motoz knobbly on the front. I’m definitely struggling to find my off-roading mojo today. I put it down to the heat and the weight of the machine, plus riding alone on an unfamiliar track. After KM3 out of Nekob I didn’t pass any other vehicle.
Soon I reach the junction where the much gnarlier and even more dramatic MH14 and MH15 routes come up from the south. I last came this way on the little WR250R in 2017. A great bike for those sort of pistes, but less of a high-speed highway sofa. MY zen-like search for the Middle Way continues. Could this be the unicorn?
I pass the 2100-metre high point above the basin with Tagmout village and the new copper and gold mine – which explains why this track got built or improved. Tagmout may have been big enough to justify a mosque once. Now it’s just a dozen scattered dwellings with adjacent gardens drawing on the groundwater of the basin’s dry river course.
I ride out of the Tagmout basin (there are a couple of left turns to get right, here), back up over a pass that leads westwards to the winding piste, a lovely trail curving through the scrub and rock at over 1500 metres.
Apart from those tricky hairpins.
Within an hour the track drops towards Bou Skour and the high mountain drama is over. A couple of forks guide me around the old Bou Skour mine, past the village of Sidi Flah on the Oued Dades, and finally down into Skoura itself on the N10.
I pull into the roadhouse for an omelette salad and a litre of yoghurt drink. While I’m waiting, before I forget I jot down the route’s twists and turns on the handy paper tablecloth.
I whizz along the new Kelaa bypass (left) in 30 minutes; handy to know for next time. They really must have asphalt and roadbuilders to spare if they’re starting to build bypasses in southern Morocco, although it’s true the section of the N10 between Kelaa and Dades is a near-continuous built-up stretch with attendant distractions. We used to come back this way on my tours after crossing Jebel Saghro via MH4, but the mildly more aggrressive driving on the N10 added with the sun setting straight in our faces on the way to Ouarzazate was not a safe way to end the day.
Back to now, soon after Dades, I turn back south into the Saghro massif and climb up to near Iknioun, then take the newly built spur over the 2300-m Tin Tazazert back down to Nekob. What used to take the gasping XR250 Tornados half a day now takes the AT just 35 minutes of asphalt and Armco.
We first came this way in the late 1990s in the Land Cruiser (left), looking for routes for my Sahara Overland book at a time when so much of this part of Morocco was only linked by rough tracks.
Back down in Nekob, I get a young chappy on a pushbike to do me a selfie in front of the mural. All that remains is to bomb back to Tamnougalte, back to Marrakech next day and fly out the day after.
The plan was to come back for the Honda after leading a tour in early November, but rising Covid numbers in the UK (as well as DE and NL) saw Morocco suspend flights. Mass cancellations all round.
So the Af’Twin is stuck again in Morocco, but at least I know it’s running well. By the time it gets back I’ll need to retrain it on how to ride on the right.
C’est la vie.
Adventure Motorcycling Handbook 