On day five I reached Morocco which started off gloriously.

I'd worn my thermal/waterproof layer as my destination was up in mountains although I quickly discovered that Moroccan A-roads are not to European standards. Crappy British B-roads might be more apt for some of the main highways. They would be brilliant biking roads -- barely a straight flat bit to be found with roads following mountainsides almost religiously -- but for the fact there's rarely more than 50yds warning of any known road works, subsidence, rock falls, missing road surface and no-one pays the slightest attention to any road markings with overtaking through solid white lines de-rigeur and being on the wrong side of the road on blind bends/crests commonplace. I can only assume there were fewer accidents than you might expect because everyone drives so slowly. Barely out of second gear in towns and generally held up by lorries on the open road.

Still, eventually, I made it up into the hills past Meknes where it clearly had turned a bit sour.

It had been raining for a mere 45 minutes, they said, when I eventually reached my target hotel in Azrou where the Salon du The (Tea Room) doubles up after 7pm as the garage for motos.

The bloke loitering in the corner is Hassan who turned out to a useless git as far as being a fixer was concerned and something of a bad liar to boot. But typing that has already made me angry again so I won't go on.