I head over to Ouarzazete where a local entrepreneur waylays me with his thoughts on everything as I try to eat my omelette berbere (in a tagine, of course). Typing this I realise that this too was lunch -- what a fibber I was earlier!

Having finally gotten rid of him back to his car rental business I loiter near the Bikershome Auberge. My phone won't call the number despite the help of a local kid and his mates who entertain themselves in my company (probably at my expense). Eventually, I realise it's a Sunday and maybe the guy who runs it isn't expecting anyone to turn up on spec.

I find another hotel (identified as the only other hotel in town by the kids -- not quite true) and then head off to Ait-Benhaddou, a famous mud city.

Famous enough that it seems you have to pay to see it. Given I stayed in a mud hotel earlier (The Panorama in Merzouga) I don't feel so fussed about touristing.

I took this picture of an older-style building (tapered walls) with, I realised after, a stork's next atop one of the turrets (not easily seen in this photo!). At the hotel I find myself staring at a painting in the room of an old style building with a stork's nest atop a turret. Clearly a national favourite!

The next day I head off up to go round the scenic route beyond the mud city. The piste starts fine

although everyone (OK me and a guy on a moped) had to stop when road works blocked the way

I let the guy on the moped head off first (fearing a rash bit of throttle on sand would leave me on the floor) and we tootled along in convoy for a little while. His high-pitched engine "wheen" contrasting with my growl. He kept a good pace though. I passed him with a cheery wave when the going was safe only to find him heading past me in a seamless move round the back of a JCB whilst I was being harangued by an enterprising cafe owner having foolishly paused for said JCB. These locals know the roads! I had him, though after a water crossing became a steep slope and his 50cc were failing him. I didn't dare bet that he wouldn't overtake me again, though.

Before long I'm stuck behind three or four 4x4s. Annoyingly, 4x4s in low gear go at walking pace which might be maintainable on a bike on tarmac but isn't possible (for me) on bumpy piste so I find myself regularly stopping.

I took this while waiting

If you screw you eyes up funny you can see a couple of silver dots at the bottom right of the slope, the 4x4s.

Having loitered for them to be clear of the slope I headed off. My explanation of what happened next is this: I have heavy luggage sat above the rear wheel. As I'm heading up this sort of slope (again, the tyre ruts are not level) if the rear wheel slips it'll head left, say, under gravity, the heavy weight over the rear wheel will swing left and, rotating about the centre of gravity, the front wheel will be swung right, pointing straighter up the hill. And thus quite likely to make you fall off. Which I did. Twice.

The first time I had tried lifting the bike to no avail (this is at 2300m) and so I was sighing audibly in face of stripping the bike of luggage and wondering how much fuel will glug out this time when "Monsieur!" a bloke is running down the path. Brilliant! One of the 4x4 drivers has noticed I'm missing and come back to help. I can barely understand a word he says but grasp something about trucks at the top. Whatever! He and his newly arrived mate lift the bike up and I realise the sideways slope of the path is such that the saddle is at chest height. Good job these boys are here as they can hold the bike while I climb around the other side to get on.

You can get a hint of the path at the end of this clip

20 yards later I'm off again and there's another rescue. I then struggle up the rest of the path in one. A feat I'm quite pleased with as the path was terrible, potholes in front of bedrock with loose rocks in the most annoying places and according to the gaps in the GPS log the 300m path rose 100m: a 1 in 3 slope to boot!

The 4x4s are at the top with the tourists milling about and I give a triumphant wave to celebrate my success to the waiting audience. They seem non-plussed. I explain what has just happened and I get some quizzical looks. Then my rescuers appear and return to their positions of selling tat to tourists -- they weren't the 4x4 drivers at all!

Having rewarded them (and been obliged to buy some badly carved rock) I get the story that they'd seen me waiting for the 4x4s then heard me crash on the way up. Apparently bikers are falling over here all the time so they're quite used to it (and presumably the extra income they earn).

The piste is easier (but not the easiest) beyond here although a dozen or so 4x4s make life annoying

before I can escape the piste and back onto tarmac.

I then headed off down to Zagora and the desert again. I stopped at a deserted layby to take some panoramic pictures and come the third pic this kid has silently appeared (like one of those horror movies). I can only guess he was hiding behind that rock. He said nothing. Very odd.