The only path is through
Words and photos by @lacey_criswell
In a dank Midwest bar, working through an onslaught of personal and professional challenges, my friend bluntly asked,
“Want to ride a motorcycle from the Sahara to Marrakech…without any support vehicles…in five days from start to finish?”
My first thought was that this seemed irresponsible, but I came to realize that not only did I need a motorcycle trip; I
needed the remote roads full of possibility.
Later that year, I boarded a plane to partake in The Adventurists: Monkey Run Morocco. I had one day to get my
motorcycle, a foreign knockoff of a Honda Z50 “monkey bike,” ready for the journey. The ride started the next day
with
no support, no tow, and no rescue – a real-life “choose your own adventure.”
I realized that the journey was perfectly in line with my life at that time. My journey was to embrace the unknown that tomorrow brings and chase the art of being present.
Day one of the Monkey Run started with an expanse of three-foot-deep loose sand. After an hour of digging and
wipeouts,
we finally found packed dirt that led to what locals called a “main road.”
This patchwork pavement stretched a single lane, serving two-way traffic that we shared with overloaded semis in a
continual game of chicken. And then the sandstorm hit. Luckily, we found shelter at a Moroccan roadside attraction
while
we waited out the storm before continuing to Tinghir.
On day two, we left early to ride Gorges Du Todgha: a series of limestone river canyons in the High Atlas Mountains
with
incredible views. Thrilled with the morning's ride, we set out on a goat trail to ride the most remote and
technically
challenging roads we could find. Taking in the epic mountain views with no trace of civilization for hours, our
group suffered the first
moto breakdown.
Miraculously, two goat herders appeared, and they understood our distress despite the language barrier. Soon after,
the
only person in the village with a driver’s license piled our bikes into a minivan and drove us back to Tinghir.
Thankfully, the local mechanic was able to quickly get us back up and running.
On day three, and leaving Tinghir for the second time, we had a sense of urgency and took a shortcut to reach Dades
Gorge – Morocco's most photographed stretch of tarmac. With over 50 hairpin turns within a mile and a half, it’s a
rider's dream.
Our “shortcut” ended up adding an extra four hours to our riding day. A flood had washed the road away, so we instead tried navigating a dried-up riverbed, which proved to be the most
challenging off-road riding I had ever done. The only way through was to let go and let the bike take over and find its way. To this day, it’s the most fun I have had on a motorcycle.
As the sun was setting, we finally reached Dades Gorge. The light was a dusty pink and gold, adding a dream-like quality
to the red rocks of the gorge. Once over the top of the gorge, I was ready to open it up and was now speeding down the
backside at 38 mph! This unknown road with blind hairpin turns and my feet only inches from the pavement gave me the
test I was looking for. At that moment, I felt most in tune with my motorcycle.
For our fourth day, we had planned an easy ride over a mountain into a remote country village. What we didn’t know was that the maps also charted roads that were going to be made.
We climbed the mountain through road construction, using backhoe tracks as our guide. It was grueling work that went on for hours. The 50cc was not enough motor to handle the elevation and deep mud. Thankfully, the foreman offered to take us and our motos up to the summit.
Grateful for the ride to the top and thrilled at the meandering road down the backside, I thought this was our final
reward, but I was dead wrong. The easy country cruising turned into four more brutal mountains to climb, with the last
one the most unforgiving of all. We were tired and our spirits dimmed, but the only option was to keep going.
We reached the top right as the sun was setting, and we could see a mountain village in the valley. After a dark ride
down a steep mountain, nerves shot, a family generously offered us a room, a warm shower, and dinner for 20 dollars. It
felt like the most luxurious accommodation I had ever encountered.
On the morning of day five, we were reentering civilization and groomed roads. It was getting warmer; the sun was
shining, and the joy of accomplishment flooded my body. With a day of easy riding comes a day of tough reflection and
the “wind therapy” of an open road. Riding more challenging terrain didn’t leave room to think about much more than
enjoying and getting through your ride. Now, my mind was trying to untangle the knots of my life.
At the forefront was the separation from my husband, who is from Morocco. I came to view this trip as my way to explore
the country and to say my goodbyes. These revelations hit me as we rode right by the turn-off to his family’s farm. The
sense of relief, grief, and happiness was overwhelming.
Much like this journey where pain and pleasure mixed to be one of the greatest weeks of my life, this same road showed
me that my life would also hold those same dynamics. Much like climbing the never-ending mountain, it was time to let go
and keep going forward. The only path was through.
More images from her journey