We found some beautiful roads and crossed a mountain range ending up in much higher temperatures. We would happily have left the road to camp wild in many places along the way. We saw beautiful oasis' of green among the desolate mountain scrub where the rivers still had some water running. Many many shepherds watching their flocks in the fields.
The road was long and winding, we stopped for lots of pictures. All along the main body of the road were drainage ditches stopping us from heading off the Tarmac to find a quiet hidden spot for our tent. We saw no signs of campsites at all. At Missour we finally saw a sign for a Gite, and headed off to check it out.
The local kids were fierce, quitting their game of football to form a line across the road and stop us. Zane found a gap, and I followed him through revving my engine as they closed in on me. They weren't happy.
The Gite owner wanted £17each per night, so we declined and said really we wanted camping. Inside the Gite was fairly open plan with several beds around the outside of the rooms and tables in the middle. It looked clean, and the beds looked good with their blankets, but it was well out of our price range.
We had to pass back through the village with it's uneven dirt roads and annoyed children. The children had put stones across the road to block our path. There were two visible gaps, Zane went for one I went off the other, but the kids stayed firm this time and I backed down stopping before their line.
Immediately their hands went out, when I shook my head and pulled forward they shook my bike, but a little rev on the engine as I faked forwards and they scattered enough for me to squeeze through. This is not my idea of a good game.
As we left the Gite the owner said something about their being no camping until Midelt, and warned us of something. We kinda expected this, another attempt to convince us to stay? Maybe an honest one this time. The road to Midelt was a mess. Gravel and miles of roadworks. Diversions down parallel gravel tracks while they resurfaced the road. Fun, but a little late in the day to start riding stood up on the pegs. Hard work at the best of times.
Finally the roadworks ended, and I was somewhat elated at my success. The gravel had passed quite comfortably, but it was 7pm. Zane slowed, the road was now going in the wrong direction. I encouraged him on, thinking it would swing round or something, but by the next village we realised we were just heading further in the wrong direction.
I couldn't remember seeing any other options, just the end of the roadworks and the road we had taken. Still, we turned back in hope. Approaching the roadworks from the other direction there was another road which seemed to head straight into the diggers, but the minibus ahead was taking it, so I guess we can too.
The gravel was deeper and the bikes weaves more in it, not helped by the roadworks vehicle stopped in front of us. Eventually we hit Tarmac again and breathed a sigh of relief as we headed in the right direction. By Midelt we were very tired, but the campsite was well signed.
We were welcomed at Camping Municipal with tea, and talked in a mix of English, and French, with a few German words thrown in for good measure. There were suggestions for where to go, and talk of Berber houses. (We assumed code for carpet shops)
The 'owner' was keen to show us around, but we were too tired and wary of sales pitch and commission if he was really just a tout. I use my car for guests, I will take you to see.... but we struggled to understand what he wanted to show us.