Monkeying around, day 7

Our final day! And just 60km. This whole thing had gone so much more smoothly than I could have imagined. We ate a leisurely breakfast and then hung out for a bit before packing up to depart at 11am.

I was happy that my luggage rack (zip tied piece of wood) had survived the trip. My bike still wasn’t the best at starting, but I could always get it going eventually.

Our ride started off just fine. Then we switched from highway to about 9km on a side road. Broken asphalt, potholes everywhere, not quite wide enough for two lanes yet there was traffic in both directions. I really didn’t want to hit a pothole and go over my handlebars or get a flat. Not on the last day.

(Mom, don’t read this paragraph or the next two.) I got through the junky side road fine, and then there was a sharp hairpin right turn, slightly downhill. I took it very slowly, but turning while going downhill on gravel meant I and the bike fell to the left. I suppose I had to crash sometime. Fortunately I had been going slowly (walking speed) and nothing was damaged. My bag needed some readjusting but that was fine. We went on. Back to a main road, which was great. Then through a town with a winding and hilly road. Somehow I managed to crash again, my wheel turned going into gravel with a turn coming up. I fell to the left again. Seemingly instantly, a Moroccan guy was helping me up and getting my bike upright. I have no idea where he came from. My groupmates were also there to help. But the speed of this guy.. just incredible! He asked if I was okay. (I was.) He was so very kind.

This time I did actually mess up the bike. The gear shifter (done with left foot) was warped. I managed to get the bike up a short hill to a gas station and we looked at it more closely. The kickstand had been bent in so that it was rubbing against the chain. That’s bad. The gear shifter was messed up too, but I bent it back a bit and it seemed to work. Turns out I also almost busted the clutch (left handle). Fortunately it still worked. So all we needed to do was take the kickstand off (hooray for spanners!) and dust me off. I was definitely rattled. Also, I had my phone in my left jeans pocket for both falls, landing on top of it both times. (Dumb place to keep a phone, fyi.) Amazingly it came out unscathed except for a small chip in the case.

We continued to ride. I could shift fine. My engine actually sounded better than it had before. At this point we were 20km away from the finish.

It turns out the final 12 or so km was the worst of our trip. We were going to a desert camp on a road often traveled by ATVs, 4x4s, camels, dune buggies, etc. Not a comfortable ride in a regular car, much less on a monkey bike, especially with the fancy vehicles zipping by.

We climbed. We avoided potholes. Eventually the road gave way to off-roading. We went through sand. Up hills. Across rocks. To my bike’s credit, it handled all of this like a champ. No idea how I didn’t get a flat, as I really stopped caring at this point. I just wanted to be done. (Hence the lack of pictures from this stretch.)

Our remaining distance dropped and dropped. We could eventually see the finish line. Rolling in just past 3pm was an incredible feeling. There was a band of drummers there playing as we rolled our bikes onto the stage for celebratory beers and pictures. We were done!!

It took me a while to unpack. I had to find a rock to prop my bike on since the kickstand was in my backpack. I unstrapped my bag, clipped the zip ties off (turns out two had broken), and removed the wood rack.

At this point I was a bit overwhelmed. I had made it. I rode 808 km (502 miles) on a monkey bike, across the desert, across the Atlas Mountains. I was a bit bruised but hadn’t injured myself. I actually did this thing. Me, a guy who had basically zero experience with motorbikes and zero experience with manual transmissions. I don’t know how to fix anything. If my car breaks down, I call AAA. Oil change? I take it to a place. Cabin air filters? No idea.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was a celebration. Bikes rolled in and got on stage for pictures. The band played. Beers were plentiful, as were quite strong gin and tonics. It was a lovely setting in the desert. I caught up with people I had last seen on the morning of day 1. We had been able to see each other’s progress on the map and also via Instagram pictures. Everyone had ridiculous stories.

We had dinner. There were awards. (Nothing for me this time. There was an award given to the person or people deemed least likely to actually finish the run. My friends won this. I later found out I was second choice for this award. Not mad about that — I made it!!)

And that’s it! I said goodbyes to a few people and then caught a ride with some friends back to Marrakech. We talked about meeting up somewhere in the future (Mongolia? Peru? London? NYC?) and then went our separate ways. I got back to my riad (hotel), checked in, found the luggage I’d left, took the world’s most glorious hot shower, ate a few Advils, and went to bed. I slept for nearly 12 hours.