Shimano Gravel Alliance rider Claudia Gerosa looks back on her recent adventure in Morocco, thankful that she had accepted a last-minute invitation to reccie the route of an upcoming gravel tour.

We start from the medina in Marrakech, the heart of the buzzing city. Bikes built and with a good breakfast behind us, it’s time for a 38 km spin around the city with the mandatory stop in the huge Jemaa El Fna square for lunch. It’s chaotic, to say the least. The traffic is intense, but there’s a strange sense of order despite the fact it appears to come from every direction. It’s 35ºC – at least twenty degrees warmer than Milan, where I’d just flown from – and set to get hotter. I shiver involuntarily, knowing that tomorrow holds 90 km of Morocco’s legendary gravel and our first pass over 2,000 metres above sea level.

The traffic starts to dissipate as we make headway towards the Tizi N’Tichka pass on the first full day. The road was built by the foreign legion in the 1920s, essentially re-routing everything away from the nearby village of Tèlouet, which was once a key trade passage connecting the sub-Saharan region with the Mediterranean.  

The sweat droplets are already making themselves felt as we climb the first pass, Tizi Ait Burka. Fewer and fewer vehicles pass by as the day progresses, just the odd horse and cart, overly loaded lorries carting who-knows-what, some motorbikes, and donkeys. It’s dusk by the time we reach the first hotel, where tagine is on the menu. I let the food digest as I look up at the sequinned sky, fixated on star constellations but not recognising so many. If anything amazes me right now, it’s how little light pollution there is compared to the hinterlands of Milan.

The next day, we take a coffee stop in Tèlouet, enveloped in early morning sun. There’s a decrepit sign on the side of the road signalling the entrance to a salt mine, so perfectly slotted into the water-worn landscape. The gorges and mountains, carved from millennia, are home to shepherds and their flocks, who appear to wander aimlessly, ticking off the kilometres without any sense of urgency; time must have stood still here some decades ago. For the first time in our lives, we’re starkly reminded of how much water means life: the river – brown and clay-like – is flanked by the verdant greenery of crops. Higher up, the vegetation gives way to a barren expanse of rocks and earth. Not much can grow here.

We reach Ait Ben Haddou, whose jaw-dropping hilltop kasbah has become something of a hotspot – so much so, in fact, that it has appeared in numerous Hollywood films. A quick lunch, then all uphill on winding gravel to the next hotel. 

There’s an almost entirely uphill gravel stage of 85 km on day three, including the second pass above 2,000 metres, and real quick, the gradients gets real. The dirt roads meander through coal mines and deep, dusty red canyons, where there are a handful of villages perched on the sides. The scenery is desolate yet spectacular, shifting its hues around every corner. My favourite ever gravel section comes at the end of the day, obliterating everything I’d ever ridden before. Obliterating is an apt word though; by the time we reached the hotel, I am done for. Three days this early in the season have taken their toll me. 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night – maybe due to tiredness or the less-than-luxurious bed – so I wake up still tired and acutely aware that I’m going to need a lot energy to get through what can be seen as the ‘Queen’s stage’ with 150 km and 3,660 metres of climbing. I discreetly weigh up the options and clamber into the accompanying jeep, knowing that the rest will benefit from the support as they push on.

The climb starts immediately and doesn’t let up for the whole 150 km. We’re circumnavigating the Parc National De Toubkal on its way to Imlil, where we’ll sleep. Cloudless and blue above us, down here on the dry earth we’re swathed in reds, browns and purples of valleys that unfurl one after another. It’s exceptionally kind on the eyes, but I imagine far less kind on the legs and lungs. 

As the rest of the group rumble into the hotel visibly exhausted but standing proud. One more day to go.

The fifth and final ride day starts like clockwork with a 14 km climb up to the Tizi N’Tacheddirt pass at 2,427 metres. It feels very Alpine, with snow-tipped peaks and pine trees lining the track, and immediately reminds me of the Passo Gavia, one of my favourite places to be. The downhill on the other side is long and we stop frequently to eat and drink on the route into Marrakech. After passing Asni, the descent continues until we hit the shores of Lalla Takerkhoust, which plummets me into thoughts of Tuscany with its barren, undulating scenery. The final 40 km are a progression re-immersion into the city and its traffic. 

We shower, pack to go home, and have one more night in the lively city of Marrakech. 

How do we digest multi-day rides like this? As my first real taste of travelling by bike, it’ll come to me through a slow succession of memories, anecdotes from the others, and glimpses of the scenery imprinted in my mind, and largely inspired by the images on my phone. 

Thanks to Rolling Dreamers for organising the trip and allowing me to have this brilliant experience. 

5 days, 535 km of riding and 9,980 metres of climbing.