We gotta be sneaky, Charlie…
What you can't have sooner, you can always have later! With that rather enlightened philosophy in mind, today is the day we'll be riding through the most spectacular sections of this year's track. Alright, we're giving Tadrart Rouge a miss, that would've been an absolute cracker, but 800km of autonomy without one of our 5-gallon fuel bags and the rest looking rather questionable... that'll have to wait for another expedition. Shame really, because I'd already been picturing myself stashing fuel somewhere 200 km from Djanet to use on the way back… Never mind. I know I'm hopelessly in love with the Sahara and Algeria, and I'll keep coming back whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Right then, back to reality. The plan is beautifully simple. Get ourselves moving early, secure 150 litres of fuel, water and supplies, then disappear into the canyons winding between the sandstone spires of Tassili n'Ajjer. From there we'll skirt the northern edge of Erg Admer, head towards the Adrar massif north of Mount Tazat, cross it, and then follow the pistes across the hamada all the way to the Hoggar Mountains. Whether we've got enough fuel is anyone's guess. There's supposedly a fuel station in Idles, though it's a rather questionable one, so we certainly can't count on it. So... YOLO.
Hicham is riding with us, and it quickly becomes obvious the man is worth his weight in gold. As we pull up at the petrol station, there's a queue stretching several hundred metres. How long have these people been waiting? They must have been here since the middle of the night, and it's still barely dawn. The sight alone would break even the toughest spirit. Luckily, we've got Hicham. He confidently makes his way right to the front of the queue, has a brief word with someone inside one of the kiosks, and moments later he's waving us to roll up right to the front. Straight to the front. We chuck our fuel bladders and bottles onto the ground and fill everything with pure childlike excitement. First the tanks, then every single spare container we've got.
We stock up for three days and roll out of town. Hicham looks every bit like our guide. We head towards the northern exit, aiming straight for the narrow passages we'd picked out earlier, leading into the desert canyons. We say our goodbyes, and I genuinely hope our paths cross again one day.
And then… Here we are. Standing face to face with Tassili. Ahead of me lie the gates to the world of Fadnoun, Tadrart, and the great stone labyrinths. At last. In just a moment I'll be throwing my wheels onto some of the finest kilometres I've ever ridden. I've waited a long time for this moment. Let it begin. I leave the tarmac behind and lead the way towards the black cliffs. Oh yes... this won't be an easy crossing. The sand is treacherous, carved up by deep ruts. Once again we're playing the same familiar hand, balance, throttle control, staying relaxed. The bikw is incredibly heavy, loaded for three days deep in the desert, yet it behaves beautifully and faithfully goes wherever I point it. We stop on a mountain pass. We're high enough to see both the immediate landscape and the endless distance beyond. That familiar feeling washes over me, that marvellous feeling when everything is utterly right with the world, and reality perfectly matches expectation. The scenery is simply breathtaking.
Tassili n'Ajjer is truly one of the most surreal and captivating places on Earth. Picture a desert where a stone forest suddenly springs to life. Not just individual rocks, mind you, but narrow passages between towering cliffs, natural bridges, sandstone cathedrals, tunnels and hidden valleys. There are thousands upon thousands of these formations, each taking on wonderfully bizarre shapes. That's why people keep giving them names like Crying Cows, Nutcracker, Elephant, Balanced Rock, Surprise Arch... and countless others. Combine all of that with the perfectly golden sands of the Sahara, and the result is a landscape unlike anything else on the planet.
In the Tuareg language, Tassili n'Ajjer literally means "Plateau of Rivers", which sounds almost ironic today, considering it lies deep in the heart of the sun scorched Sahara. But once, it was absolutely true. The region contains around 15,000 prehistoric rock paintings and engravings documenting both climate change and human life over the last 10,000 years. They reveal that the Sahara was once a lush green land filled with rivers and lakes. Elephants, giraffes, hippos, even crocodiles, are all depicted here. Ancient hunts, ceremonies and rituals have been preserved forever in stone.
Hundreds of millions of years ago, enormous sandstone deposits formed. Later, immense tectonic forces uplifted the plateau, and over millions of years wind and water began carving it into what we see today. The final masterpiece is the result of a process called corrasion. Powerful desert winds carry countless grains of sand that relentlessly blast the rocks like sandpaper. Because sandstone isn't uniform, softer layers erode away while the harder sections remain, eventually forming these extraordinary shapes.
Finding your way through this maze of sandy corridors, many of them incredibly narrow, takes a fair bit of skill. It really isn't easy riding. At the pass, Tomek decides to split off. He wants to take the easier route, staying on flatter ground closer to the main road.
At first I struggle to understand his decision. That's simply the instinctive reaction of a mind fixated on clocking up the kilometres. But in reality, it's an incredibly thoughtful and mature choice. Maybe he doesn't have the best day today. Moments like this, and what happens afterwards, are exactly why we know we can rely on one another, and why we keep setting off on these expeditions together. Travelling like this means making responsible decisions. Riding beyond your limits for hours is sheer foolish. It puts not just yourself but your companions at risk. Truth be told, I wouldn't want that sort of company on a proper expedition.
Out here in the Sahara, the challenges extend far beyond the distances, the lack of water, the arid air, and the blazing sun all take their toll. In such conditions, you simply have to think. Adapt. Accept that whatever happens out here will be a direct consequence of your own decisions. Perhaps, apart from meticulous preparation, that's the second reason we always seem to reach our destination. In any case, I completely understand Tomek's decision, and we agree to meet again on the other side.
The hours that follow blur together into one splendid adventure. We blast through sandy corridors from one incredible place to another, taking in Tassili, the prehistoric paintings, the rock formations, the caves, everything. My camera barely leaves my hands. That day alone I take nearly 400 photographs. I'm struck by this extraordinary feeling of discovering places I'd never seen before, not ordinary places, but those shrouded in mystery, the kind people once only whispered about. We're brilliantly prepared, armed with checkpoints and a track made up partly of local classics and partly mapped out by ourselves. Trying to describe what it's like riding a motorcycle through Tassili is beyond words. Quite unimaginable for anyone who hasn't experienced it firsthand. At this very moment, I know it's easily one of the best days ever.
We keep pushing hard and reach our meeting point surprisingly quickly. Tomek is already there, and together we skirt the northern edge of Erg Admer before turning towards Tazat, the highest summit of the Adrar range. The landscape changes in an instant. We're now ripping across an endless hamada, completely flat, shimmering with mirages, while dark mountain ranges loom on the horizon. Some of them resemble giant pyramids. It instantly reminds me of Western Sahara. Just like there, I keep the throttle pinned and lazily carve wide arcs across the desert ground. The speed is high, and the only real danger comes from the occasional large rock hidden in the emptiness. Occasionally, we cross paths with one of the others. This is the taste of pure, unrestricted freedom.
As we close in on the mountains, we pull over for a rest, everyone's feeling a bit spent. I'm transferring fuel into the tank. A handful of dates and some water are enough to bring me back to life. We discuss the route. The track forms a wide semicircle, making quite a long detour to the north. I assume there's some obstacle ahead, perhaps an erg or slopes that are simply too steep to cross. We agree to regroup where we might be able to cut across and save nearly 40 kilometres. Given our tight fuel reserves, that's a big deal.
We set off and immediately realise this section won't be easy. I'd expected solid rocky ground. Instead, the valleys are packed with deep, loose sand. I alternate between following the ruts and riding beside them, unable to decide which is worse. Both options burn fuel at an alarming rate. Once again on this trip, the riding demands total concentration. Thankfully, the scenery is absolutely stunning. Tahat and its immense dark massif dominate the horizon, while perfectly sculpted dune ridges complete the picture. After about 20km, all tracks vanish; it's clear no soul has passed this way for a very long time. The landscape feels untouched. Not a single sign that another human has passed through here.
We make it to the agreed meeting point, just Kuba and myself. We manage to catch Kondzio on the radio, about 5km back. Ahead of us rise massive arcs of dunes, they're magnificent. From here they look completely impassable. We wait for quite some time, but nothing changes. Still just the two of us. Eventually we decide I'll attempt the shortcut we'd spotted earlier while Kuba holds the fort. If the dunes are rideable, I'll call him on the radio and wait for the others. There's no point wasting precious fuel.
To my surprise, I climb the dunes with hardly any effort. I crest the first one and the sand levels out. Another dune rises ahead. Then another. And another. I begin wondering whether this shortcut is actually nothing more than an endless sea of towering dunes. If that's the case, forcing our way through would make no sense. We'd have to turn back and ride the long way round. Then suddenly, an enormous valley opens before me, with one final colossal dune standing at its far end. I study the map. The contour lines leave no room for doubt. There's a way through. Just before the giant dune you need to turn left, and that'll take you onto the flat hamada beyond the erg. I ride to the highest point, right onto the crest of the nearest dune, and call the guys.
I can reach Kuba. No one else. Kuba, however, is in contact with Kondzio. He's heading back. We need to find Tomek, we have absolutely no contact with him. Kondzio's using the least fuel and he's already behind us, so he's the obvious choice.
I take off my helmet and boots. Sitting in the shade of a bike, I quietly soak in the otherworldly view. Time passes lazily. It's getting quite late. As I pull out a handful of nuts, a large dark bird lands beside and immediately starts picking up the crumbs. Nothing goes to waste out here. The silence is absolute. About twenty minutes later Kuba's voice comes over the radio.
- "Kondzio found Tomek right at the beginning of the mountain section. He's completely exhausted and turning back. We'll meet exactly at the point where our track crosses the main piste towards Amguid. Tomek wanted to give Kondzio some fuel, but he didn't take it."
- "Right... Copy that. Come over here to me. It's so unbelievably beautiful that it'd be a shame for me to sit here on my own."
We head off piste. A majestic dune rises ahead. I check the map, but it remains nameless, though its height from base to crest easily tops 300 metres. Before reaching it we turn straight onto the hamada. We've still got around 40–60 kilometres to tonight's bivouac. I'm doing the maths. Since Tomek returned to the main road, which is probably tarmac by that point, even taking the longer route he should still arrive before us. We go fast. The low evening sun shines straight into faces, while three dust trails behind us glow pink in the fading light. No roads, just riding on a bearing. The only rules are to keep an eye on each other and read the terrain.
When we reach the agreed meeting point, we're alone. No sign of Tomek. We climb onto nearby rocks and try call him on the radio. In these conditions, without any terrain blocking the signal, the range can easily clear 20km. Total silence. We set up a camp beside the wreck of a Peugeot, later we decide it's actually a Toyota. Brilliant vehicle, the boot makes for a perfect field kitchen. Under the moonlight, we make some pasta with aubergines and tuna. That brave little aubergine travelled with us all the way from BOD.
We sit up late debating the possible scenarios. We still have no idea where Tomek is. Fuel is scarce, I'm only carrying 3 gallons, and there are three of us. The rest is with Tomek in his 5-gallon bladder. We assume he'll turn up in the morning, or failing that, he'll be waiting for us in Idles. We've no way of reaching him as he didn't bring an InReach on the trip. We'll certainly make it to Idles tomorrow, but what then? Strangely enough, I'm not really worried about Tomek. Somewhere deep down I know he's not far away. And I know he is all right. We've known each other a long time There are plenty of possible endings to this story. Time will reveal which one plays out. Inshallah.
Track: https://loc.wiki/t/277756532?wa=sc
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