Highway To Hell - The 27th Marathon des Sables

Finally, after over 3 years of preparation (constant mind changing), training (nowhere near enough) and expenditure (never ending), I have joined a select number of people worldwide who have completed The Toughest Footrace on Earth - The Marathon des Sables.


When I first started thinking about how I would perform in the race I had a look at previous competitiors performances, looked at my own road times, added in a few factors and came up with a kmh time that I thought was achievable. I became convinced that I could achieve a Top 50 position. As the months passed by and the race drew nearer, I realised that Top 50 was a tad ambitious due the lack of training I was putting in but I could still perform very well. After the first day all my ambitions had been cruelly crushed as I began to realise why the race had given itself such an egotistical title. As the week drew on it was obvious that I would struggle to even make the top 50 Britons. As it transpired I never even made the top 50 in our tent!!


Does any of this matter? Not really. As one of my tent mates said "No-one ever asks what position you finished. They are merely in awe that you have completed such an event". As I am writing this some 10 days after completing the race, I have had many interactions with work mates who are indeed far more impressed with my efforts than I am myself but it is true that not a single one has asked where I finished.


I decided that I would bite the bullet and add in 50 extra grammes for a notebook and pencil so that I could capture the highs and low of the race. As the week progressed the choice of pencil over biro proved to be a dodgy choice as some of the text smeared a bit in the heat. Fortunately most of it is intact and the transcript is now below for posterity. Hope you enjoy these inane ramblings.


DAY 1, 5th April 2012 - The Journey Begins


Due to the 2 legged alarm clocks in the house, I awaken 5 minutes before the actual alarm is due to go off. I'm feeling slightly woolly and realise that it probably wasn't a good idea to quaff half a dozen Fosters Gold last night. I am up, washed and dressed in time for Steph and Karen's arrival to drive to Bangor station. Big hugs and kisses are shared all round with Em and kids and it's off for the start of a life defining adventure. At least that has been the plan since Feb 09!

The Wait at the Gate

The journey from Bangor to Ouarzazate (or Who's a Rat as Steph has named it) is seamless. We had originally planned on getting an earlier train but the deciding factor of cost prevailed and we decided to chance our arms and get the one an hour later. As it turned out we needn't have had any concerns as we hop from Virgin to Tube to Gatwick Express to arrival at the check in desk only 5 minutes after it has opened. I had read before that the check in was easy to find due to the proliferation of Raidlight daysacks. This year this was not the case as a number of people had made alternative choices. They obviously knew what I was to find out as the week progressed - Raidlight kit is garbage!!

Steph and I check in together and at first are told that we can't sit together but the clerk in the next desk says there are a couple of seats left together and we are allocated those. The Gods of Fortune are obviously smiling on us as these seats are right at the front with plenty of legroom and the added bonus that we are first in line for second helpings at dinner. Seconds turn out to be the veggie option but we are starving and gleefully accept the extra portions and guzzle them down.

As the 'plane begins the descent to Ouarzazate and comes out of the clouds we begin to get an impression of the terrain that would become all too familiar over the next week and a bit. 15 mins later we bounce onto the tarmac of Ouarzazate airport. From our Marrakech experience, Steph and I are familiar with the immigration process in Morocco and have completed the immigration form, gone through passport control, collected our baggage and are outside at the bus in double quick time. I have previously checked the route to the hotel and we could be there in 15 minutes on foot or 3 minutes in a cab but we decide to stay with the bus.

As we are on the first bus, we arrive at the Hotel Berbere Palace ahead of the masses and are quickly checked in to our apartment, which is not too shabby at all. Bathroom, lounge and bedroom - shame we're only here overnight.

Throughout the remainder of the day we meet lots of our fellow competitors who all seem to be treating the event in the same manner as us - with a certain amount of respect but not overly serious. At the bar some are already on the beer, others settle for Coke and I reacquaint myself with mint tea; lovely!

We meet Rob and Matt who are 2 short of an 8 man tent (that's not a euphemism in the sandwich short of a picnic style) and gladly welcome us into the fold. They introduce us to Duncan, Bob, Arnie and Dave who we initially think are the other 4 in the tent but no, they are with another group.

In the absence of the other group of 4, we all sit down together for dinner, which is a lavish "all you can eat" buffet. 2 plate loads later of lasagne, fish, pasta, veg, bread, ratatouille, more veg, more bread and a boiled egg and there now sits a small mound where once a washboard stomach had been!!

Breakfast is from 06:00 tomorrow so an early night beckons. I get a couple of highly priced beers (5 Euros or 50 Dirhams) from the bar and take them back to the room. The temperature had been reasonably warm when we arrived but now as the sun has dropped it has become decidedly chilly. I will keep an eye on this over the next couple of days and may have to add more weight to my pack in the form of a fleece. As I scribble these notes, I am guzzling the aforementioned beers and Steph is sound asleep. He does like a sleep, bless!!

Day 2, 6th April 2012 - Transfer to the Desert

We awake at 05:45 and are quickly washed and dressed and down for breakfast before the inevitable queue builds up. Again there is a mass of choice of pastries, croissants, brioches, pains au chocolat, fruit, yoghurts and cereals plus the hot options of omelettes, tomatoes, small leathery sausagesand some odd looking bacon. I start with the omelette and sausages with the latter being quickly discarded due to the inedible nature of them. I top up with some pains au chocolat, fruit juice and yoghurt and a nice cup of vanilla tea.

An early breakfast means that packing is conducted at a leisurely pace and bags are out in reception in plenty of time for the arrival of the buses that we are told will be here from 08:30. Nothing seems to be happening at 08:30 so we make our way back to the dining room for another brew. Whilst we are there Steve, one of the controlleurs arrives to wish us well and inform us that the bus time is nearer 09:30 so we have made a wise move to have the relaxed approach. He also gives us the tip that the key to a successful MdS is use of the roadbook.

 

Eventually the buses arrive and we all pile on for the start of a 5 hour journey to the first bivouac. The journey starts off interestingly enough with the town turning out to be far bigger than it had appeared when we first arrived. The scenery on the outskirts of town is quite stunning but is ruined by a proliferation of 1000s of plastic bags of rubbish. Eventually the scenery becomes a bit samey with some obvious exceptions as we pass over the mountains. We settle down in our seats and I make my first use of what will prove to be the most indispensable piece of kit over the next few days - my MP3 player.

Lunch

After an hour or so the coaches stop for a quite surreal "comfort" break. The sight of 280 Brits scattered around the countryside all "tackle out" would have caused a double take for any passing locals! Not that there are that many. Back on the coaches, we drive for another 90 mins before stopping for lunch. Having experience of military packed lunches or "horror bags" as they are affectionately known, I fear the worst. The French version, however, is surprisingly tasty and nutritious as we consume the contents sat on random rocks at the side of the road.

Arrival at the Bivouac

Following lunch, it's back on the coaches for more of the same until we eventually arrive at an RV after which the coaches can travel no further. It's another 3km to the bivouac so assorted trucks assemble to transfer us there. The first lot to set off appear to be transported by some sort of skip wagon! It's all a bit holocausty and we begin to wonder what lies ahead! Next to arrive is a military 4 tonner type wagon. By this time we have decided that we will stay as an 8 as the 4 other guys are nowhere to be seen. We rush to the front of the queue to get on this vehicle and remain resolutely steadfast as the driver attempts to remove the covers and struts. He is failing miserably and as we wait, many more trucks turn up and depart in quick time. Having pushed our way to the front we are determined not to move, which turns out not to be the best decision as we wait and wait. Finally an officer turns up and gives the guy a bit of an Arabic earful and eventually we set off. When we arrive a good number of the British tent allocation is already full. Matt decides to run ahead and secure a tent and valiantly leaves his suitcase with us to carry for him! We catch up with him at Tent 95, which is to be our physical and spiritual home for the next 9 days and nights.

Bob - Admin Guru!

We claim our positions in the tent and proceed to administer ourselves. Bob spies Dave's kit and decides that the guy needs help. Dave has brought pretty much 2 of everything, "just in case" and his pack weighs a ton. To our amusement, Bob spends the next hour ripping his kit to pieces and repacking. Items are discarded and weight value represented in numbers of energy bars.Eventually he has a pack that he and, more importantly, Bob are happy with! Bob is less happy when he realises that he still has to sort his own kit. We pass the next hour or so in the time honoured British tradition of giggling and piss-taking in the way that only a group of blokes can before setting of to the dining tent for dinner.

Food, beer and wine - yummy!

Beef tagine and couscous plus coleslaw, goats cheese and lovely Moroccan bread is accompanied by a choice of wine or beer or in my case both as I gladly accept Steph's whole beer and Arnie's partly guzzled beer. Well fed and happy, we wander back to the tent for more giggling and piss-taking before settling down for an early night. Steph has set out his stall for the rest of the week by getting his head down long before the rest of us and is happily snoring away, which is to be another constant feature throughout the event! We batten down the rear flaps of the tent to keep out the draft before tucking in for a cosy night.


Day 3, 7th April 2012 - Administration Day

The cosy night mentioned yesterday did not materialise and was substituted instead for the worst night's sleep in living memory. I crawl out of my sleeping bag unable to take any more and gratefully take in the morning sunshine. Almost immediately we line up in our first queue of the day to receive two bottles of water. I realise that I don't know what 399 is in French and my pitiful attempt at working out how to say my number is met with blank stares. I resort to English and walk away with my 3ltrs of water. Queue number 1 is closely followed by queue number 2, which is for breakfast.


All of Tent 95 bar Dave have been given time slot of 10:30 for checking in and mandatory kit receipt so we spend the next couple of hours furiously packing and repacking and filling in forms confirming our possession of mandatory kit and details of our food for the week. The food form especially causes issues as there is very little room to put down all the various things we have. Lydia, one of the bivouac commissaires confirms that my spreadsheet will be acceptable for the food so all those months of compiling it haven't gone to waste.  How impressed they will be at check-in!

Say Goodbye to Suitcases

We form our 3rd queue of the day and wait for the process to kick in. Our concerns about forms, numbers of calories and correct completion of forms are unfounded as check-in is a series of Q&A and various bits of kit - running numbers, distress flare, salt tablets, transponder, and checkpoint card - are thrust at us. I get to the medical table and am initially told that my ECG is inadequate and that I will need to see their doctor. I tell them to open up all pages and they change to being satisfied. I am asked if I have run any marathons before and if I am up to this. There are obvious answers but I'm not sure if the French do irony so I merely say "Oui" and "D'Accord". Finally we are herded outside to the baggage man who attaches our running numbers to our suitcases and we wave them goodbye. The whole process has taken about 10 minutes! The most serious part of it all was a firm instruction on where to place your running number so that sponsors' logos would not be obscured.


A short break in the tent is followed by yet another queue, which this time we have formed. Lunch is planned for 12:00 but it seems that no-one has informed the staff as there is nothing on the tables yet and no sign of any staff. Once lunch does arrive we take our places in the dining tent and a huge fit of giggles commences as Rob initially takes the blame for an American woman's fart before pointing the finger of blame right back at her! She responds to the finger with a steely stare, which only reduces us into further fits.This does nothing to reduce her steeliness!


After lunch a couple of the guys stop off at the boutique to purchase MdS buffs whilst the remainder of us wander back to the tent for an afternoon of lazing about. Many people form other tents are disappearing off into the heat haze for runs. I have thought that this might be a good idea but for later after the central brief and before dinner when the sun is a tad less fierce. In the meantime I procure some spare velcro and superglue from Bob and complete the job that the cobbler in Llandudno started. It is a bit of a botch job but looks as though it might just work. All the time whilst this is going on Steph has assumed his favourite position and snores are echoing round the tent.


The mandatory brief at 17:00 starts at 17:15 when Patrick Bauer finally bothers to turn up. He spends the next 40 minutes telling us things we already know. We are discovering very early how much he likes the sound of his own voice. He has an assistant to translate into English. I comment that it is a bit poor that after 27 years he still hasn't learned to speak English.

The shadow is a person not a sight pointer!

After the brief, we put our packs on and saunter over to the start line which is now fully established for some group photos before everyone else gets the same idea and starts crowding in. A random Moroccan in an Arsenal shirt muscles in for one shot, which turns out to be on his camera! Cheeky git. This all kills a bit more time before dinner and I decide against going for the training run. There will be plenty of suffering opportunities tomorrow.


The soup tonight is a bit of a mystery. No-one can determine the flavour and the menu doesn't give any clues. The only agreement is that it is definitely not the flavour that Arnie suggests! Beer and wine is again on offer but tonight I am a goo boy and settle for a vin rouge. I would've had a beer but the guy on the counter is on the ball tonight and will only let Steph have a Coke. The meal is consumed with joviality that is becoming tent 95's tradmark.


We return to the tent and decide to light the bushes we gathered yesterday. A combination of hexamine blocks and a whole pack of ration pack windproof matches fails to ignite any flames, this is one tough bush! Failing miserably we settle down for the night. Tent 96 are having a good old chatter and are annoying the French across the road. This causes great amusement for us as the grunts and attempts at complaining fail to silence the rabble. Eventually a lone Surrender Monkey goes over and after a few words manages to get the guys to behave. Silence falls across the bivouac and we settle down to await the beginning of the end.


Day 4, 8th April 2012 - Stage 1

AMMOUGUER / OUED EL AATCHANA – 33,8 Km

Stage 1

Km 0: Go S/E (course 133°) towards the top of the hills to the right.
Km 1,7: Keep hilltops to the right. School to the left (equipped on 21st MDS).
Km 2,5: Ruins before sandy area with palm trees.
Km 3,3 : Enter Ahssia Oued and follow it.
Km 4,9: Palm grove with small dunes.
Km 5,6: Follow small path along Ahandar ruins for 400m and follow oued.
Km 6,7: Aït Kherdj ruins to the left. Follow oued to CP1.
Km 14: CP1 at end of small dunes. Cross rocky plateau direction E/SE (109°).
Km 16,4: Steep climb up small jebel for 200m (over 15% gradient).
Km 16,9: Bottom of descent. Cross rocky valley towards East (course 97°).
Km 18,1: Start of sandy ascent round fault sector.
Km 18,4: Follow the crest to avoid faults on the side of Bou Lalhirh Jebel.
Km 19,9: Technical descent for 200m followed by rocky valley and small hill.
Km 20,6: Valley with few stones. Go S/E (course 124°) up to Km 21.8.
Km 21,8: Summit of small hill. Go East (course 100°) into valley.
Km 24,5: Summit of small hill with sandy passage. Go down towards CP2.
Km 25: CP2. Cross fairly rocky valley towards East (course 89°) to Km 28.
Km 28: Start of track up Tibert Jebel.
Km 29,3: Summit of track. Descent.
Km30,5: End of descent. Hill to right.
Km31,1: End of hill. Cross valley direction E/NE (course 76°) to bivouac.
Km 33,8: Arrive at B2.


Plato once said that necessity is the mother of invention. Well after the previous night I had a need to keep my knees warm so I had "invented" a pair of knee warmers in the shape of a pair of boot socks with the toes cut off. These had worked well during another cold night and I awoke far more refreshed than the previous morning. I have my last decent meal in the form of a boil in the bag sausage, beans and omelette and dress for the start. I wish everyone a Happy Easter, which reminds Bob that he has a treat for us all. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small bag of Mini Eggs which he shares around the tent. It is a great touch and puts an extra couple of mils of lift on our smiles.

The start is scheduled for 09:00 but we are asked to assemble at 08:00 for the traditional number shot where all the Concurrents form the shape of a 27 for this year's race edition. This passes without incident and then it is time for Patrick's pre-race brief. Again it is a rehash of stuff we already know following a brief the previous night but it is Patrick's race and he will take every opportunity to let everyone know this. 


Whilst listening, it is pointed out that I am stood on an ant hill and they are crawling all over my gaiters. I jump off and pour valuable water all over my lower legs. This gets rid of most of them but there are a few stubborn buggers who have smelt fear and are clinging on. I brush them off but they immediately turn and give chase again! Finally they get the message that I am top of the food chain and give up their quest, allowing me to form up for the start in peace.


After the traditional pre-start music of AC/DC's Highway to Hell, Patrick counts down and we are off. "Vous etes magnifique" he yells and indeed most of us are with the exception for idiots like me who are dropping kit out of front packs before we've even got going!! I recover my MP3 player from the dust, silently admonish myself and set off, quickly settling into a rhythm. 

Nice view. Shame it didn't last

After about 2k I have my first encounter with Jyri. We have a brief chat and exchange tent numbers and then he sets off again. The initial few kilometres are extremely picturesque as we run through palm groves and past historic buildings. If only the rest of the race was like this, the kms would fly by. But at that time we didn't know this and gazed appreciatively at the scenery.


I arrive at CP1 in good order and meet up with Dave who also appears to be going well. After a brief flat bit  following CP1 we arrive at the first jebel of the race, which is not too cheeky a climb. This is followed by a valley and another jebel before the going levels out again to CP2 at 25km. 




I get the impression that the road book is not quite to scale as I am on the check point before I know it. It is now only 8.8km to the bivouac but I and others are now starting to fade. I am coping well with the heat but my toes are beginning to smart. I had read of peoples' experiences with swelling feet and assumed that this would be a gradual process so had put on an extra pair of socks on top of my first pair, liners and zinc oxide tape inside my larger sized shoes. In fact the swelling is quite rapid and the sensible thing to do would be to take the socks off. For some reason though common sense has been left behind at the bivouac and I would not get it back til the end of the stage. Consequently I carry on with my toes stabbing into the front of my shoes and getting more and more painful.

In between jebels!

There is a final jebel to pass over before the finish and this is a cheeky one with a path of shifting sand to negotiate on the way up. Perversely, I am grateful for this as my toes are now pointing p and away from the front of my shoes and the pace has slowed to a more manageable level. At the other side of the jebel, the bivouac comes into view. It is tempting to put a spurt on but I know that it is still about 4km away. I chug on manfully and finally cross the line in 5:32. A reasonable time and puts me in 369th position. A wee bit outside the top 50 but I have kiboshed that ambition a good while ago!


I arrive back at the tent laden down with 3 bottles of water to find Bob, Rob and Matt are all back a good hour previously. Bob is knocking on the door of the top 100 and Rob is not far behind him. Dave arrives another hour behind me after also having trouble with his feet, with Dunc, Steph and Arnie in just short of 7 hours. 

End of the Day

Stories of the day ensue and we are treated to our first sandstorm. In comparison to what will come it is a wee one but it certainly gives us a taste - quite literally! Lydia (who has been nicknamed Cuddles) turns up later with our first batch of emails and info on tomorrow, which isn't much other than the start time and reminder to get our water in the morning. She confirms that the 46degC that Rob told us of earlier is officially the hottest first day in the history of the race and traditionally things get warmer throughout the race!


We read our emails, which though restricted to 1000 characters are most welcome and a good motivator. It is then admin time before traditional giggling and then bedtime. It has been a good first day overall and I feel I have learned a bit, which will help me in later stages, or so I think.




Day 5, 9th April 2012 - Stage 2

OUED EL AATCHANA / TAOURIRT MOUCHANNE : 38,5 Km

Km 0: Go N/E (course 38°) across valley with few stones.
Km 1,5: Cross Aatchana Oued. Sandy with camel grass.
Km 7,1: Sandy pass of Joufert Jebel. Small dunes.
Km 8,8: End of sandy passage. Go East (course 88°). Fairly rocky terrain.
Km 12,3: CP1. Go E/SE (course 122°) to CP2. Small pebbles.
Km 15,7: Cross oued bed before small dunes.
Km 16: Small dunes. Continue E/SE (course 122°).
Km19,3: CP2 at end of small dunes. Go South (course 184°) and cross Ma'der El Kebir Lake.
Km 24,2: Cross large track. Stay on course until CP3.
Km 27: Cross tracks.
Km 29: CP3 at the end of dry lake. Go S/SE (course 149°) to B3. Rough mud track with calotropis.
Km 32: Start of small dunes. Continue S/SE (course 149°).
Km 33,7: End of small dunes. Sand bumps and camel grass.
Km 37: End of sandy terrain.
Km 37,7: Small line of dunes for 200m.
Km 38,5: Arrive at B3


For some reason, I couldn't download the pic of the route for Stage 2 sorry. You'll have to use your imagination from the description above and the waffle below.


Here's the link to the roadbook for that day if you have no imagination
http://www.darbaroud.com/fr/html/mds/27mds/roadbook/27mds_roadbook_2.php

A much warmer night for a change and a decent enough sleep was had. My pretend Thermarest seems to have developed a very slow puncture somewhere and is lasting around 2 hours before needing re-inflating. It is a job I can’t really be arsed to do so I take the mild discomfort instead.

My alarm goes off at 05:30 and I arise ready for the day keen to get up and about before the Berbers come along and strip the tent. It is noodles for breakfast as it was for breakfast lunch and dinner yesterday and will be for the remainder of the race, only interspersed by raisins, Geo Bars and Complan. The Pepperami and chilli flakes make the culinary experience all the more pleasurable and I am not yet sick of them.

We had been told that today’s start would be 08:00 but now turns out to be 08:30. I could’ve had another 30 minutes of lying awake! After a breakfast and morning admin we move over to the start line. Lots of people are bumbling along and consequently, because Patrick still has to have his daily ego trip, the start is delayed by 5 minutes.

The things you see in the desert!

Today’s route has promised to be flat but with more dunes, which is reasonably appealing after the jebels of yesterday. What they haven’t told us is that this is possibly the most mind numbing route ever and is a test of mental strength as much as physical. The first part is a straight 7km before dog-legging through some small dunes to CP1. CP1 to CP2 is mildly more interesting being through some more small dunes and happening across a randomly discarded motorcycle. On reaching CP2 my feet are really starting to gripe. I think that I am getting a couple of hotspots on the balls of my feet and curse myself for not taping up this morning. The checkpoints are a welcome sight as they break up the course but slowing down to receive water and top up bottles gives feet the opportunity to swell a bit more and they need a good 200mtrs again to be knocked back into shape.

10km of nothing!

No Way!

The departure from CP2 puts us straight onto a dry lake bed and a direct 10km of nothingness to CP3. The other end of the lake is clearly visible in the distance and never seems to get any closer. About 2 thirds of the way across the lake, I get overtaken by a man with an ironing board on his back! I have heard of the Extreme Ironer but this is my first encounter with him. I decide that this is the motivation I need. No way am I getting beaten by a man carrying an ironing board. I snap off a quick photo and then get my arse into gear and then pass him on the way to CP3. The MP3 selection is really earning its salt on this leg although I am getting a bit pissed off with having heard “Unbreakable” by Muse for about the 7^th time that day. I need to have a word with the shuffle function when I get back.

Eventually CP3 comes into view and I decide to take the opportunity to cover up the hotspots that have got decidedly worse over the last 10km. I settle down in one of the tents and proceed to administer my feet. From sitting down to setting off again takes 25 minutes during which time, Dave has arrived for a wee rest and informs me that Arnie and Dunc have already gone by. Worse than that, ironing board man has also gone past me again!

The last 9km is a bit of a struggle and again the bivouac homes into view with around 6km still to go. This is very demoralising as I am now in my darkest place so far. I get my head down and plod on. The discovery of a stick cheers me up as it is perfect for a walking stick. I make a mental note to rib Arnie about his £100 Lekis when back at the tent – loads of free stuff just lying about!

Back at the tent I find that Bob and Rob have again performed really well with Bob having broken the top 100 for the stage. I have come in 6^th place in the tent in 6:46; the 25 mins of taping have put me behind Arnie and Dunc but I have come through a dark place and completed the stage and that is all that matters at this time.  

Dave’s feet are now blistered and he decides to go to Doc Trotters. I think that I should go but decide to man up and perform self-aid in the morning after a night of letting them breathe. Whilst at the Doc’s Dave meets up with a guy who is a minor MdS celebrity because he has done the race 9 times and once told James Cracknell he was shit and had no chance of making top 250 in 2010. To protect his identity I will call him Ronan Coreyman. Dave tells Ronan of his foot woes and gets a patronising “Did you not think of prepping your feet?” Dave responds with one of the best put downs ever – “I did <pause> with crap I bought from your website!” Ronan has no answer. Brilliant!

It is very windy again and sandstorms threaten so we scavenge around for big rocks to weigh down the flaps. I head for a particularly large rock, which will do the job admirably but am beaten to the prize by a random Frenchman. I think the rock is perfect just as it is but Pierre decides it is too large to carry and proceeds to attempt to break it on another large rock. On the third attempt the rock bounces of and hits Pierre on the leg. “Merde!” he screams and hobbles away. “Do you not want this anymore?” I ask without a hint of irony. The monkey answers in the form of a grunt and surrenders meekly on his way back to the tent for more cheese. I grasp the rock in both arms and stroll back to the tent looking like Atlas!

Standard tent life

Now sheltered and cosy we settle down to read our daily emails, which have been brought round earlier together with news that the thermometer topped out at 52 deg C on the course today. I am happy that acclimitisation has gone well as this did not unduly bother me.


I have 2 emails today from Em and one from some guy who has a mate in another tent and can I pass on his best wishes!! I am struggling to get round the tents to meet up with guys I want to speak to, never mind other peoples’ mates. I make a silent half promise to have a go for him but I know that it’s one I won’t keep. Ah, the camaraderie of MdS!

During evening admin I decide to dispense with my sand goggles. They don’t weigh much but are taking up valuable room in my pack. As it is I have coped well enough with shades and hat. I offer them to Dave and he hesitantly accepts the gift – just in case!

The day ends with chats about the hardships faced by Polar explorers like Scott and Shackleton and mountaineers like Mallory and Joe Simpson (Touching the Void). Their hardships put our minor gripes into perspective and we settle down feeling ever so slightly insignificant.


Day 6, 10th April - Stage 3

TAOURIRT MOUCHANNE / EL MAHARCH : 35 Km

Stage 3

Km 0: Go East (course 101°) to CP1. Succession of sandy terrain with vegetation and pebbly terrain.
Km 7,5: Sandy, false flat ascent.
Km 12: CP1. Go N/NE (course 31°) to Zireg Jebel. Sand then stones.
Km 13,7: Start of ascent to panoramic view at top of Zireg.
Km 14: Summit. BEWARE! Stick to small path for 200m to descend on stable ground.
Succession of sandy rises and dips to Km 17.
Km 17: Rocky passage by trees. Sandy descent towards gorge.
Km 18,5: Small silted-up gorge. Follow oued bed.
Km 19,8: End of gorge. Cross sandy, rocky valley: N/NE (course 25°).
Km 21,3: Cross a large track.
Km 22,3: Ascend sandy pass between Mziouda Jebel and Ras Khemouna Jebel.
Km 24,1: Sandy pass in small hills then cross rocky valley.
Km 24,7: Summit of small hill. Fairly steep sandy descent. Follow oued bed in gorge.
Km 25,4: CP2 at gorge exit. Go N/NE (course 19°) to get to Maharch Pass. Dry lake. Earth underfoot.
Km 28,8: End of lake. Start of sandy pass.
Km 31: Maharch Oasis. Solar pump set up on 21st MDS. Go North (course 359°) to B4. Stony.
Km 32,7: Rocky peak to right. Sand and pebbles.
Km 35: Arrive at B4

We awake after a decent night's sleep and spirits are still relatively high so I decide to treat myself to a decent scrub with a valuable wet wipe. With nether regions all nice and fresh I then tape up areas that have developed blisters since yesterday and am feeling pretty good.

Approaching CP1 and end of today's monotony.

We are promised a more scenic route today after the dullness of yesterday's stage. Making the comparison with Stage 2 does make the route a bit more interesting but apart from an oasis type bit and a Riad about 4km for the finish it is still all a bit samey. The first 12km is a straight line slog over flat, open ground with a rise towards CP1 the only break in the monotony. Speaking of breaks, the trusty stick I found yesterday and had set out with today, snapped under the slightest downward pressure. Bugger! Did I really spend over £4,000 and wait over 3 years for this? That thought is a bit depressing so I immediately banish it and attempt to enjoy the run. 

Our hero atop Jebel Zireg

I am certainly moving a lot more freely today as I have stayed with the one sock strategy that I adopted when taping my feet up yesterday. That was when I realised that my feet were swelling and causing issues. Pennies don't drop very quickly in the desert. Following CP1 we turn sharp left and head up Jebel Zireg , which by all accounts has good views from the top. This gives a bit of incentive to make the climb and the view indeed does not disappoint.


Later, the aforementioned oasis type bit comes in handy as I have developed a pretty urgent case of Runner's Bottom. I give it a little time to clear but it doesn't so I find a secluded bush and scooch down to do the business. Without wishing to gross anyone out, this is worryingly loose and the overdose of chilli flakes in my noodles is starting to take effect!! I worry for the hours ahead but this minor clear out seems to have done the trick as I suffer no further afflictions!


Just prior to CP2 there is a sandy pass where Steve, one of the English staff shouts a cheery "How's it going?" I try to respond but my voice, which has been struggling with the dryness throughout has now seized up completely and I cannot answer! Steve asks if there is anything they can give me to which I politely decline through sign language but make a mental note to go to Doc's when I get back.

Blimey, set compass!

Following CP2 there is another dry lake bed but fortunately this one is only just over 3k in distance before heading between a couple of jebels for the last bit before the bivouac. Although only 3k, the leg is more than slightly hampered by a sandstorm that has blown up out of nowhere. I set my compass to the bearing in the road book just in case and set out again. Fortunately the sandstorm doesn't last too long and the course comes into view again.

This way to the campsite. 

To see signs for a riad and campsite is quite surreal as we have always had the impression that we are in the middle of nowhere. I realise later that the overall course must have been designed so that logistics for the organisers are not too onerous so we are probably near a main road somewhere and accessing this riad is probably quite easy.


As I jog past the riad, the bivouac comes into view but, once again it is still a few kms away. This isn't as much of a mental punch as the last 2 days as I am more aware of it. I even manage to something not done in the previous 2 stages and get a bit of a trot on to the finish. I cross the line in 5:22. It is easily my best performance so far although the pain in my big toe tells me that not is all well. I am not alone in the casualty stakes as Dave's feet are getting worse and Rob has had dehydration due to a split Camelbak and has been vomiting.


Back at the bivouac it is blowing a hoolie again. Just like being back in Rhiwlas, which I previously thought was the windiest place on Earth but the Sahara is giving home a real run for its money! I try to make conversation but my throat is completely dry and croaky so I rest it (!) and drink lots of water. I decide not to go to Doc Trotters as I have since heard they're not really interested in treating anyone. Dave does hobble off as his feet need continual treatment.

Ouch!!

I pull off all of my footwear to reveal the damage that has been causing me grief today in the form of a nastily placed blister on my big toe. The hotspots on the balls of my feet are griping but manageable as long as I keep moving. I decide to get up a bit earlier in the morning and tape everything up properly and put Compeed on the worst bits. Arnie is starting to develop one or 2 blister also and he too has made the Compeed decision. Everyone else in the tent is blister free! Swines!


Because of the high winds and resulting sandstorm number whatever, no-one comes round with emails or information. This is very demoralising as although short in content they really are up there with the main highlights of the day. Without these words I realise how much I am missing my family. Hence tent 95 retires very early.


Day 7, 11th April - Stage 4, The Long Day

EL MAHARCH / JEBEL EL MRAÏER : 81,5 Km

Km 0: Go North (course 10°) to start of dunes. Small pebbles.
Km 0,8: Small stony hill.
Km 1,6: End of hill. Flat, slightly pebbly terrain becoming sandy before dunes.
Km 6,5: Dunes start.
Km 8: Dunes end. Very rocky terrain.
Km 8,5: Cairn on rocky plateau. Follow markings in very rocky oued bed.
Km 9,1: Start ascent of Otfal Jebel (average gradient 17%).
Km 10,3: Turn left to reach the jebel's summit.
Km 10,5: Jebel summit. Panoramic view.
BEWARE! Technical descent to start then sandy descent with average gradient of over 20%.
Km 10,8: End of sandy descent. Rocky terrain with technical passages.
Km 11,8: CP1 on bank of Rheris Oued. Go E/NE (course 64°) and cross wooded zone.
Km 13,5: Continue East (gen. course 84°). Ground unstable in places.
Km 14,8: Sparse small dunes.
Km 16,5: Cross Rheris Oued. Rocky then sparse dunes. Go E/SE (gen. course 110°) to CP2.
Km 17,8: End of small dunes and rugged terrain. Oued bed with trees to right.
Km 23,7: CP2 on bank of Mbirika Oued. Follow oued S/SW (course 207°).
Km 24,8: Exit pass. Aim for Ba Hallou ruins while continuing between oued and small dunes (gen. course 214°).
Km 27,7: Sand bumps, camel grass and small dunes.
Km 30,6: Passage through Ba Hallou ruins. Go South (course 171°) to CP3.
Keep Rheris oued to the right while crossing several wooded zones.
Km 33,6: Butte to the left.
Km 34,3: Butte to the left. Follow same course.
Km 37: CP3 at end of wooded zone. Continue keeping Jebel on left-hand side.
Km 38,9: Sand starts. Dunes begin direction S/E (course 141°) to Km 41.9.
Km 41,9: Cross rocky valley direction E/SE (course 118°).
Km 42,3: Enter dunes; follow course 118° to Km 47.
Km 47: Sandy summit of Lahnoune Jebel. Panoramic view. Sandy descent.
Km 47,8: Bank of dry lake. Keep close to jebel on left side direction N/E (course 56°) to reach CP4.
Km 49,4: CP4. Keep close to dunes to left side direction E/NE (course 70°) until laser. Hilly, sandy.
Km 58,7: Dunes end. Cross oued then go up towards laser.
Km 59,3: Laser located on mound. BEWARE: CP5 is further on!
Km 60: CP5. Go North (course 5°). Small dunes, fairly rocky terrain.
Km 62,4: Cross a sandy oued bed.
Km 63,6: Touh Ilh Jebel on left. Go N/E (course 37°) to CP6.
Km 64,9: Succession of fairly rocky small valleys.
Km 70: Cross large track. Continue N/E (course 37°). Hilly, few stones.
Km 71: CP6. Continue to El Jdaid Oued.
Km 71,4: Sandy oued bed: turn right gen. direction E/NE (course 62°).
Km 73,7: Exit oued. Sand bumps and camel grass then stony plateau.
Km 74,7: 2nd zone of sand bumps and camel grass.
Km 75,4: Cross valley with few stones E/NE (course 58°).
Km 78,5: Cross Outanouel Oued N/NE (course 27) to bivouac. Sand bumps and camel grass
Km 79,6: Small dunes. Cross course 27°.
Km 80,8: End of small dunes. Flat terrain with small pebbles.
Km 81,5: Arrive at B5 


As per Stage 2 I'm having some download issues so here once again is a link.
http://www.darbaroud.com/fr/html/mds/27mds/roadbook/27mds_roadbook_4.php

The Long Day! It's the one that gives even the hardiest of MdS runners cause to stop and have a good think about the day ahead. The time limit for the stage is 34 hours. I cannot imagine being out there for that long, even with experience of long exercises and Cambrian Patrol but apparently some are. It ll becomes clearer when we are told that CP4 (50km) must be reached inside 16 hours where runners then have the opportunity to rest up until 06:30 the next morning and then carry on to complete the remaining 32km. With that in mind it is more than conceivable that some will use the full time.

Mmmm, noodles!

The day starts the same as any other but with a tangible air of pensiveness. I rise early as I promised myself and do a sound job of taping up my feet over Compeed. Unless the tape gets weathered I don't intend to remove it until I am back in the hotel. It's noodles for breakfast as usual. I'm not alone in my food boredom as Dunc is also getting teed off with porridge every day. He's been away from Scotland too long and is bringing shame on his home nation. He'll be turning down haggis next!


Patrick's pre-race waffle has been tedious and annoying to say the least all week but today he really goes too far. We are already behind the 08:30 start time due to people taking their time in getting to the start but he insists on sticking to the routine. We are not interested in hearing rehashed information plus a full standing of the top 10 men and top 5 women. Bob nearly starts a revolt as he shouts at Patrick to get a move on. His annoyance is infectious and lots of others join in the heckling. Patrick seems immune but quite quickly AC/DC are blasting away and we are off for 52 miles of hard slog.

Up we go

CP1 a mere 2km away

My taping efforts seem to be working as the pain in my feet eases off quite quickly. Almost equally quickly we reach the first test of the day at 9km when we start the ascent of Oftal Jebel. This is a total distance of 1.4km but is on quite big rocks and I am quite comfortable making the climb. I see others that are not so happy including a Brit that I had met a few days earlier at the pool bar where he was necking San Miguels. He looks absolutely exhausted and bathed in sweat and I fear that he will not complete the stage. I pause at the top for a couple of photos of what is a stunning panorama. CP1 is visible in the distance even though it is still 2km away straight downhill!

My bound prints clearly visible in the distance!

The descent down the other side of the jebel is steep enough for the organisers to have a rope fitted to aid the less sure footed. I am feeling quite chipper so, after narrowly avoiding having my feet taken from under me by a mincing Frenchman who is clinging on to the rope and is all over the place, I take some huge bounding strides through  the deep sand. Others have the same idea and are bounding even further than me! Lanky gits! Towards the foot of the jebel, more rocks begin to appear so I slow down my bounding to avoid any foolish accidents and reach CP1 in good order. A peek behind gives another view of the steepness of the descent before setting off for CP2.


The leg to CP2 covers varying terrain but it is back to boredom again. I have not had my MP3 player on today and although I don't yet realise it, my performance is already starting to suffer with lack of ,musical motivation a high contributing factor . The pain in my feet is coming back and I am not enjoying myself as the repeated thought that I am only a quarter of the way through the stage. 

El Morabity - master of disguise!

I arrive at CP2 and decide to take a short rest. I remove my shoes and elevate my feet. There is a Brit in the rest tent who is really struggling with dehydration. He was in the top70 at the start of the day and has been pushing hard to maintain his position  but obviously too hard. His mate is telling him to get an IV and take the penalty but constantly refuses. Not sure whether he is gutsy or stupid but his mate can't convince him and quite soon they set off again. Whilst resting at the CP, I get a glimpse of the leaders who started 3 hours later than us and have already caught up; maniacs!! Rachid El Morabity is too quick even for my camera as I attempt to get a picture of him but miss hopelessly.


After about 30 minutes of decent of rest I get my shoes back on and set off again. The rest has been worthwhile as I trot off with feet less gripey and morale raised once more. After witnessing dehydrated guy in the tent it is obvious that loads of runners are suffering to some degree and I just need to man up again. The MP3 is back on and provides a suitable distraction. The route for the next 12k or so to CP3 is pretty mundane.(Looking back at the roadbook there is mention of Ba Hallou ruins but I have no recollection of what these might have been. A look on Google images gives no clues) There are plenty of small dunes and rocky plains but that is about it. I get to CP3 in reasonable order and trot off once more to get to CP4 which has the mandatory time limit applied.


This 4th leg is probably the most sandy so far with some decent dunes. Although harder on the quads to traverse they are significantly easier on the feet as the pounding is less. Not sure what the rest of the field think but at this particular point I'll take aching quads over aching feet any time. Some black tentage  homes into view and I get quite upbeat thinking that I have reached CP4 already. Not so; the tents are actually a Berber camp and a check of the roadbook shows there is still a good way to go to the checkpoint. The effect on morale is devastating and I can feel it draining away, powerless to stop it. I plod on as best I can, aching to get to CP4. My feet are now howling, I have no energy and it is now starting to get dark. The sight of Dave hobbling past me about 1km from the CP does nothing to raise my spirits but eventually I stagger into the refuge after almost 10 hours since starting.


I manage to find a decent space in one of the shelter tents and lay down with feet elevated to contemplate what to do next. I still have 32km, which in my current condition will be a mammoth task. I decide that I will have something to eat and then I will crawl into my sleeping bag and have a rest. Part of me thinks that if I want I have a full 10 hours of potential sleep time but then I think that I will lose many places by doing this. I decide to have a look at the roadbook once more.


There are 2 more checkpoints before the bivouac, which breaks the 32km down into chunks of 10 - 11km. I decide I will rest for 90 minutes before setting off and taking each leg as it comes. The next leg is again through dunes so I will not have an immediate issue with my feet. Happy that I am still capable of making strong decisions, I settle down for a short sleep. As has been the norm, sleep is never deep but I have rested nonetheless. The alarm on the countdown function on my watch sounds and I get out of my bag. I pack everything away, attach my issued lightstick to the back of my pack, put my shoes back on, have a quick wee and then set off towards a bright green laser, which now pierces the night sky. 


I set off with a renewed spring in my step and in no time I am picking off my fellow runners. The leg is marked by the laser and also green lightsticks on posts act as way markers. I have it in my head that I have read somewhere that these are 500mtrs apart and am amazed by the speed I am passing them. I work out by the number of sticks passed that I will not be far from CP5. 30 minutes later and with no CP in sight, I remember that it was actually 200mtrs between  sticks and not 500. I admonish myself for what could have been another assault on my fragile morale and crack on. By the time I reach CP5 I have passed a significant number of runners, including one snuggled up in his (her?) sleeping bag on the track.


As I come to a stop again, the seemingly age old problem of feet flaring up kicks in again. I decide enough is enough and manning up is not sufficient. I decide I need pharmaceutical assistance and dive into my med pack for 2 ibuprofen. Whether they have been just what I need or have had a placebo effect, the difference in my performance is startling. The pain in my feet is gone and my legs are moving freely. People are noticeably taken aback as I literally fly by them. The fact that it is dark and others at this stage are moving quite slowly but the feeling as I pass each one plus the fact that I realise I can now breathe again properly is fantastic. I am happier on the course than I have been since the very start.


I decide that I am not going to take the chance of my feet flaring at CP6 so decide that I will collect my water bottle and carry straight on, stopping only to have my card punched and dispose of my empty bottle. This tactic not only helps my feet but also has an even greater impact on my rapidly ascending feeling of wellness as I give the assistants a cheery "Bon soir!" and hurtle on my merry way.


I now have only 10.5km to go to the bivouac and some well earned rest. Most of the final leg is across the cursed stony ground but I have been dealing with this well in the dark and have not put a foot wrong so far. I am aware that there will be a short scurry of 3km through some more dunes before the end but by then I will be in sight of the end and will not care.


This visualisation all comes to pass and, although I fall over a couple of times in the dunes, I race towards the finish. I spy one more runner in the distance and decide that he is there for the taking and I will be one place higher up the order for the stage. I leave him for dead and carry on the pace towards the line for a sprint finish. I have my arms in the air and await the congratulations from what surely must be a group of very impressed assistants having witnessed such a display of athletic endeavour that would have rivalled any of the elite runners. They have, however, missed the whole thing having their backs turned. Swines; this would never have happened in Blighty. No matter; I have completed an incredibly tough stage and, having done it from such a position of despair is nothing short of remarkable. I let out a scream, which is a mixture of self congratulation, elation and relief and then calmly make my way back to the tent.


For the first time there is no wind blowing through the camp and the air is cool and still. It is the sort of ambiance where you want to sit in a deckchair with a beer and stare at the stars. As this is not an option, I look forward to a few hours sleep and then shared tales of the day. I know that  6 of the tent will have been far in front of me but I have to say that I am amazed to see Steph curled up in his favourite position happily snoring away. How can this be? Did I really spend that long getting to and leaving CP4 or had Steph upped his game. I will congratulate him in the morning! 


I climb into my sleeping bag with a smile on my face. There is now a full day of rest ahead of us followed by the small matter of a full marathon. I feel after my efforts today, particularly the last 2/5 of the stage that nothing will stop me reaching the finish line on Saturday. 


Day 8, 12th April - Rest Day


After not crossing the finishing line until 03:45 and getting my head down shortly after 04:00, I was kind of hoping for a bit of a lie in to around midday. That's not how it happens in the desert and the moving around of my tent mates wakes me up at 06:30. I decide it's not really worth trying to go back to sleep and, as it's a day off and we'll spend most of the day monging, I can get a nap later in the day.


I am still a bit puzzled as to how Steph managed to put an extra effort in yesterday and get back  before me but soon enough the mystery is solved when I am told he is out of the race. How did this happen? His feet had been OK and he had been moving along quite happily at his own merry pace so what had been thrown at him for him to be pulled out.


Well he turns up soon enough and tells me that he had a panic attack at the jebel at the 10k point and couldn't make the descent. He had asked if he could go down another way but was told to either follow the route or be withdrawn. After a couple more tries he admits defeat and is taken out of the race and back to the bivouac. I am absolutely gutted for him but he is generally being philosophical about it. I had told myself before coming out that there would be nothing that would force me to quit and I hold by that statement but understand that unless you suffer from a phobia you have no idea how it can affect people so I am not judging Steph in any shape or form.

Steph is now part of a sub elite group known as Les Abandons and is clearly marked as such with an “all-inclusive” type wristband. He has had to turn over all of his food so that he cannot resupply anyone else. Also he is forced to eat and drink with the organisation and has to be chaperoned back to the tent in case he sneaks us over some bread or other delights. He still has to spend the remainder of his days in the tent with us and then moves bivouacs with the organisation whilst we race. It must be a bit of a downer for him as we are still engrossed in our own personal challenge and are sharing tales of yesterday as well as strategies for tomorrow. All Steph has to look forward to is going home. He will find out in a couple of weeks that he has also lost his security deposit of £180! Talk about kicking a guy when he is down.


We later find out that Rachid El Morabity, who has led the race from day 1 collapsed with an injury 1km from the finish. We are told that he has broken his ankle but will find out days later that he has actually torn a quadriceps muscle. Whatever the injury he is out of the race and I know that whatever position I finish I will have beaten last year's winner. The fact that so will everyone else who is still in the race does not concern me!

Busy Doing Nothing!

So what do you do with a day off in the desert? Truth is – not a great deal. We were hoping for beach volleyball and later a spot of sunbathing but a usual the wind is howling and sand is everywhere so we take to sitting around and generally doing nothing. I think about taking the tape off my feet and generally letting them have a breathe but, as I used all my Compeed, I decide against it.

Spirits lift when our emails turn up from the past couple of days including the day when they couldn’t be arsed because of the sandstorm. I am touched by the interest Emma is showing in the race. I knew she would check occasionally to see how I was doing but she has been up til all hours watching web cams and keeping tabs on my progress between CPs so naturally got a bit concerned when I disappeared off the radar when having my nap. I am a wee bit overwhelmed and hide a tear as I think how much I love my wife and family and how much I miss them.

Dave's Blistered Tootsies

The wind is getting stronger and stronger with more sand blowing about, culminating in a full blown sandstorm. It is time to get inside the sleeping bag and wait it out. Eventually it does lessen but then things become ominous as the air temperature noticeably cools, the skies darken and there are the most almighty claps of thunder. Soon enough the natural follow on from thunderclaps turns up and we are battered by a hailstorm and more winds. There is a frantic melee as we attempt get gear under cover including Dave’s who is at Doc Trotters again.

Trouble A-Brewin!

Once the gear is stowed as best as we can, everyone adopts a shelter position. We try to batten down some of the tent with rocks and manage to a point but it is like pissing in the wind. One particular gust hits us with such a belt that the tent fabric is lifted to an extent that one of the poles comes out of its metal mounting. This mounting crashes towards us and misses my head by a whisker. Had it hit I would have been out of the race. I am standing so have also saved Arnie who is lying directly below me and who would have taken the full force of the other pole. All in all we are two fortunate chaps.

Soggy Kit!

As is the norm around here the weather front passes as quickly as it came. The sun has his hat on once more and bodies start to appear from beneath battered tents to survey the damage. Apart from mine and Arnie’s brush with death there doesn’t seem to be too much carnage other than damp gear and tent rugs, which are ceremonially dragged out of tents with almost perfect synchronicity.

 

We line up and attempt to shake most of the wet sand from our rug whilst Dave, who has now returned, batters the rug with a large stick with all the gusto of a man in his profession beating a confession out of a suspect! He obviously denies that that sort of thing goes on any more!

The clean up is now complete and everyone returns to various states of zombieness that they were in previously. As I am up and about, I decide to go and have a look at my (non) performance from yesterday. My time is recorded at 18:54 and I have finished the stage in 503^rd place out of the approximate 800 runners who are left in the race. Had I not used the 3 hours resting at CP4 I would have been in a more healthy 303^rd place but who’s to say that had I not rested I would have run the last 32km as strongly as I did. Swings and roundabouts and ifs and buts. The upshot is my position is what it is so I have got to take it on the chin and move on. My overall position is now around 440^th; I pledge to do better tomorrow.

The day finishes with another round of emails so we have done pretty well on that score. I read the new ones and re-read the previous ones just so I can be impressed again as to how much devotion my good lady wife is showing to the cause. I settle down to sleep convinced I am going to perform well tomorrow. It is only a marathon after all!!

Day 9, 13th April - Marathon Stage

JEBEL EL MRAÏER / MERDANI : 42,2 Km

Km 0: Follow course 100° to cross dunes. Km 1,7: Rocky plateau. Km 3,3: Rocky peak. Go S/SE (course 118°). Alternating sandy and rocky terrains. Km 4,6: Rugged bank of Ziz Oued. Km 5,5: BEWARE! Large crevasse in oued bed. Technical passage. Km 6,1: End of rugged terrain. Dry lake begins. Go S/E (course 128°). Km 7,4: Lake ends. Follow oued branch. Km 9,3: Cross a large track. Km 10,5: CP1. Go E/NE (course 76°) and cross rugged oued terrain. Km 11,7: Valley deeply embanked in small gorge. Km 13,4: End of small gorge. Go N/E (course 46°) to CP2. Cross the valley. Km 15: Slightly stony plateau. Km 16,1: Cross oued. Sand bumps and camel grass. Km 17,6: End of Moha Fighnas Oued. Slightly stony plateau. Km 20,7: Plateau ends. Follow markings to avoid crops. Km 22,5: CP2 along bank of Beg'a Oued. Follow markings to avoid crops. Cross area of small dunes and tamaris. Km 23,9: Slightly stony terrain. Km 24,4: Cross sparse small dunes. Go N/E (course 37°). Km 26,6: End of small dunes. Pebbly terrain. Km 28,5: Enter dunes of Znaïgui Erg. Course 315°. Km 31,4: Exit dunes. Follow Roub'in Oud Oued that leads to Debouaâ Jebel. Km 32,1: Follow small oued bed going up gorge. Km 33,7: CP3 at gorge exit. Go W/NW (course 306°) to cross rocky plateau. Km 34,4: Go down small pass leading to valley. Km 34,6: Cross rocky valley direction N/W (course 333°). Km 35,2: Sandy passage in hills. Km 35,7: Rocky peak to left. Go North (course 359°). Km 37,4: M'Fiss mines. Carefully follow markings to cross old village. Km 38,2: Village ends. Go N/NE (course 21°) to bivouac. Succession of oued beds and hilly, fairly rocky terrains. Km 42,2: Arrive at B6

I awake after my worst night’s sleep to date. My sleep mat is next to useless due to the micro puncture that I haven’t a hope of finding and my feet have been raging all night, especially the big toe on my left foot, which feels as though there is a knitting needle being shoved down it! Waking up is becoming a pretty mundane chore and it is hard to get immediately motivated for the day ahead. I do have to think about my strategy for the day though. The mind-set is that, having completed the 52 mile stage, everything else is gravy. However, this is a full marathon we are embarking on today and, whilst I always say I could get up any day of the week and complete a marathon, it is how you finish the distance that tells you how well you have prepared.

Today's Only Photo

I conduct a mini lessons learned exercise in my head and remember what I did on the long stage that worked well and what caused me the most grief. The result is that I decide that I am not going to rest at CPs, stopping only to pick up my water. I will take ibuprofen every 2 hours without fail or at the CPs if it is around that time. I am not going to take any photos as the rigmarole of stopping to rummage around to get my camera out, take the photo and then put it away again all adds to the overall stage time. I will have some Complan shakes ready to go in my side bottle pouch so all I need to do is add water give it a shake and then gobble it down. The heat has not been a problem all week so I don’t envisage any problems today, especially as it seems to be cooler than on previous stages. Finally, I will have my MP3 player on the go permanently; music is certainly a psychological factor to better performance.

With all of this now decided I line up at the start of the stage feeling pretty good about the day ahead. I have taken the first batch of painkillers and the pain in my feet has reduced to a dull ache. I know that as I get going this will lessen. As long as the pain in my big toe subsides I will be happy. I pose for one single photograph and then put my camera away for the duration. We have had a rest day from Patrick’s pre stage waffle so are not as agitated as he bangs away. He gives us an update on Rachid El Morabity’s withdrawal to say that he has been flown to somewhere or other for surgery on hiw injury. Bit more than a twisted ankle then! AC/DC then blare out, the countdown reaches zero and we are off once more.

We have been told that after yesterday’s downpour, the oued (river bed) that we will cross at 5k has become quite deep, however they have been out and made a crossing point for us. As I arrive at the oued, this turns out either to be a total lie or some of the front runners have trashed it. The oued has quite a steep bank and the water is indeed deeper than we would like. A chap in front of me spies a partially submerged branch stretching across the gap and uses that to get across with minimum dampness to his feet. I follow his lead and also remain relatively dry. Any soaking would soon dry out but I was concerned about the effect of any sand that potentially was in my trainers being exacerbated by the addition of water and also my zinc oxide tape becoming wet may have repercussions. As it is I have no need to worry as the surface damp soon dries off.

Shortly after CP1 I begin to have my second drama of the day. The strap on my daysack that broke a couple of days ago is now causing me grief as the imbalance in weight distribution is starting to cause discomfort to my back in the right hand latissimus dorsi area. It is not the same pain that I have been experiencing in my feet but more of an annoying hindrance that I can’t seem to shake off no matter which way I stretch. The only way for the pain to alleviate is to slow to a walk. This has put a serious dent in my strategy for the day and I am very annoyed with both myself and my crappy daysack.

After about 2k of griping and whingeing to myself I decide to put in little spurts intending to stop when the discomfort kicks in. To propel the spurts I get my arms swinging for forward propulsion. Remarkably, this not only assists with the spurts as my legs move quicker also but it seems to have had an effect on the discomfort as it does not return! Overjoyed I continue with arm swinging / leg driving tactic and am soon moving along at a fair old rate of knots. I reach CP2 in no time at all, have my first Complan, a couple of ibuprofen and set off again.

Naturally I have to slow to a walk every now and then but otherwise I am flying. There are a set of pretty large dunes and a significantly drier oued to negotiate before CP3 and I am racing my way up the classification with reckless abandon. It is in the dunes that I pass Matt for the first time in the race. I had briefly seen him on stage 3 prior to my impromptu toilet stop but today is the first time that I have overtaken him. Ironically I also race past Ian Flannery who had offered so much advice on dune running that I was now using to my advantage.

My propulsion almost gets the better off me running up the gorge to CP3. I am quite disappointed in my fellow runners as no-one even offers a kind word, never mind a helping hand. I had always said that I deliberately wouldn’t hold conversations with anyone on the course but this is just downright not cricket! Bugger ‘em. I pay them back by leaving them in my wake.

Shortly after CP3 I am slightly taken aback but not unduly surprised when Arnie races past me! I have been conscious that he has been holding back so far, preferring to run first with Steph and then with Dunc rather than unleashing his potential. Anyhoo, I decide that I have not put all this effort in to be beaten by an Engineer so I up my effort again on the uphill parts of the leg and soon I have managed to give him the slip.

Leaving a passage in the hills and coming out into the open again, we are trated to a distant view of the village around M’Fiss mines. I know that from there it is less than 5k to the bivouac so make yet another bit of extra effort to get there. The village itself looks a bit like a film set and random villagers mooch around even though the place is obviously uninhabited. As there has been bugger all of note to look at over the previous stages this certainly is a welcome distraction.

Coming out of the village there is now only 4k to go. I am starting to fatigue but keep pushing on so that my efforts over the previous 38k will still count for something. Generally I manage to keep up the pace and cross the line in 5:28. I am over the moon. Even before coming out when I had delusions of grandeur regarding my finishing position, I had allocated 6 hours to complete the marathon. As the event unfolded I thought that 7 hours would be a fair effort so to knock it off in 5.5 hours is incredible.

As I sip my mint tea, I realise how hard I have pushed myself as the tears begin to flow. I have experienced this emotion twice before in marathons – my first in London and once in Cardiff. There is no warning that it is going to happen but all of a sudden I am crying for no reason. I quickly pull myself together, take a few deep breaths and then move over to a point to hand in my flare. A few more needless grammes discarded! Arnie comes in 5 minutes after me and we have a quick chat about the stage before heading back to the tent

Back at the tent we are greeted by Rob and Bob. They are amazed to see us back so quickly, especially as Rob had only finished 10 mins before. Chuffed doesn’t even begin to describe it. Matt and Dunc arrive back in due course and now the only one missing is Dave. Steph arrives to tell us that Dave is back and has gone straight to the casualty tent with quite bad dehydration on top of the shredded feet that he has spent the last 42.2k on. We go over to see him and to make sure he is OK. Although in obvious discomfort he assures us that he will back with us shortly and will be on the start line tomorrow. He really is a double hard mofo!

I have been a bit troubled myself since returning. I have that queasy feeling that I have had on long runs before and is probably due to a spot of dehydration. I sip constantly on my water bottle as I lie on my mat and eventually the feeling goes away. Just in time for tea! What shall I have to celebrate? Ah yes, noodles.

We have been told that tonight the Paris Opera will be at the bivouac to entertain us but as things are being set up it becomes obvious that they are there to entertain the lorry loads of sponsors and hangers on who have turned up over the course of the day keen to see where their money is going. We feel the obvious location for the stage would be right in the middle of the bivouac as it is quite a large area. That way we could all relax in or in front of our tents and soak up the atmosphere. As it is we can barely hear from where they have set up and, although we are all invited, we refuse to go and watch on principle.

Steph is back from dinner and tells that he has been offered an entry for next year should he want it. It is something he will have to ponder and discuss with his wife but for now it is a crumb of cheer for him.

My best day in the desert so far is complete when I go for a wee behind the tents! It is a beautifully clear night and the sky is filled with stars. As the diva is belting out the hits in the background a shooting star cuts through the sky. It is the sort of thing I had been expecting to see much more often in the desert so I am happy that one has finally appeared.  I return to the tent with a big smile on my face. There are is now only 15.5k to go. Admittedly 9.5 of those are through the biggest dunes in Morocco. But hey, how hard can it be?

Day 10, 14th April - Stage 6

MERDANI / MERZOUGA : 15,5 Km

Km 0: Go North (course 0°) to CP1. Plateau with few stones. Km 3,9: Plateau ends. Sandy oued. Km 6,5: CP1 in oued. Check point without water distribution. Follow course 234° to cross dunes of Chebbi Erg and arrive in Merzouga. Km 15,5: End of dunes. FINISH LINE.

I awake after yet another appalling night. It has been very cold and uncomfortable again and I am eternally grateful that the next night will be in a comfy hotel bed. I am still feeling a little queasy and take an absolute age to get ready. I should be jumping up and down with the thought of only 2.5 hours more running to go but I just can’t get it together.

I cheer up slightly as I discard various bits of kit that are no longer of any use. Top of the list to go in the skip is the sleep mat. If the Berbers can find the puncture, they are welcome to it. Next to go is the cook pot and useless slippers. They weigh next to nothing but the psychological effect of no longer needing those items perks me up a little bit more. It is things like this that make me realise even more that this is a race for the mentally strong rather than just the physically fit.

I am still feeling a bit sorry for myself as we line up at the start line and drift towards the back of the pack. For some reason I have no interest in speaking to anyone and avoid any hint of eye contact. Patrick again rattles through the current classification. It is irrelevant as no-one at the front is going to make up or lose any times today so the placings are pretty much set.

Dave has previously asked if there is a time cut off for today. He is concerned that, although he knows he will finish, he may not finish within time allowed. He is very relieved to be told that today there is no time limit and he can now concentrate on dragging himself over 9 miles and getting his prized medal.

We set off eventually and I am really struggling to make any impact on the field whatsoever. I have started near the back so would expect to be overtaking people quite quickly for a while. This is not happening though. I become fixated on a rather large American chap called Alfonso. He is not of your standard build for endurance athletes but for some reason I can’t keep up with him! Eventually though, my body rhythm finds itself, the nausea has passed and I begin to pass people.

My kind of camping

The dunes have been in sight for a while before actually entering them and they are quite a formidable sight. As I leave CP1 and enter the dunes there is finally the Lawrence of Arabia feeling that you visualise with the mention of the Sahara Desert. I do away with my self-imposed rule from yesterday of no photos and snap away happily. I am using the dune tips from Ian couple with what I have learned over the last week to pick an efficient route through the sands and find myself running alone. I look 100mtrs to my left to see the main group and most of them look as though they are in “head down, must finish” mode.

The last dune? Hmm, we'll see!

The up and down nature of the dunes gives many false horizons as I think that just over the next rise must be close to the finish but nothing appears. Eventually after crossing the rise of one particularly high dune, the minaret of the town mosque comes into view and that means the end is in sight. It is still a way to go but no matter; I reckon that in less than 30 minutes I will have completed the race.

The 30 minute estimation is almost spot on and I manage a sprint towards the line to the cheers and applause of those who have assembled to watch. The sprint comes to an abrupt halt before I cross the line as I see a mass of bodies in the way. It transpires that there is now a bottleneck whilst Patrick gives each and every runner their finisher’s medal. It is a nice touch but it could have been done a bit further down the line so as not to clog up the finish area. It is a small thing but with 26 years of experience behind them, they could have come up with something better than this!

Patrick holding things up again!

I had often wondered how finishing the race would feel and as I wait in the queue for my medal none of those wonders come to pass. I really don’t feel anything. It is a bit of an anti-climax and as I look around, there are not really that many people who look over-joyed or are showing any visible signs of elation or that their lives have changed or are now complete or whatever. It really does seem to be a case of, “well that’s that then, now where’s the bus?” I’ve been more excited finishing a half marathon.

As I pick up my goody bag, packed lunch and bus ticket, I hear Steph shouting. All bar Dave are sat around a table with a tray of Coke cans. I sit down to join them and find that Arnie has finished first amongst us today with Dunc in second place; a really good effort. I have finished a mere 10 mins behind most of them but am slightly dismayed to be on the next bus to my tent mates, a full half hour after them. They’ll be hammered by the time I get back!!

As the guys get up to go to the bus Arnie realises that he is one Leki pole short. One of the numbers of urchins who are hovering around like annoying insects, begging for all our kit has had it away with one of his pricey sticks. He is livid whilst the rest of us are giggling and are more impressed with the thieving skills of this lad or lass. This happened in full view of all of us and not one spotted it happening!

I am now sat alone with my thoughts and take the opportunity to look around at the town. It really is not the most aesthetically pleasing of places and not what I had in mind for the finish location of one of the World’s most infamous endurance events. There are a number of families who have turned up to greet their nearest and dearest and have to wonder “why”. I would never have expected Emma to come out to such a grotty place merely to greet dirty, sweaty bundle of rags. It will only be 2 days more and we can do that in a more conducive setting.

One I can appreciate however is one of the guys from tent 96 whose girlfriend has turned up with his parents. He has lured her here with the intention of proposing, which he does on the finish line. He must be intensely relieved that she accepts.

I hobble my way down to the pick up area and board the coach. For whatever reason, no-one has taken the back seats with the most legroom so I hasten may way to the back, plonk my baggage on the plinth next to my seat, remove my shoes and settle down for the promised 7 hour journey back to Ouarzazate. I have a couple of brief conversations with others around me but soon enough take out my MP3 player, apologise in advance to the guy who has now sat beside me that I’m not ignoring him and settle down for the journey.

I am grateful for the extra legroom as this is as uncomfortable as anything experienced on the event thus far. We have toilet and lunch stops but it is still a pretty harrowing experience. I try to pass some tiem with a Sudoku puzzle but find that the effort of looking down is not conducive to avoiding travel sickness so I am forced to give that a miss. The hours do seem to pass quite quickly and I begin to recognise elements of the journey out and mentally tick these off one by one until at last the bus arrives at Ouarzazate. There are a couple more short stops to drop people off at other hotels. One of these groups is my seat mate and his 2 chums who got their race entry through an organisation in Korea!

Finally the bus pulls up outside the Berbere Palace and I alight in haste at the prospect of beer and a shower in that order. I quickly track down my suitcase and rather than checking at reception as to what room Steph and I are I, I ask a guy with a key if everyone has the same rooms again. He says yes but obviously hasn’t understood the question as when I arrive at room 411, I am greeted by a shrieking blonde! She is obviously expecting someone else so the shriek is quickly strangled before resuming when the intended recipient strolls up shortly behind me!

I limp back to reception in what is now a howling, cold wind and bump into Steph who informs me what room we should really be in. “Never mind that” I say, “lead me to the bar!” Everyone is now drinking the Moroccan beer as it was advertised as being 4 Euro rather than the 5 for a smaller bottle of San Miguel. The proprietors are obviously have no integrity as now the price of the local brew has been hiked up to 5 Euro. Capitalist pigs! No-one seems bothered though as bottles are strewn all over the place. I quickly quaff my beer with the guys and then, realising how dishevelled I look, I head back to the room for a clean up armed with more local beers.

Anyone of a nervous disposition should think carefully before reading the next paragraph!

Beer will cure it!

I strip all my skanky clothes and stuff them in my day sack so that no desert aroma can pervade the room and then settle down on the edge of the bed for the moment have been looking forward to and dreading in equal measures – the removal of the tape from my feet. I am hoping the Compeed has done its job and my blistered bits have healed up. My hope couldn’t be further from the truth as I expose the most horrific looking digit I have seen in a long time. My big toenail is now sliding around on top of the toe on a bed of pus and the toe itself below the nail is badly bruised and infected. There are no Doc Trotters to be seen until tomorrow morning so for now it’s back on the man up and have a good soak in the shower. The vast quantity of beer I intend to consume later will numb any potential pain or embarrassment!

Ok, welcome back

The shower is a major disappointment as the water pressure is very low and not really good enough to get rid of a week’s worth of desert grime. Added to that I haven’t brought my bath puff so struggle to build up a lather (oo-er missus) with hotel shower gel. After a good 20 minutes I decide I can do no more and get dried, sprayed and dressed and rejoin the guys in the bar just in time for dinner.

Surprisingly I am not disappointed that there are no noodles on offer tonight and fill my plate with as much as it will hold without defying the laws of gravity. The remainder of the evening passes without any incident; I had expected at least one drunken Brit to defy the no bathing rule and plunge into the swimming pool but everyone is on best behaviour or are just too knackered to be bothered!

Steph and I retire with a couple more beers and settle down for the first comfy night for over a week. My sleeping position is only semi comfortable as I am forced to sleeping down the bed with my foot sticking out the bottom of the quilt and resting on the ottoman. It is significantly better than a berber tent and rug though and I drift off into a happy, dreamless sleep.


Day 11, 15th April - R&R


 For the first time in over a week the ambition of a decent night's kip has come to fruition and I awake properly refreshed. The toe has rested suitably on the ottoman all night and has not given me any trouble. However, it is still quite ugly and I have decided that I will go to Doc Trotters on the 08:30 shuttle bus. Dave is going too so I intend to catch up with him at brekkie and head on down.


Dave is indeed at breakfast and has collared two chairs. One for his backside and one for his raging tootsies. I pull up a chair next to the sore feet and make the mistake of catching them with my elbow a couple of times. Dave's sharp intake of breath isn't followed by a right hook as he is showing his professional restraint!! I point out my own wound, which prompts another sucking in of wind and we agree to journey down to the Ibis hotel to visit the docs.


It is take a ticket procedure to avoid any squabbling over whose need is greatest but fortunately the wait is not too long and I am soon sat in front of a nurse who speaks very little English. My French, although it has been improving over the last month, is also inadequate for the situation so we rely on Alexandre at the next table to translate. 

At the docs

I prop my foot on a chair in front of her and am not expecting the response where she jumps up to get a digi camera and snap off a couple of photos. For their gallery of horrors no doubt. The toe is not treatable other than having a swab down with antiseptic and a dressing. She nips off to see a doctor who comes back with 3 days worth of antibiotics and a letter to take to my GP when I get back to Blighty. Whilst I'm in the chair she gets to work with a scalpel and strips my other less bothersome blisters.

Blokes nowhere to be seen

I am done before Dave so I give him a nudge and say that I'll wait in the lobby. I toy with the notion of a mint tea but it is still early in the day and no doubt as soon as it turns up, so will Dave so I give it a miss. He does indeed turn up after not very long and we go outside to work out our next move. I decide to phone Steph to find out where everyone is. They are all camped outside a cafe and he gives me very vague directions. I pass the information onto Dave who decides he will go on the shuttle bus back to the hotel and I decide that I will walk down to meet up with the others.


The directions turn out to be naff and I have to call Steph again. After an exchange of further misunderstandings, Steph tells me to return to the Ibis and he will meet me there. We do meet and set off in the complete opposite direction to where I'd been to meet up with the others who are still ensconced at the cafe. I sit down and order the previously discounted mint tea whilst the others all have beer. I am rewarded for my latecoming by copping for the bill.


On the face of it there doesn't seem to be a great deal to do around the town but we decide to explore anyway. There are one or 2 mini souks and for a moment I am back in Marrakech. The feeling doesn't last long as we are out the other side in no time at all unlike the Marrakech experience when we wondered if we would ever see the light of day again.


Stomachs are beginning to rumble so we decide to look for somewhere to eat. The first place we pull into looks great. The menu is reasonable and looks very tasty. Unfortunately there is no room at the inn. One couple appear to be hogging an 8-seater where we could hunker down but on challenging it appears they are waiting for others. With a small grumble we leave and continue our hunt. Bob spots somewhere that looks OK and on the face of it, it does. His French is not great however and I point out that this is cake and tea shop.

Somewhere here is our lunch stop!

This disappointment is short lived as only 2 doors away is an eaterie that will suit us just fine. We settle down and peruse the menu as the waiter asks us for our drinks order. "Beers all round" we cry. "Pas des bieres" he says. We are half out of our chairs but realise we have a full day of beer drinking ahead of us and settle for Cokes and 7-Ups. This turns out to be a wise decision as when the food comes it is delicious. I have gone for kofte viande which is a meatball in sauce affair cooked in a tagine with a fried egg in the middle. With french fries added this is an excellent choice. The others are equally happy with their various choices and chatting is replaced by sounds of appreciative munching.


As always seems to be the case with cafes and restaurants abroad, once one group is settled down and looking pleased the place fills up quite quickly. A group of French guys come in and seeing how eagerly we are chomping come over to ask us what we are having and what we recommend. Amazing!! The Brits giving culinary advice to the French. A group of Scandinavian types arrives shortly after and immediately holler a greeting to Steph. He seems to know everyone since he left the race!


As the meal finishes we start to tot up our individual bills but Steph puts a stop to this announcing that he will pay for everything. We laugh this off at first and tell him not to be silly until he tells us that the food and sodas we have had come to less than the price of a round of beers! My God he is right. All respect to him for pulling that off.


We decide to head to the MdS boutique that has been set up in one of the hotels to pick up our t-shirts and to see what else is on offer. The guys went earlier but the presentations started and they closed down the queue without any warning. We reckon that most people will have been through by now. 


The numbers are indeed sparse as we arrive and we go straight in and collect our freebies. I collect Dave's to save him a journey down. There is some other good gear there and I purchase a t-shirt and bandana. God knows when I'll actually wear that but it seems a good idea at the time!


Times and finish places are posted in the lobby so we stop to see how we all did. Standards are noticeably higher this year than last and even if I had hit the times I'd originally planned I still wouldn't have made the top 50. As it is I have finished in 393rd place. Not top 50 but top 50% so that will do! Bob is not far off the the top 100 and I point out to him that he would have cracked it on last year's times. He is as unruffled by times and places as he has been all week and shrugs this off.

Shopping!

We go outside and chat to a few guys from other tents just as Dave rolls up in a taxi. I tell him that I've got his t-shirt but he wants to have a look in the boutique also. Dunc and Arnie decide that they are off to do a bit more shopping around the bazaars and souks so we agree to meet them back at the hotel. We wait for Dave and then head back to the hotel. 3 of us jump into a taxi whilst the others walk. The taxi ride certainly is worth the 20 dirhams that seems to be the standard charge. It even has the ethnic carpet on the dashboard.

Aaahh, comfy sofas

The remainder of the afternoon is spent downing many bottles of Casablanca beer and spouting general waffle. We start out at poolside and even though the sun is shining the wind chill is making the air temperature decidedly chilly. After tiring of rubbing my arms in an effort to keep warm, I wimp out and go back to the room to pick up a fleece. This works for a while but we soon decide on a group wimp out and head inside to the lobby and comfy sofas for continued drinking and waffling.


Tim flies by and soon enough it is time for dinner, which is the usual affair of masses of food. Tonight there is a slight difference as the reps have organised a couple of presentations and charity auctions. Rob the Rep starts off proceedings with a wry Jack Dee style speech recounting his diary from the past week or so. He is quite funny and not the miserable git we'd marked him down as all week.


There are presentations for top British male and female and also a special presentation to a young guy who was competing after recovering from testicular cancer contracted at the age of 24. Stark reminder for all the guys to check their bits on a regular basis.


The auctions consist of paintings that have been painted in the desert during the race, an autographed roadbook and Patrick's very own Directeur de Course gilet. The gilet is very clean and I wonder why the British hotel has had such an honour bestowed! It doesn't stop some ridiculously high bids being chucked in the pot. I suppose that after £4k or so getting here, a few more hundred won't be missed. We politely sit until all the proceedings have completed including another Patrick speech and then bomb burst to the bar! As the first to arrive we get ourselves the best seats in the centre of the room.


The chat inevitably is centred around the events of the week and we start to list our high and low points of the week. My highs were .............. and obvious low point was CP4 on the long day. The outright group high point of the week by a unanimous decision was Bob's trip to the latrine armed with an expanding wipe that he couldn't expand because he hadn't taken any water with him. Rather than shout for help he proceeded to repeatedly spit on the wipe to try to expand it. We are in hysterics as he recounts this episode.


I bring things down to a more serious level by revealing my passion for people watching and I try to explain my observations on tent social dynamics. This is worth an entire chapter in the book so I am not going to expand here suffice to say that Tent 95 know my thoughts.


Shortly after this we decide enough is enough even though the bar is still thronging. It's an early start tomorrow and a long journey home. I want to look half decent for my loved ones when I get back so it's off to bed.


Day 12, 16th April - Homeward Bound


04:15 alarm goes off and it feels even earlier. 


It seems an absolute age since I was last home and I am missing Emma and the kids desperately. But now the time has arrived for me to be back with them and leave the adventurer spirit behind me. I can't envisage a situation where I will ever do anything like this again so I decide to have a quiet moment of reflection on the past 12 days to search for a life defining moment to take with me but can't so I get up, get washed and dressed and we head on down for an early breakfast.


Early breakfast means leisurely final packing and check out and we are out front in plenty of time to get the pick of the buses to the airport. Well not quite the pick as we are on the second bus to leave. It's not a biggie as we still arrive with ages to go before our 08:30 flight to Gatwick. 


The check in process is slow and laborious. Once again we complete the immigration forms even though we are leaving the country and settle down on our cases in the queue. Strangely, even though we are amongst some of the first to arrive we seem to be drifting towards the back of the queue. There is no explanation as to how this is happening so we stop searching for one and roll with it.


I kill a bit of time in the queue with occasional glances towards the 'tat' shop, which is conveniently placed to our right. It is all too much for me and I decide to take the plunge and buy something for the kids. I settle on a jigsaw for Maisie and a little drum type instrument with balls on strings for Myles. I ask to pay with my debit card and am led to the next kiosk where the dusty card swipe machine is located. Talk about step back in time; I haven't seen one of these for about 20 years!!


Armed with my purchases wrapped in newspaper and shoved in a chip shop bag, I finally make it through check in and into departure lounge to await embarkation. There is a more up to date duty free shop at the gate, which is small but shiny. I have a wee peek but emerge with nothing more than a Morocco fridge magnet. I didn't get one in Marrakech so consider this a result.

Ouarzazate International Airport!!

Tent 95are starting to drift apart now. We know that we will probably bump into each other before finally leaving Gatwick but this is the last of Morocco and it is time for goodbye. Rob has  already collated email addresses and we have committed to a Flickr page for our collective photos so we know there will still be comms to come but for now, this is it.


It is a leisurely affair as we board the 'plane with no-one really in a rush as ours is the only flight at the moment. We get on and find seats with no-one really sitting next to anyone they know so it is time to get the MP3 out again in readiness for the journey. The sadly underused Sudoku magazine also comes out and is stuffed in the mesh in front of the seat ready for a brain testing flight home.


The 'plane takes off and we mentally wave goodbye to a country that has been a significant focal point for a very long time and a large percentage of the passengers including me are probably starting the closure process. I personally don't dwell on this too long; there will be plenty of time in the coming weeks to reflect on this chapter of my life.


A couple of hours into the flight, the pilot delivers a slight bombshell. The main runway at Gatwick is blocked for some reason and the airport is closed to arrivals and departures. He doesn't know how long this will last but warns us off for an alternative landing. This is of slight concern to me as it must be to many others as I have a train to catch back to Bangor. There is nothing we can do about it now so most sit back and await further developments.


30 minutes later the bad news that we all expected but hoped wouldn't get comes through and we are being diverted to Luton. The mental calculations are almost audible as everyone tries to facilitate their connections. There is a slight irony for Rob and Matt, being from Bedfordshire, as their partners are waiting at Gatwick to meet them! 


Various iPhones are out searching for information and I gather enough second-hand information to work out that a train from Luton to St Pancras and then Tube to Euston should do the job in plenty of time. Steph seems to be equally concerned about the new itinerary even though all he has to do is get to London to meet Karen at a posh hotel for his own specific reunion. He has no time pressures but has an affinity with mine.


There is obviously a massive queue at passport control as ours is not the only flight to be diverted. Fortunately for those of us with passports less than a couple of years old and benefiting of a micro chip, there is an e-queue, which works on scanning devices and is great! In no time at all we have boarded a shuttle bus to the airport, have got on the train to St Pancras and are settled down for the 45 minute ride.


It is at St Pancras that Steph and I bring our MdS association to an end. We know we will chat about it at work but I doubt we will be in this close an environment together again. He is going to get a cab to the hotel and suggests that it is only a short walk to Euston Square and then the station but the wheels on my case are now knackered and I am fed up of being on my feet so instead I go down God knows how many escalators, pay £4.60 for one stop and go up God knows how many escalators to arrive at my second last destination.


As I suspected but somehow never really believed, I am at the station in plenty of time so decide to nip into M&S to get some nibbles for the last leg, including a small bottle of cabernet sauvignon!


Platform information is not forthcoming and there are seemingly hundreds of pairs of eyes staring up at the information board. I suspect that all of the owners of these eyes are on my train as it is the only one without info. My suspicions are confirmed when platform 14 for the Virgin train to Manchester is confirmed and all the eyes swoop down first their cases and then to platform 14 and their associated legs hot foot it to the train. I am swept along in the hysteria even though know I have a booked seat but the haste is infectious. I curse the inadequacy of my case wheels as I rush down the platform to my carriage, somehow thinking that I will miss the train even though it is parked there right next to me.


Hysteria gives way to calm as I settle in to my seat opposite a guy who, by the markings on his laptop, works for Coca Cola. I am tempted many times on the journey to ask him for freebies but bottle it every time. Instead I gobble down my sandwich, nibble my massive bag of crisps and sip at my small bottle of red and read the copy of the London Evening Standard that I picked up at St Pancras because it was free! Cracking read though.


The change at Chester for the final push to Bangor is in line with the entire trip - seamless - once I have sussed out what platform the train leaves from. The train pulls into Bangor station and I alight after having given directions to Bangor Management Centre to a couple I presume to be Polish. East European in any case. 


Even though I have lived there for the best part of 30 years, somehow I have assumed Bangor to be this major metropolis where taxis are lined up by the dozen. As I have spent time explaining the best route for the Poles(?) to take someone has already taken the only taxi and someone else is waiting in the queue for the next one to arrive. I would call Emma to say my ETA is likely to slip by quite a while but the battery on my phone has expired. What has been a clockwork trip to date is threatening to fall apart right at the death.


Not a great deal of time later another cab does turn up. The lady waiting for it kindly offers to let me take it as she has seen me dealing with the Poles and says I would have been there first if it hadn't been for this random act of kindness. I am touched that this has been recognised and am tempted to take the cab but  do the decent thing and tell her I will wait for the next one.


Karma is a strange concept but one I truly believe in as, for no apparent reason, the driver emerges to ask where I want to go. I tell him Rhiwlas and he says the lady is going to One Stop services and is happy to share the ride. I accept the offer, throw my bag into the boot and myself into the front seat. The lady and I exchange little conversation other than me explaining where I've been and telling her as she is getting out that I will take the hit on the fare. To her credit she doesn't argue. Bitch!!


The cab ride continues with small talk with myself and the cabbie. I don't do any of the Peter Kay stuff and ask him what time he's on till or if he's been busy. He asks a few more questions about Morocco which are mainly about weather before we pull into the crescent in front of 27 Bro Rhiwen.

What caption will do it justice?

I am home and my journey is complete. The kids, with a wee bit of help from Emma have placed their welcome home in the window as they are both fast asleep and it is the most wonderful thing I have seen in almost 2 weeks. The next most wonderful thing walks down the drive to meet me. I put my case down, hug my beautiful wife and we walk to the house...


...to rest, to rebuild.


This is my story.