The morning is bright, it’s been a long time since I felt this good. My tent is pitched in the shade, close to a high wall, more or less between the bathrooms, the water tap and the super fancy Unimogs that the Bavarians parked on the other side of the square. We are at Bab Sahara, a friendly port where the paths of many overlanders from all over the world cross. We arrived here early evening last day. Managed to repair the clutch, carefully check the charging in Tomek and Kuba's bikes, meet the owners of the place and the famous Ahmed as well, take a shower for the first time in 11 days, and then we went to the centre of Atar, to explore the city after sunset, eat at the bar we were told is favourite amongst the locals, see how life goes on when the orange heat gives way to chilly black...
I feel a lot of peace and I know that we are now on a safe path to continue our trip and reach Dakar soon. We've replaced Tomek's clutch master cylinder lever along with the pin that connects it with the pump. This little thing was the one to blame for the whole mess. It was worn out and was blocking the lever. Do I know anybody else, who has worn out the clutch lever? The charging is good, it is weaker than it should be, but sufficient to continue the ride. Here comes the thought, desert is a harsh place, as the same work in a sandstorm and heat was simply too much for us.
We're lucky, there's still gas at one of the gas stations in the city, so we fill up, one by one. Particles of yellow dust are stuck between the ground and the sky, the air is thin, the sun looks like it is hidden behind a curtain of foil. We take the route north of the main road connecting Atar with the coast. I feel very sorry that we skipped the most difficult section, but I also know that I will come back and ride it someday when time will be better. I eat the worst meat on a stick, kind of a dish, that humans have ever made. Right then I push Greta into the open space, which now has more and more of a savannah look. From time to time, I still feel blasts of heat on my back, and when I turn my head back I see the shapes of black monoliths on the horizon. We are smooth and fast, hitting speeds not much lower than on a rally. I am impressed by the landscape. Everything looks like taken straight from a Group B rally, the road is sick! The only thing missing is the Lancia drifting in clouds of dust.
Suddenly, the grass gives way to sand and a flat desert appears on the scene. I have the impression that we are seeing each other for the last time, our pace is such high that soon we will be at the Atlantic coast. We have already caught up on our milestones. Nevertheless, our plans are just a joke. 5 minutes later we are lying in the shadow of the bikes enjoying Tomek patching the front tube. We are arguing a bit about such nonsense as helping with doing the tube or the best place for it. I think this is all about the stress which cumulated during the last few days, as everything is going smoothly and easy now.
It's hot, so seeing that Tomek is near finishing, I decide to move and go ahead. I am alone, me and everything around me, the emptiness is absolute. I pass deserted settlement, it's really unique. But there's no one with me, where are the rest of us? I spot the only small dune on the horizon and make to the very top of it. Call the radio. Silence. Trying a couple of times. There is no one. Nothing. Finally, after a while I manage to locate the direction from which I can hear some interference, I recognize that this is probably Piter and the others. I take a risk and head this direction. It turned out that they went straight line and I made a slight roundabout, they were in front. When I make up with the guys they are patching the wheel, again. UHD tubes do not work with patches well, which makes it quite difficult to deal with even the simplest punctures.
We are biting the dust out of sandy fields, the air is heavy, more and more plants and grass appear. I pass them with ease, feeling the rhythm, and I'm having a great time. The temperature is starting to drop with every kilometre, what a feeling. The humidity and sea breeze hits me suddenly while I am keeping the throttle open and smile. It is now about 15 degrees C lower. In a moment we reach the N2 road, the main north-south route on this side of the continent, one of the few tarmac roads in Mauritania. It's empty. However, there is a small shop on the roadside. They have a few cans of sardines, some sweets, a few bottles of warm Coke and there is some drama on the floor. A man with a cut wound of hand, the blood, and another one tries to dress it. They thank us for help proposal and we drink this warm Coke, feeling the cold wind on our bodies. I don't even know when we covered 400 kms from Atar today. We begin the last stage, from here, along the beaches, we are going to reach the pink lake.
I pass over a small dune and stand still for a moment. Just in front of me there is hundreds of small fishermen's huts built mainly from garbage, with nets, fish and various waste lying all around. Finally, I hit the beach. I have no experience with beach riding, thus I pay a lot of respect for the waves and soft sand near the water. As the day is drawing to the close, I am not going for any water adventures, not now. I just want to find a place that looks safe from the tide and where there is a little less garbage. The evening is perfect, calm. We are swimming in the ocean and watching the few trucks rumbling on the N2 route, visible somewhere in the distance. Then I start cooking, pasta, tomato sauce and a tuna. Except there's cream in cans of tuna. Hmmm, food bohemia at the dunes, the limit of absurd in my cooking has just hit another level :-)
In the morning I notice that the steering damper pin fell out, somewhere. I'm a little worried about how I'll cope without it now. I quickly calculate - I have a few hundred kilometres of beach ahead and then, already in Senegal, it should be ok, maybe with the exception of a few sandy areas. Ok, I will adapt to riding without a steering damper once again, but I remember that the help provided by this little creature is invaluable and it saved me a lot of struggle in Mauritania.
Well, it's time to learn how to dance on this beach! I'm cautious at first, getting used to beach riding step by step. After a few moments, I already know that this is a constant balancing between the soft sand and the hard ocean bottom, which was just uncovered by the receding wave. However, if I cut towards the water too deeply, I risk being covered by another wave, and besides, I feel bad that Greta gets so much salt. The difference in what line You take is huge. Going through the centre of the beach I have to shift down to third gear, and still, keep balance as the sand is hard, uneven and getting me out of the rhythm all the time. Right at the water line I can easily stay even on fifth gear, just have to keep jumping from the humps that I cross. Generally, the ride is continuous slalom, trying to reach as much of the hard surface as possible. This is just awesome, smooth, obstacles are rare.
We reach Nouakchott. First we stumble upon few tourist resorts at a beach. People take photos, they are curious, ask where and how we go. After a while, we head to the fish market, probably the largest in this part of the world. It's colorful, crowded, and buzzing. I walk amongst people and take hundreds of photos. I notice lots of black faces, many more than inland. For the first time, I also see up close large fishing boats, decorated with lots of colors, pushed by crews of a dozen or so people straight into the waves. There are fish everywhere, in buckets, in baskets, on trailers and on blankets right on the sand. Surprisingly, no stench, maybe a slight salty smell, but absolutely not what I expected.
When we return to Piter and Tom, there is already a large group of people interested in us and our bikes, and some tension is slowly building. We decide to move on and go through the city, or rather its very centre. Fifteen minutes later, I'm standing in the middle of a large intersection with the engine off, looking around. We're stuck. I am looking for guys, trying to find them. All the cars and motorcycles are blocked, there is no room to get anywhere, everything is stuck at a standstill. The air vibrates with heat, filled with a cacophony of horns. Well, it's not my thing, so we decide to escape. Using the main road we reach the border with Senegal, next to the Senegal River. I expect to see its banks and a water, but all I see are walls of grass. The ride is so good we decide to reach the border the same day. We have to go through Diawling National Park. I read that the road there is rather demanding, but it turns out to be quite boring, even with a large watermelon attached to my back-seat. I don't see any animals either. Slightly disappointed, I pull in the border. We strike a deal with the setter, who takes us to the other side within two hours. All we need is some cash, so we change it and with the last rays of sun we set off for the spot on the beach, in the place where the Senegal River reaches the ocean. I pass a large group of monkeys, then, in clouds of hanging dust, ride through villages full of people already enjoying a night life. Even in the darkness I feel that Senegal is a completely different world. Full of movement and energy. Finally, we reach the camp site. We sit on the edge of the beach and watch the boats pulling into the bay in total darkness. We eat a watermelon. Then the crabs come, dozens of crabs, they like the peels we left. We play with them a bit, catch a few, they pose quite well to pictures...
In the morning I notice that we are sleeping surrounded by garbage, and cows, they look a bit spooky in the morning fog. This is probably the worst bivouac so far. So, the rule of thumb remains valid, not to look for bivouacs in the dark or near cities. Without regrets, we quickly packing up the camp and hit the road for some fuel and to find something to eat. There was no time for this the night before. We are wandering among narrow sandy streets when I see the first baobab tree, what a wonder it is, after the pine trees this is certainly the most wonderful tree in this world. This baobab tree makes me realize that we have finally left the Sahara behind and are starting a new chapter of this adventure. The noise of the street wakes me up from my morning thoughts and I suddenly start to consciously notice everything around me. Senegal welcomes us with a full bouquet of incredible experiences! Everything here smells colorful, everything looks floral, the street is teeming with life, the stalls spread diversity. Women with baskets on their heads are walking through the streets, scooters are delivering the morning newspaper, cows are heading to the pastures. Everything is mixed in an unbelievable chaotic order. I feel very good in such places. We stop immediately and decide to look for a breakfast. I turn my eyes to the stand with newspapers, eggs and three cheerful women. We get along simply, "madamme, quatre baguettes?", "avez du cafe?"..."quatre, s'il vous plait" :-) After a while we receive fresh and warm baguettes wrapped with paper, filled with onion stuffing and an omelette, in addition, aromatic coffee in small cups, it is called café touba. This set will stay our choice for the rest of days in Senegal.
We are staying in the middle of the crowd, but as if invisible for others. People go around their business, there is a lot of smiles in the air. I take lots of photos. Yes, Senegal is different from the Sahara countries in every way. I feel relieved. The Sahara was my dream and a real trial. We were staying focused, here we relax.
We set off on the last stretch to the finish line. It's less than 200 km away by beach. I start completely different than the previous day, richer with the experience I have gained. I rev the engine and boldly throw the machine into the part of the beach closest to the water. There is no any garbage anymore. Beautiful. I pass many light carts, pulled by donkeys. This is undoubtedly a very popular route. I see dozens of them, transporting goods from towns and carry passengers. There is a heavy breeze, so I have to wipe my goggles all the time, otherwise the world blurs and disappear. We pass a couple of colorful fishing villages, there are hundreds boats on the shore, and couple of times I literally ride under the boats. We often cut straight through the water. Bonkers!
After a while, we make stop, and swim in the ocean. When we set off again, I feel that the finish line is super close. I speed up and play with the beach, it's really fast. I imagine the Dakar competition, they were probably racing much faster. I change directions and test how deep I can go in the dark wet sand. Suddenly I feel the bike diving into the water, spume floods my goggles, I can't see anything, I instinctively twist the throttle, to no avail. The engine dies, doesn't have enough power, I'm standing almost waist-deep in water, bike is stalled. This is a moment, hundreds thoughts in my head. When the wave lowers, I decide to escape, press the button, ok, got it, the engine is alive, I hit the clutch and I summon all the fortune I have so that the bike doesn't stuck into the bottom but moves forward. Yes, she's born to run!
The next kilometres pass like in a trance. On the GPS I see Lac Rose, it's so close, right on my side, hidden behind the dunes. Suddenly I notice a strange shape on a beach, that's the place where I want to make turn, it's a dead whale! I don't know what kind of deal this is, but hey, howling. The stench is impossible to describe, but I take a few photos :-)
Lac Rose, I sit contemplating a water surface, with a calm mind, drinking La Gazelle. We stayed at the Le Nomade campsite. Lost in a moment. I'm happy and proud, simply as that. All the thoughts, plans and imaginations carefully built over the last half a year suddenly converged in one place, right here.
Track: https://www.wikiloc.com/trail-bike-trails/2023-dakar-stage-5-lac-rose-the-rugged-rides-159143303
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