Post by Admin on Jan 25, 2005 21:56:27 GMT
PUGNACIOUS PEUGEOT 205
Julian Whelan off-roads in Morocco
We were in Morocco, a Monsieur La Gasse and myself, to drive, partly cross-country, to a set of sand dunes called Erg Chebbi. These dunes, at Merzouga in the south of the country close to the frontier with Algeria, are one of only two sets in the Moroccan Sahara. The cross-country part of the drive required us making a crossing over 40 kilometres of stony desert, lying between the dunes and the nearest town, Erfoud.
Nearing Erfoud that morning, we started to notice that the landscape was beginning to look more like the Sahara that one imagines: the uncompromising, flat stony desert we’d driven through since Marrakesh was replaced by the undulating sand dunes that are so pleasing to the eye.
We met our guide at Erfoud: Nazir, a small Berber, who persuaded us to stay at his hotel next to the dunes and showed us an album of tourists out in the sand on quad bikes. I had long dreamed of following the track described in several guides. Two years earlier I had made a similar trip down to Morocco but had missed out on Merzouga because of a fear that I might end up stuck down there; during that trip I broke down three times – twice in France and once in Spain on the very night of our for departure for Africa.
Nazir saw no problem with us driving cross-country to Merzouga. He insisted though that we wait until late afternoon before heading off, and so at about four we left Erfoud.
It was still very hot but any worries I might previously have had about the 205 gasping for cool air in one of the hottest places on the planet were quickly overtaken by the road and then the land in front of us.
Just beside the post office in Erfoud there was a road heading to the left as we drove south. Nazir told me to take this. When this road began becoming impossible to pass due to the frequency and size of the potholes in its gnarled surface, Nazir gestured for me to turn off. It was very rough: for the main part of the drive it was stony; in places, however, I had to navigate my way through small tracts of sand.
Off-road driving is an exhilarating experience and, strangely, exhausting. It requires you to concentrate fully upon the ground in front of you. The 205 is much lower to the ground than any of the 4/4s you see out there; and it was their tracks that we followed until they became so deep that I had to escape them or risk doing damage to the Pugs underside by the relative mountain left in the centre. I had initially been dubious of taking a guide, but it Nazir who showed me how to manoeuvre my way through these tracks by balancing on the top lip of either the right or the left side of them and leaving the other wheel on the ridge in the center.
Having got the hang of the driving I grew more relaxed. I began to enjoy those parts of the drive when I’d have to drag the car out of the car tracks that I’d been following. Since I disagreeociate in this venture had forgotten his licence, I felt no guilt, no need to stop the car and offer him the wheel as our guide directed me closer to the edge of the dunes.
When the dunes became visible on the horizon, we had to stop; they loomed up like mountains and, as we neared them, we could see smaller dunes forming ridges that reminded me of the facets on the surface of a precious stone.
The following day we drove into the dunes to take some photos of the Pug surrounded by sand. I vowed then never again to wash it.
Unfortunately, those photos and the keys are all that now remain with me of my Pug.
A week later, on my return journey, I was on the M25 in Surrey when the cam belt went; two weeks after that I stood and watched as it disappeared south down my street; it was attached to a tow truck, and would, the driver told me, be crushed.
During that drive, a sense was born in me of the potential of the Pug: quite clearly it was capable of more, much more than either the daily run to and from work, or even racing along the autoroutes of France and Spain. It covered 4,700 miles in just under four weeks. No, the fact is the Pug was the meanest, toughest car I’d ever driven.
I hope he finds a worthy resting place.
Julian Whelan
Julian Whelan off-roads in Morocco
We were in Morocco, a Monsieur La Gasse and myself, to drive, partly cross-country, to a set of sand dunes called Erg Chebbi. These dunes, at Merzouga in the south of the country close to the frontier with Algeria, are one of only two sets in the Moroccan Sahara. The cross-country part of the drive required us making a crossing over 40 kilometres of stony desert, lying between the dunes and the nearest town, Erfoud.
Nearing Erfoud that morning, we started to notice that the landscape was beginning to look more like the Sahara that one imagines: the uncompromising, flat stony desert we’d driven through since Marrakesh was replaced by the undulating sand dunes that are so pleasing to the eye.
We met our guide at Erfoud: Nazir, a small Berber, who persuaded us to stay at his hotel next to the dunes and showed us an album of tourists out in the sand on quad bikes. I had long dreamed of following the track described in several guides. Two years earlier I had made a similar trip down to Morocco but had missed out on Merzouga because of a fear that I might end up stuck down there; during that trip I broke down three times – twice in France and once in Spain on the very night of our for departure for Africa.
Nazir saw no problem with us driving cross-country to Merzouga. He insisted though that we wait until late afternoon before heading off, and so at about four we left Erfoud.
It was still very hot but any worries I might previously have had about the 205 gasping for cool air in one of the hottest places on the planet were quickly overtaken by the road and then the land in front of us.
Just beside the post office in Erfoud there was a road heading to the left as we drove south. Nazir told me to take this. When this road began becoming impossible to pass due to the frequency and size of the potholes in its gnarled surface, Nazir gestured for me to turn off. It was very rough: for the main part of the drive it was stony; in places, however, I had to navigate my way through small tracts of sand.
Off-road driving is an exhilarating experience and, strangely, exhausting. It requires you to concentrate fully upon the ground in front of you. The 205 is much lower to the ground than any of the 4/4s you see out there; and it was their tracks that we followed until they became so deep that I had to escape them or risk doing damage to the Pugs underside by the relative mountain left in the centre. I had initially been dubious of taking a guide, but it Nazir who showed me how to manoeuvre my way through these tracks by balancing on the top lip of either the right or the left side of them and leaving the other wheel on the ridge in the center.
Having got the hang of the driving I grew more relaxed. I began to enjoy those parts of the drive when I’d have to drag the car out of the car tracks that I’d been following. Since I disagreeociate in this venture had forgotten his licence, I felt no guilt, no need to stop the car and offer him the wheel as our guide directed me closer to the edge of the dunes.
When the dunes became visible on the horizon, we had to stop; they loomed up like mountains and, as we neared them, we could see smaller dunes forming ridges that reminded me of the facets on the surface of a precious stone.
The following day we drove into the dunes to take some photos of the Pug surrounded by sand. I vowed then never again to wash it.
Unfortunately, those photos and the keys are all that now remain with me of my Pug.
A week later, on my return journey, I was on the M25 in Surrey when the cam belt went; two weeks after that I stood and watched as it disappeared south down my street; it was attached to a tow truck, and would, the driver told me, be crushed.
During that drive, a sense was born in me of the potential of the Pug: quite clearly it was capable of more, much more than either the daily run to and from work, or even racing along the autoroutes of France and Spain. It covered 4,700 miles in just under four weeks. No, the fact is the Pug was the meanest, toughest car I’d ever driven.
I hope he finds a worthy resting place.
Julian Whelan
