The climb out of the small surf town was brutal. It took well over an hour and was easily the steepest of my life. Towing a trailer and surfboard didn’t help.
Words cannot describe the view at the top of the ridge. Seeing the peeling lines from that altitude is easily a top-five highlight of my bicycle touring career. A full-on, this is why I do this moment.
The next morning I left well before sunrise. With camping off the table, the plan was to ride 80 miles to the coastal town of Essaouira.
The day started on the wrong foot. In the dark, I somehow managed to make a wrong turn. I ended up cycling through an extremely rundown shantytown on the Southern edge of Safi. I stood out like a sore thumb. Admittedly, all the stares made me anxious. I was definitely off the beaten path.
I was cycling South along the Moroccan coastline as the sun began to rise and revealed the surf. There was a beautiful head high groundswell. The surf was epic! I hadn’t planned on surfing that first day, but the ocean was too tempting on that chilly January morning, so I began looking for a spot.
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