Pedalling into the new day, willing the sun to break through and warm the air; a routine that would become all too familiar. Despite the hours of daylight having technically begun, the presence of anything approaching heat would take its time to appear.

Stunning colours began to fill the sky, oranges and reds, light glinting past the hilltops that lay ahead. These were some of the most beautiful sights of the entire ride, moments I had pictured myself in during the leadup to the race.

I picked up the hose of my Camelbak to take a drink, and with one crack I knew it was frozen solid. Not a problem, I had a couple of bottles on my bike. The first of these turned out to also be a block of ice, but thankfully I had filled up the second at CP1 and it hadn’t yet solidified. I clunkily unwound the top with my numb fingers, and poured the slushy into my mouth. A refreshing brain freeze for a cold morning.

After a few hours rolling through the rough stuff, we were treated to an extended section of flat(ish) tarmac. Under normal circumstances this would have probably been a fairly boring prospect, but I loved every second of the comfort and ease. It struck me how incredibly relaxed I was, and had been since the beginning of the race. This was something I had wanted to achieve in coming here, to be able to enjoy it and really be in the moment, but had anticipated it being a difficult feeling to grasp in reality. On the contrary, I was just having fun, almost by accident.

I hadn’t seen another rider since the checkpoint over eight hours earlier at this point, so I was ready for a break in the solitude. As if on cue, weaving past a herd of sheep in the road I recognised the familiar style of Charles Beasley up ahead. A massive smile crossed my face. We had shared the road in GBDuro a few times last year; the strange bond that ultra races create bringing us together once more. We spun alongside each other for a while, sharing moments from the trail and catching up on each other’s adventure up until now, until the rough stuff reared its bone rattling head once more.

From an easy gravel road into the deep sand of an un-rideable dried up river bed; four of us at ten metre intervals churned our way through the terrain as best we could. A glance down at the Garmin, and I could see the line I was supposed to be on over to my left. Not over an easy, flat trail to my left, but over a steep wall of sand. As each of the riders ahead of me realised the mistake, they also ground to a halt. After a few minutes spent trying, and failing, to see any semblance of a track we were supposed to be on, we lifted our bikes and clambered across the bank. Each of us a chose a slightly different approach and direction, none of which appeared to be correct, and none of which were in any way elegant.

Photos above – courtesy of Josh Reid

This was the first time I bumped into Josh Reid since the grand depart in Marrakech, and we spent the next few hours until sunset weaving in and out of each other’s presence. This ended up being a surprisingly testing time, despite not being particularly noteworthy in terms of terrain, and I was relieved every time our paths crossed and we could share in the challenge. Check out Josh’s excellent YouTube coverage here!

Having been pre-warned about a slow 100km stretch without any resupply, the majority of riders appeared to be stopping in the same filling station to grab as much food and drink as possible before pedalling off into the night. I had been avoiding eating omelettes since entering AMR, in anticipation of consuming an unappetising amount while in Morocco, and it was time for my first of the trip. I hadn’t eaten a meal since the early hours, so my verdict of it being ‘okay’ is perhaps a generous one. I don’t think a filling station is the place to go for gourmet dining but don’t worry there were some stellar egg based offerings yet to come on the route.

Bottles filled, snacks acquired (including a tube of pringles that would become a far more significant part of the ride then I could ever have anticipated), and it was time to go.

It wasn’t long before fatigue began to really set in, and the realities of the late start began to catch up with me. Despite the fact we had only been riding for 24 hours at this point, I hadn’t managed to sleep during the day before the race began, meaning I’d been awake for closer to 36. The relentless nature of the hills during this section was wearing on me, and the repetitive nature of both the gradients and the views made progress feel even slower than it was. Some of the slopes ere also steep and sandy, meaning more pushing of the bike.

Photo – courtesy of Josh Reid

My legs were done for the day, and my head wasn’t far behind.

I had planned to try and keep pushing on until the early hours, perhaps around 2 or 3am in order to get the majority of the night riding done before bed. Waking up and setting off as the sun rose was the ideal scenario, but as you all know even the best laid plans go awry.

With the second highest point of the route fast approaching, following a steep, brutal off-road ascent, I knew I needed to try and find a bivvy spot before the trail tipped up. Temperatures were already dropping as nightfall crept closer, and I knew it would be well below zero at the top. Although I had packed a few extra layers in anticipation of the colder than usual climate we were facing, I certainly didn’t have enough to be comfortable sleeping at altitude.

Rolling through the sandy plains that preceded the mountain, I spotted a perfect, unexposed, flat area nestled amongst some dried up trees. It had just gone dark, so this would have to do. I set up camp, cursing my previous self for the order I had packed things in, and for bringing a blow-up sleeping mat, set my alarm for two hours time, and hunkered down in my bivvy. I was warm, it was quiet, and exhaustion meant a swift transition into a deep sleep.

10pm, an unwelcome wake up call, time to go. Crawling out of bed, I stood up, realised something didn’t feel right, and proceeded to be violently sick.

Well, time to climb a mountain I guess. Sometimes the only way out really is through.

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Molly Weaver.