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Who needs a camel, eh? Alun Davies first set out to Morocco on a dodgy Norton Commando in 1978. Thirty-two years later he finally gets to ride in this spectacular and varied North African country. In the first of a two-part feature, he reveals what it’s like to ride 1,500km over the mountains, scrubland and deserts of Morocco It was an emotional year, 1978. Johnny Rotten quit the Sex Pistols, Jim Jones lead his People’s Temple in a mass suicide in Jonestown, Guyana, and the layshaft bearing of my Norton Commando 850 shattered for the fifth time. In the past, the unpredictable tube of British-made steel and ball bearings had chosen to collapse within sight of an acrid, flaming coking oven and within walking distance of my home town in the (then) mining community of the Rhondda Valley of South Wales. On this occasion the Norton had come to a crunching, grinding halt on a deserted country road 50 or so miles south of Paris on a cold, dark and wet Sunday evening in early winter.

Tanger téuanFrance generalUnited kingdomSouss massa drâmoCity ofSan franciscoUnited statesAnti atlasRhondda valleyRhondda cynon taffHigh atlasRegion de tadla azilalNew zealandMarrakech tensift al haouzAlun daviesJonny maroc