11/23/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 107 : The day I hated Morocco

The day started off well. I had just finished my cold instant coffee, and despite a flow to the contrary, I had “windy.app” prediction of a tail wind.

Pushing into the crescendoing wind with quite some might, I realized that by crossing the trash dump a second time - with all the shattered detritus - I had damaged my tire. I added more sealant and carried on. On the 5th stop to inflate the tire, I finally discovered it was a sidewall cut - this is why it hadn’t been healing. I managed to use some of the shoe repair glue left over by Janet, and a Park glueless patch to seal the deal. This worked.

In stopping so much, I was a little surprised that none of the 12 vehicles that drove by stopped to ask if I needed help. This was a remote stretch with only about 6 cars per hour. In Spain, solitary octogenarian women would stop to check on me if I was having a snack - and now I had my wheel off. I find it particularly interesting because everyone is VERY interested in me when I pass through town - just not when I’m broken-down-looking in the desert, I guess.

With the tire repaired, the fight against the wind was a smidgen easier now. I made it to a tiny village with a pharmacy and went in to ask about my insulin. I showed him what I needed and he produced something that would work - for $11.50 US without a prescription. Not too bad considering my receipt for 5 pens of this stuff in the US says, “Congratulations! You saved $1,600 with your insurance.”

He watched as I used the pen to make repeated injections into an empty vial I had been carrying. Pretty non-standard stuff here. I tried to explain that space is at a premium in my kit and that I would be “going to Africa.” I think he understood, and he let me use packing tape to wrap and protect the fragile vials. I was relieved that I could buy insulin even in a small town! He only had one, though… so I may try and buy another later.

I suffered into the wind through the bleak desert. At least the road had no cars on it. Then I heard a noise. I turned back to find 5 puppies dying in the hot sun on the side of the road. A sack nearby suggested to me that someone had dumped them here - over 40 miles from town. It was so sad to see the poor dried up creatures - still living and squeaking. Their tongues were out, and two of them looked like they were about to expire soon. It wrecked me. I thought, “It is impossible for me to help FIVE puppies. I pedaled on, crying, and trying to console myself by saying, “this is natures way.”

I was over a mile away when the pain was just too much. I realized, “If I leave them there, I am just as evil as the person who dumped them.” With tears streaming down my face, I retraced that hard earned mile and got out an empty sardine tin and filled it with some of the little water I had remaining. No, this isn’t impossible. It would be hard, but not impossible.

At first they wouldn’t drink, they were so dried up. I forced them into the water and they all drank a little. Enough. I wrote to my sister Michele who is an animal lover. She was awake at 5AM, and immediately got on the task of contacting places in Guelmim - 40 miles away. That way, I could work on pedaling them there while she did online stuff. This would take a huge burden off of my shoulders because trying to get a response plus back-and-forth communication is difficult even when you’re not in a hurry and riding a bike. Michele said, “Are you keeping them warm?” I laughed, “it’s 90 degrees here!” With the drying wind blowing 15-20mph in my face, this was going to be about as tough as anything I have done.

I stopped whenever a car passed (not many). I tried to flag them down for help. Only one Moroccan slowed to 2mph, but when they saw what was going on, they accelerated away quickly with a diesel cloud. A French couple finally stopped and said they could not help, but gave me 500ml of water and petted the puppies for a minute.

I began a series of 40 minute rides with long yogurt breaks. During the first leg, they were so still, I thought they had all died in my backpack. Once I got them to eat the yogurt, though, they perked up. By the 3rd session, they were robustly more alive - playing and squealing with each other. The yogurt was like magic - though now it was all over their fur. This drew more and more flies each time and quickly began to smell awful. I flagged about 12 cars. No one stopped.

I finally got them to Fask. Here I hoped to find a driver. My sister was closing in on a Vet! Meanwhile, I explained the situation to the guys at the dusty gas station. There was a lot of laughing and one man said a lot of stuff and pointed to a female dog in the parking lot. I wasn’t sure if he was saying, “look, there are homeless dogs here. Don’t bother” or maybe “see if that dog will nurse these puppies”. Her nipples were all bulging, so I presented one of the puppies to the mother dog. She sniffed it for an entire minute… and then walked away. Even she rejected the puppies. I got out my yogurt, hoping that the cuteness would inspire someone to help. Indeed, a weathered man in a long robe came and crouched beside me. He handled the puppies deftly, poking their faces in the yogurt pile - helping to keep them from smearing it all over their bodies. I liked this one gentle and caring man who looked like the Marlboro man on his 100th birthday.

My sister finally got me the contact and an address. She got me in touch with an English speaking vet. I only had 14 miles left to ride - no one would drive me - so against my Achilles’ will, I pushed at race pace into the defiant wind. Once the sun set, I realized that my sister was right about keeping them warm. I could feel their bodies warm against my back. They were perfectly behaved in that pack, waking every 40 minutes or so for food. Maybe the gentle rhythm of pedaling was like their mothers womb. Once it got dark, I shed more tears… but this time tears of joy. It was becoming a reality. These puppies really were going to live another day.

The vet agreed to have his assistant stay after hours. True to his word, the assistant was still there. He took the puppies and put them in a little enclosure and called the vet. (The assistant did not speak English, but the vet did). Vet promised me in perfect English, “I will find them a good home”. The assistant then began writing a series of numbers on paper. $100 for vaccines, $80 for food, and $70 for shelter (guessing on that last one). A total of $250 that I don’t need to pay now.

I’m going take tomorrow off so I can settle this. also, my Achilles is truly wrecked from that effort. Meanwhile, I need to decide if I want to pay them $250USD. Do I trust them to find good homes? I discussed it with my sister and we are both going to sleep on it. WWYD?