22 January, 2008

IN THE second part of his story, Ernie Moritz tells Gavin Morgan how he overcame odds to reach his destination on the Tropic of Cancer and raise funds for a children’s hospice in Perth.

Ernie looked towards his New Year facing endless, burning desert terrain, two dead camels and the wreckage of the car that had ploughed into them.

His Spanish travelling companions, who had helped him get so far, had left for Morocco’s fourth largest city, Fez.

Nearly out of money, having to make his way across the eerie, barren, volcanic landscape on the way to Zagora alone, he reached a small town 60km from his destination with “fuel light blazing”.

Minor relief came his way when a local mechanic asked him if he was with two German bikers. In his desperation he said yes and the local pointed him in their direction.

Further comfort arrived when he found a bank machine and after booking into a hotel, introduced himself to his fellow countrymen, for Ernie himself is of German descent.

Even more fortunate, Rolf and Thorsten, who hailed from the Black Forest, were heading in the same direction.

“We pulled out some maps, exchanged stores and possible routes through the desert.”

Despite his luck at finding “new trip buddies”, his New Year did not go off with a bang, although it was an improvement on the situation he was facing hours earlier.

“New Year was a non event. The African singer/drummers play the same song over and over. It was like a fever dream, and we sighed in disbelief every time they restarted. Also, the food was terrible, not even heated through.”

He woke up on New Year’s Day with a bad stomach, very cold and looking out at another tiny outpost village. The 265 miles to Tata beckoned.

The tyres on his KTM were almost bald as he rode from hard packed sand corrugations into soft, chalk like dust pits.

“I had to let the air out of the front and back tyres. My bike started snaking and hitting my legs while I was paddling the sand with them. It was extremely exhausting work.”

Hoping the conditions would improve, the three men struggled on with only five litres of water between them and going through their fuel rapidly.

While deciding if they should go back the way they came and face the same dangers again or carry on another 100 miles risking their vehicles and themselves, a distraction presented itself through the heat haze.

“A dusty lorry piled high with old people and goats trundled towards us. We saw it slip and slide in a crab like fashion, then it ploughed head long into the churned up ruts created by other brave souls passing that way.”

The passengers tried to get the truck moving using tree trunks carried by the driver, but to no avail. Then some old men beckoned to the three men. “We felt we had no choice but to help”.

“A wizened old goat herder woman came out of the great yonder for some entertainment. She sat on a rock next to her flock and observed.”

Ernie’s suggestion of letting the air out of the truck tyres was ignored, sheer will power being the preferred option and inch by inch the vehicle moved before taking hold and “fish tailed towards the old goat herder woman.”

After grateful thanks for helping, the travellers returned to their own problems and finally managed to reach a town where they could stock up.

After a run in with a local brought on by the built up frustration of the day and the fact he wanted Ernie’s compressor, they carried on to Tata.

They passed a mining town which was the first actual industry he had seen on the continent. Miners cheered as they passed. Later groups of 4x4s passed them at 130kph, nearly running them off the single track surface.

After just about falling asleep eating dinner after reaching a hostel, Ernie struggled to take his boots off after an eventful, but not very enjoyable day.

The next day he said goodbye to his German friends and set off on the final stretch of his mission and the landscape became more and more repetitive.

Stopping at a shanty town to get his tyre changed he came across another two Germans.

“They had their bike in for a new wheel bearing that was going to take a few days to fix, and were taking two 50cc scooters, pulling small trailers to the Gambia. People said I was crazy.”

Enduring a severe dust storm he managed to make it to a small village that was “like a wild west town with really wide roads and flat shop fronts running on either side - donkeys and carts had replaced horses and stage coaches”.

To his surprise he walked into an inn full of French people and was greeted in a warm and friendly way. The owner gave him whiskey and he finally felt relaxed after another tough day.

From this area somewhere near Tan Tan Beach and Tarfaya, he blasted south towards the Western Sahara with no check point at the international border.

“There were two wedge shaped slabs of marble about the size of a car, either side of the road, with some Arabic script on them.”

Further on the police and military check points grew in number, as did the army trucks and coaches of soldiers in this well known trouble spot.

He met a British man called Jake at a checkpoint. The man told him some great stories of his travels in the Far East and said he would go with Ernie to his destination at the “Tropic”.

The fourth of January was the day that he finally made it to the Tropic of Cancer, despite a bit of confusion over directions.

Finally reaching the point he had been aiming for, after months of planning and hard fought travelling, there was not much to be seen.

“It looked like the lunar landing, but with less hype.” So he planted the Shetland flag and decided it was time to start the return journey.

As he headed north he passed some “whacky looking cars” that were due to go to the Dakar rally, cancelled this year due to the threat of terrorism from local uprisings.

After swapping some schnapps for clean fuel he encountered a ferocious dust storm on his way back to the French inn.

“Everything hurt and I had to drive with one hand covering my mouth and nose with my scarf. I felt the panic of suffocation.

“The glaring lights from oncoming cars made it impossible to see what was ahead and I had to drive blind. Despite missing the road a few times I managed to stay upright.”

After a 530 mile round trip he finally saw the welcome neon lights of the French inn where he had encountered such a warm welcome the night before.

“I just felt relief! If there had been someone able to carry me I would have collapsed right then and there.

“I made it to the room and passed out under the covers. I didn’t wake until 10 next morning, which was my longest sleep yet.” He said.

Ernie had made it, reaching his goal nearly a month after leaving his home town of Ollaberry in Shetland on 9 December. Now all he had to do was repeat the journey all over again to return home.

“Africa and the Sahara lived up to my childhood fantasies of what it would be like. The little shanty huts with palm leave roofs and old bits of tat hanging from the porticos, blowing in the breeze and danger every day.”

If anyone would like to donate to the children’s charity that Ernie took on this trip for, Rachel House in Perthshire, visit www.justgiving.com/erniemoritz