Marrakech, a prime tourist hotspot. Beside the swimming pools of the vast holiday resorts, where thousands of tourists lounge in mid-August, temperatures frequently reach 45°C. Just a few kilometres away rises the High Atlas, Morocco’s backbone, a mineral wall stretching over 700 kilometres separating the Atlantic plains from the expanses of the Sahara. Its peaks, which including Toubkal, at 4,167 metres the highest in North Africa, tower over deep valleys dotted with orchards and terraced fields. Its winding roads, rocky tracks, hidden passes and deserted valleys hold countless promises for climbers in search of improbable ascents. This is our destination.

Imlil, 1,740 metres up. The “Chamonix of Morocco” and the starting point for many hikers aiming to summit Toubkal. The temperature has dropped by about 15 degrees, making a comfortable 27°C. We have chosen to bring our mountain bikes because they can handle the journey by plane, because they adapt to all kinds of terrain and because their simple, purely mechanical design, free of any electric transmission, seemed the best choice for Morocco.

The first turns of the wheels take place on wide, dusty tracks that wind and climb into valleys to reach villages perched high above. Quickly, we realise that cycling here is so much more than simply riding a bike on stunning terrain. For centuries, Berber peoples have woven their lives into the fabric of these mountains. They sculpted the slopes stone by stone to create terraces, trails and villages suspended above the void. They maintain this simple rhythm of life and we are about to experience a cultural and civilisational shock. Here, time seems to flow differently. Children we meet play with the simplest things in narrow alleys, on the side of the mountain or in dry torrent beds. They rush over, greet us with a wave, smile and strike up conversation when we enter their villages. It is often after long stretches of desert or mountain, parched and weary, that we reconnect with this sparse population. “Haanout?" Arabic for grocery store – an essential word to know. Every village has one, hidden, known only to the locals. Once we find the shopkeeper, and he opens the door to what looks like a garage, a sort of Aladdin’s Cave emerges before our eyes: bottles of fresh water, sodas, sweet treats, treasures we can for a handful of dirhams, smiles included.

The Atlas are there to be discovered on the move. Leaving Marrakech airport, they quickly appears on the horizon. No need for a taxi, they're just a few hours away by bike. It’s best to stick to the roads for bikepacking, as many off-road routes hide unexpected adventures – something we learned the hard way. Then, plan your route around riads or kasbahs, which will welcome you for a comfortable night when the day ends. For our part, we chose to transport the bikes by car and explore different spots. This approach offers the advantage of being able to take a few risks, to venture onto routes that might be barely passable. In practice, it often means long stretches of pushing the bike, whether because a vast hunting reserve appears in the middle of the path, or because the trail is really only suitable for mules and walkers… Endless stretches of desert, sandy tracks where the wheels sink deep or, on the contrary, tracks that are littered with large rocks that even our semi-rigid bikes can’t absorb. As the sun climbs high in the sky, the danger of a route going wrong lurks at every turn, and our GPS shows a trace that doesn’t exist.

A desert experience unfolds near Ouarzazate, a loop of about sixty kilometres, fifty of which take you deep into this expanse of stone and sand, offering thrilling sensations. It’s essential to carry plenty of water and a robust repair kit. Every single detail is a delight to explore. The elevation is climbed slowly, each place revealing its own wonders, inviting surprise, contemplation and meditation – the altitude slows the body down considerably. The landscapes shift from extreme aridity to lush vegetation: oases around which life gathers, orchards of apples, walnuts and peaches emerging like miracles from the terrain. These are the result of clever, shared irrigation that makes use of every drop of water the mountains offer.

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End of the day. We’ve settled our bodies and our machines in a lodge overlooking the village. Hot tea steams in our glasses as we generously dip bread into the tajine that has just been served. Our minds sink into sleep, surrendering to the night. At 5:15 AM, the muezzins' calls to prayer ring out from the mosques, echoing through the valley. A mystical, profound moment, suspended in the heart of the night. Eyes wide open, our minds stunned by these gentle cries, we fully savour the moment, absorbed in the experience we are living. The night returns to silence. We drift back into our dreams, the adventure continues…