Sometimes the path less traveled turns out to be a very rocky, dusty track used primarily by sheep who are indifferent to your progress, with silty sand so deep all you can do is push your bike. Other times it is a gorgeous empty road that weaves along the wide open Atlantic with a tailwind that pushes you gently forward. And sometimes it feels like everything in between all in a day.

The final three days of our ride have covered 300 km along Morocco’s west coast, and we have seen the dry and desolate desert gradually transform into greener forests of argan, eucalyptus and cypress.To Taghazout, we began our ride winding through an extraordinary river delta and wetland, rich with migratory bird life and small farms. In stark contrast, we then had the singularly fascinating yet thoroughly depleting experience of riding the rest of the day on a North African highway, there being no alternative. Not dangerous in the conventional high speed way we think of highways, but a chaotic kaleidoscope of human movement and sensory overload, from donkey carts filled with vegetables to freight trucks overloaded with hay, mattresses or cheap Chinese merchandise and belching diesel fumes, to nomadic goat herders letting their animals forage on the side of the road, and hundreds (perhaps thousands) of small ramshackle stalls with hawkers selling everything from fresh bread, to raw meat hanging in the sun, to pirated CDs (the Arabic pop music blaring away), to cloyingly scented beauty products. There was even a stretch of road with stand after stand selling one thing only: bananas. What more could two hungry cyclists ask for? Beat, we checked into a fancy Hyatt resort, where a bellboy wheeled our bikes away and courteously carried dusty panniers to our room. A hot shower, delicious dinner and cold beer later, we felt like we had temporarily transported ourselves out of Morocco, but were mightily revived!

In Tasguayn, an exhilarating but long and hot day of beautiful coastal roads finished with goats climbing in argan trees and five km of unforgiving gravel and an obstinate cow unwilling to share the road. The view from our room, out over gardens and pastureland to the roaring surf, made it all worth it.

Arriving in Essaouira and the end of our 1,000 km bike journey around Morocco felt like an accomplishment tinged with a touch of sadness. Why not just keep riding when there are so many new and wonderful things to see and experience in the world? But there is also home, and all the goodness that entails, from friends and family to meaningful work. And, of course, the prospect of adventures to come.