I wouldn’t say it’s ideal to start our ride with a shortcut through a smoldering dump. But occasionally our navigation app, which is typically great for cycling routes, goes rogue and recommends “bikepaths” that end up being goat trails, or today, roads that bisect small town dumps. Fortunately it’s very brief and what follows is absolutely spectacular, by far our most beautiful and remote ride so far.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. After being awakened by the early morning call to prayer from the mosques of Chefchaouen, we are treated to a delicious breakfast at our lovely hotel (a beautifully restored Moroccan “riad” guest house with ornate tiles, an interior courtyard, a sun-drenched roof deck and homemade meals). Sitting at low tables in the colorful “salon,” the very solicitous manager Mohammed serves us savory Moroccan “doughnuts” with fresh cheese, olives, almond butter and dates, washed down with espresso and fresh orange juice.

Beyond the dump, a steep and narrow road takes us into the mountains above Chefchaouen, climbing over 1,000 feet in under 3 miles. Almost immediately we are in the countryside, with views of Rif Mountain peaks and green valleys. On the road we see primarily women walking to get firewood and water and young men grazing sheep. We even pass a smiling young girl, at most 5 years old, wearing a crown of dried figs and playing by the side of the road. It’s enchanting.

A steep descent takes us to the Oued Laou river valley, where massive red walls of rock rise above us. It is stunning scenery, reminiscent of the majestic canyons of the American Southwest in early spring. Further on, as we follow the river towards the Mediterranean, a rich agricultural valley emerges and we pass wonderfully smelling fields of mint and roadside shrubs we realize are lavender in bloom.

We arrive in the small seaside town of Oued Laou and (because we have a ferry to catch and unfortunately can’t just keep riding south to Cape Town) hire a taxi to give us an assist back to the Morocco-Spain border at Ceuta. Our driver, as with so many people here, is warm and helpful despite us having almost no shared language. He seemed touched that we shared our almonds with him and decided to reciprocate. Have you ever had a taxi driver take a detour to buy you a plate of couscous with chicken and vegetables from his favorite stand?

At Ceuta, we cross the border back into Spain. At both the Moroccan and Spanish checkpoints, we get waived to the front of the line and given a quick pass. The bicycle dividend at work. We ride to the ferry and depart just as the sun is beginning to go down. As we sail across the Strait of Gibraltar, the mountains of Morocco and Spain are clear and we think of all the people throughout human history that have sailed between Africa and Europe in these waters.