The rising sun casts a dancing spectacle of amber and shadow across the dunes as I toil over the burgeoning reasons to turn around. "Zagora par piste est possible" a local assures me looking at my bike. "Faites attention à la feche-feche." I carry on small talk while comparing a map to my GPS, accustomed to the hustlers and false guides by now. "Tu vas voir" he warns impassively, staring off into the Sahara. Expecting the typical Moroccan sales pitch by now, I realize he has no pack of souvenirs. This is no tourist town and I'm warming up to his demeanor. Mousharaf is taking it easy on his day out of the mines and has probably seen many of us "adventure types" over the years. A little skittish after riding in through a sandstorm the night before and with little time to waste in the feche-feche, I make him an offer to join me.