Bodies and bikes sway from side to side as the truck jolts, clawing for traction up the steep ascent. Just as I’m about to nod off, the side door is flung open and the sun floods in, and peering out reveals layer upon layer of crisscrossing mountain ranges fading into oblivion. Back in the saddle we are darting through sharp undergrowth that, given half a chance, would like nothing more than to claw you off your bike. This is one of the greenest environments we’ve ridden all week, the lake below shrouded in lush vegetation offering a clue as to why. Flicking left, flicking right, holding it wide open and letting her run ragged on the straights – we are on the most direct route off the mountain, but that certainly doesn’t mean the descent is finite by any stretch of the imagination. By now each imperfection on the rugged trail surface can be felt in the core of your hands. The sun has all but departed, bar a few lazy rays that loiter as long as they dare, so we race nightfall back to the familiar rural setting of Ouirgane, which sadly means that the curtains are about to close on our riding time in Morocco.