The day has a leisurely start as we're not due back at the embassy until 14:00, so in answer to Alan Doherty's question: "Will you be going past any trains?" The answer is yes.
At the embassy we bump into some of the protagonists from yesterday, except that today it is all smiles, handshakes, hugs and "Ah! Mon ami!" like war combatants meeting up after peace has been declared.
We team up with Toubabs Taxi (George and Matt) Peugeot 205 and Dukes of Dakar (Paul and Nathan) Mercedes W124 so there are now 6 teams in the convoy and we head south along the coast past Casablanca (Play it again, Sam - which apparently he never actually said) and then inland towards Marrakesh.
The lanscape consists of endless gently undulating plains which are surprisingly green, but then they have just had several weeks of rain which is, as we already know, unusual weather for the time of year. Towards Marrakesh as we get into the Atlas foothills it is getting hillier and the mountains loom large on the horizon.
Phoebe is running well and whatever was causing her to run hot seems to have cured itself so we are no longer glancing at the temp gauge every 5 minutes, but every now and again there is a very slight blip in power. At first we assume it was just a bump in the road or that we eased off the accelerator pedal slightly, but after the fifth or sixth occasion we are starting to give each other nervous looks every time it happens.
Night has fallen by the time we reach Marrakesh and we drive around the city centre looking for a bed for the night. The walkie talkies really come into their own now, Dukes of Dakar have a sat nav up in front so the rest of the convoy stay in sight of each other and pull over and wait whenever someone announces over the radio that they've been caught at a light or crossroads.
It's all going rather swimmingly until about 3 km from our final destination and at just over the 2,000 km mark from home, Phoebe disgraces herself on the busy central Marrakesh thoroughfare Avenue Abdelkarim El Khattabi.
Andrew is driving and suddenly yells "I've lost her!" as with no warning the engine cuts out dead just as we have passed through some traffic lights and we coast to a halt at the side of the road. The convoy pulls over and everybody has a look. The good thing about travelling in company is that there are plenty of experts on hand to give (conflicting!) advice. It's fuel starvation, blocked fuel filter, air flow, fuel pump, electrics etc etc... but all to no avail, Phoebe subbornly refuses to start again.
A local chap, Khalid, just happens to be strolling by. He stops to chat. Turns out that he has a business in London selling LHD cars and recognised the Banjul Challenge stickers on Phoebe as somebody had approached him a couple of years ago for getting a car for a previous Challenge and so knows exactly what we are doing. "If you can't get her started give me a call in the morning, I know plenty of local specialists." he says as he drives off in his car
with UK registration plates.
By 21:00 we are no further ahead and as we are so close to the hotel it is decided to tow Phoebe there, have a look in the morning and call Khalid if necessary. So it's a case of The Black Pearl to the rescue and with Brim at wheel we are unceremoniously dragged the remaining couple of kilometres to the hotel car park.
After a few beers at the bar we retire for the night. Let's see what tomorrow brings...
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