Caught in the gravel: Will the long wheelbase be our undoing?

Before we set off on today’s adventurous drive through the endless expanse of the desert, we take the opportunity to replenish our water supplies at the idyllic campsite.

To be honest, I feel a certain nervousness rising in me before our first long off-road tour. We have no map to hand for the uncertain route ahead and put all our trust in the vague descriptions given by the campsite receptionist. It feels like we are embarking on a real adventure without knowing exactly what awaits us over the next desert ridge. It is an incredibly exciting feeling to set off alone with our Terra Love into the endless expanse of the desert, far away from the comfort of paved roads. The sand crunches under the tires, the heat shimmers on the horizon and we realize that we are completely dependent on our vehicle and its capabilities. Every kilometer is a new adventure – the road conditions are constantly changing: sometimes deep hollows, sometimes rocky passages, and there are no road markings. The luxury of the expedition vehicle offers comfort, but in this wilderness we are completely on our own.

“Do you also feel this deep respect for nature?” I ask as we drive through the remote countryside. “One wrong decision and we could be stuck in the middle of solitude.” “Yes, that’s true,” Tanja replies thoughtfully. “But this very remoteness also gives us a freedom that we rarely experience.” “No cell phone reception, no traffic – just the endless landscape around us,” I say, letting my gaze wander over the wide open spaces. “And the hum of the engine that breaks the silence,” Tanja adds with a smile. “It’s that tingling inside us because we know we’re experiencing something that only a few dare to do with such a large vehicle.” “Exactly! It’s this mixture of awe and a thirst for adventure,” I say. “And this indescribable feeling of really being alive.”

After just a few kilometers, it becomes clear that, contrary to the receptionist’s statement, the route is easily manageable for smaller four-wheel drive vehicles, but is much more challenging for large expedition vehicles like ours. The initially wide track suddenly narrows and is eventually flanked on the left and right by overhanging, thorny branches of two acacia trees. We could simply drive on, but the dry branches and sharp thorns would scratch the side walls of our cabin considerably. So I grab a handsaw, put on gloves because of the sharp thorns, get out of the car and trim the branches far enough so that we can pass through undamaged. Slowly and mostly at walking pace, we carefully feel our way over the bumpy track, always making sure that no part of the vehicle – be it the diesel tank, the differential locks, the spare wheel attached to the underbody of the rear or the lower service frames – touches down on the sharp-edged gravel.

In desert regions, tracks are often marked with small piles of stones, known as cairns. The cairn method is simple and yet extremely effective, as the stones are easily visible in the barren landscape and resistant to extreme weather conditions such as heat and sandstorms. As stones are available everywhere, these markers can be erected quickly and easily. They leave no negative environmental impact and can be removed or moved at any time. Cairns also have a long tradition in many desert cultures and have always been used by nomads and travelers for orientation. To avoid the steep slope that is difficult to see in the video, we move the cairns.

After working our way through the odd tricky dip, I’m relieved when a relatively flat road finally opens up in front of us. Over the last few kilometers, the underride protection tube has repeatedly touched down on the stones – a real test of endurance for the vehicle and my nerves. Tanja looks ahead attentively, her brow slightly furrowed. “There’s still a slight tension despite the better route, isn’t there?” I nod and look ahead too. “Yes, I just hope that an insurmountable obstacle doesn’t suddenly appear. That would be really frustrating.” As we drive on, I keep my eyes on the road, alert to every detail. But despite this inner tension, we try to enjoy the ride. “Look at the landscape,” I finally say, letting my gaze wander over the vast plains. “There is so much beauty around us.” Tanja smiles and leans back a little. “You’re right. Let’s savor this moment while we can.”

“Look Denis, there are camels up ahead!” exclaims Tanja enthusiastically, pointing out of the window. Despite all the months in which we have often seen camels on the road, we are still fascinated by the sight of them. As we slow down to observe the animals in peace, we reminisce about our many shared experiences with camels. “Do you remember how often we used to ride the desert trails?” Tanja nods, smiles and looks pensively at the herd. Our 12,000 kilometers with camels and the six years we lived with them are formative memories that stay with us to this day.

“Without this time, we would probably never have gotten around to writing our books about the trips,” I say thoughtfully. The experiences we recorded back then are not just stories about adventures, but also about our deep connection to these extraordinary animals.

We are not surprised to come across animal drinking troughs at the foot of the Anti-Atlas Mountains, on the edge of the Sahara. Such watering holes have been vital sources of water for nomads and their camels for centuries. In this barren and dry region, they play a central role as they enable people and their animals to survive in an otherwise arid environment. The Anti-Atlas, which lies south of the High Atlas and merges into the desert landscape of the Sahara, is characterized by rocky mountains, barren plateaus and isolated oases. In these oases or at natural springs are the watering holes, which are maintained by the nomads and regularly visited on their long journeys.

“Are we still on the right track?” asks Tanja, breaking the silent understanding that has prevailed between us since we passed the last fork in the road. Her question is spot on – the track has branched off so many times that I’m no longer sure myself whether we’re still on the right track. I look at the cell phone in my hand and have to admit that we are practically blind out here without network reception. “Actually, we should have been better prepared,” I say quietly. Offline maps or a GPS device would really have been the least we could have done in this remote area. But this time we relied, admittedly a little carelessly, on the statements of the receptionist and the caravan park manager. “They had said so confidently that the main track was easy to find,” I add. Tanja nods thoughtfully. “Yes, that sounded kind of straightforward, and that’s when we stopped downloading the maps.” Now that her question is out in the open, I realize how justified it is. A slight nervousness spreads through me as I realize how much we depend on these few, vague pieces of information. Without any means of orientation, we have no choice but to trust our intuition and the few clues on the slope – and hope that we stay on the right path.

We are all the more relieved when, a little later, we discover an old signpost that clearly reads “Tadakoust”. A feeling of relief spreads – finally a sign that confirms that we are on the right path. The signpost is a simple construction made of stone and clay, a relic of the old caravan routes in the Anti-Atlas Mountains. “These signposts helped nomads and travelers back then to find their way through this unforgiving landscape,” I say quietly, looking at the historical piece. Tanja nods, visibly impressed. At a time when modern means of navigation were unknown, such markings were crucial for survival in the desert and mountains. They led to oases and water points, the vital starting points for anyone moving along these routes. “Imagine how many people have moved through this area, all in search of water, a safe path… and how much they trusted these signposts,” murmurs Tanja. These simple yet robust markers tell of the wisdom and will to survive of those people who have faced the challenge of the desert. A symbol of the deep-rooted connection to nature and its rules.

As the track forks yet again and we are at a loss as to whether we should take the left or right-hand path, a Berber on his old moped suddenly emerges from a cloud of dust. He stops next to us, looks at our expedition vehicle and smiles in a friendly manner. “There’s no way you can take the right-hand track with your big vehicle,” he says, pointing into the distance, where the road is bumpy and uneven. “There are far too many deep dips there, you’d get stuck.” He pauses briefly and looks at us again before adding with a broad grin: “Follow me, I’ll show you the right way.” Without waiting for an answer, he accelerates and drives ahead, his friendly helpfulness leaving us with a feeling of relief. However, it doesn’t take long before the supposedly good track bends again into deep hollows, which, it seems, are created during the rainy season when torrential rivers from the nearby mountains plunge into the valley, digging deep grooves into the landscape. These grooves are always in our way. As already mentioned, they are hardly a problem for smaller off-road vehicles. For our Terra Love, however, with its 7.63 meters in length, these stony depressions are a major challenge.

“Wham!” The loud crash rips through us as the rear of our mobile lands hard on the stony ground. Without hesitation, we jump out of the cab to inspect the Terra Love. I kneel down and run my eyes over the underride tube and the rear storage compartments. “Looks good,” I finally say and breathe a sigh of relief. Tanja nevertheless gives me a worried look. “And how are we going to get out of here?” “We’ll get the traction boards and put them under the tires. That should get us out,” I reply, determined. But despite several attempts, our 7-ton truck remains stubbornly stuck in the dry riverbed. The heat presses down on us, the sand shimmers in the air and swallows up any hint of coolness. I grab the folding spade and start shoveling out the ground around the stuck underride guard. The hard ground demands a lot of strength, the stones are heavy and unruly, and the sweat burns in my eyes. In the oppressive silence of the desert, only the loose rock crunches under my footsteps – every shovel stroke is a small battle against this unyielding landscape that forgives no mistakes. After half an hour of digging and another attempt, the Terra Love slowly begins to move. With Tanja’s precise support, I carefully steer her out of the hollow. At moments like this, it becomes clear how important it is to be in pairs: Tanja stands outside, keeps an eye on everything and shows me exactly how much distance we have left at every critical point – whether to the differential lock, the tank or the spare tire. Every one of her hand signals is precise and ensures that we get out of this riverbed safely. This well-rehearsed method has often helped us, especially in challenging off-road situations. The interplay of care, experience and trust is our key to mastering the challenges of the wilderness together.

“Look, there are nomad tents up ahead!” Tanja exclaims enthusiastically and points out of the window. I smile and nod. “So they still exist,” I say happily. The sight of these traditional tents has become rare – many nomads have either settled in settlements or are only partially nomadic in recent years due to social and economic changes, increasing urbanization and climatic challenges. Those who still adhere to their way of life continue to move through the barren landscape with their herds of goats and sheep. They live in simple tents, often made of goat hair, which are easy to take down and put up – perfect for a life that is always on the move. The tents seem inconspicuous, but they are at the heart of a way of life that has endured for centuries. “They’ve adapted to modernity nonetheless,” murmurs Tanja as we continue to observe the tents. In fact, here too you can see solar panels next to the tents or nomads using cell phones to stay in touch. But their world is under increasing pressure. Climate change is robbing them of water sources and pastures, making life in these harsh regions increasingly difficult. There is a lot in this sight – a centuries-old tradition, but also the struggle to survive in a changing world.

Even if a tour off the beaten track is sometimes strenuous and not always without danger, we are always rewarded. Suddenly we come across a stone circle, often referred to as a prehistoric stone formation or petroglyph, which is considered an important archaeological remnant. Its exact meaning is still not fully understood, but such formations are often associated with ancient ceremonies, astronomical observations or burial sites.

We have been making unexpectedly good progress for a few kilometers now. The dry riverbeds, which previously made progress difficult and risky, have disappeared and we are in good spirits. “Maybe we’ve already got the difficult passages behind us,” I say, giving Tanja a confident look. But suddenly some soft sand patches appear in front of us. Tanja frowns. “That looks deceptive, doesn’t it? These sandy passages could bring us to a standstill quickly.” I nod and explain: “Yes, soft sand can be really tricky for such a heavy vehicle. If the tires don’t find any grip and spin, the weight pushes us even deeper into the sand.” “Then we should lower the tire pressure, shouldn’t we?” asks Tanja, looking at me attentively. “That’s right,” I reply. “That way we’ll increase the contact area of the tires and get more traction.” I think for a moment. “But the soft sand patches aren’t very big. I think we can get through without adjusting the pressure if we’re careful.” Tanja nods and gets out to guide me safely over the treacherous slope. She shows me the way with precise hand signals and I drive slowly and with a lot of feeling over the sand patches while keeping an eye on her signals. At this point, we have no idea that serious soft sand passages await us later on this trip, which will demand everything from us. We don’t yet know that we will soon get stuck, the vehicle will start to lean dangerously and the sand will teach us a new lesson in respect for the desert. The feeling of how helpless you can become in seemingly harmless sand fields, even with the best expedition vehicle, is still to come.

Just when we think the worst is behind us, we take an unexpected turn. Suddenly, another dried-up riverbed appears in front of us, blocking our path. The stony ground and the dangerously sloping edge on the passenger side give us an idea that it is impossible to get through here quickly. Will this passage shortly before our destination for the day force us to turn back after all? I sit at the wheel with extreme concentration and watch Tanja, who is standing next to the vehicle and giving me instructions. “Keep right, slowly!” she shouts, raising her hand to guide me precisely. I pay very close attention to her hand signals, because a driving mistake here could be critical. If the right tire slips over the edge, there is a risk that the Terra could tip over due to its high centre of gravity. The risk is too great, so I follow her instructions carefully. “Slow down a bit now!” Tanja instructs me, while I keep my eyes firmly focused on the narrow track. I can feel the tension building between us. It’s not just the challenge of the track, but also the confidence in our joint ability to master this situation. “Now turn left, carefully!” says Tanja and I carefully steer in the direction she indicates. Every centimeter counts. The crunching of the ground under the tires gives me a small indication of how stable the situation is. As I maneuver my way through the narrow passage, Tanja keeps a constant eye on the ground to make sure we don’t touch down. “Good, keep going!” she encourages me, and I breathe a sigh of relief when we finally leave the dangerous section behind us. It feels good to have overcome this challenge together and I know that we can count on each other – that’s what makes us strong in the wilderness.

“You know, we’re very interested in myths and legends,” I say to one of the desert dwellers as we take a short break from driving next to a nomad tent and sit in the hot sun. His eyes light up and he smiles kindly. “Yes, there is a story I can tell you,” he replies and begins to tell us. “Even my grandfather spoke of a lost city called Tazerzait, which is said to be hidden somewhere in this region. It was once a rich caravan city that flourished on the old trade routes between the Sahara and the coasts of the Mediterranean. Its wealth came from the caravans that transported precious goods such as gold, salt and spices across the desert. Legend has it that one day the city was struck by a curse. An angry desert spirit is said to have buried it with a mighty sandstorm because the inhabitants disregarded the laws of nature and exploited the sacred soil of the desert. Since then, the city has been hidden beneath the endless sand dunes – unreachable and forgotten.” We listen to his words spellbound as the desert sun beats down on us. “My grandfather told me that on certain days you can hear the sounds of the lost city at sunrise,” he continues. “Some even say that during certain phases of the moon, the outlines of the ancient walls become visible in the sand. Is that true? Who knows!” His eyes sparkle mysteriously as he recites the story. The thought that such a mystical city could lie beneath our feet adds even more magic to this landscape. “I can only imagine what it might be like to walk the streets of this lost city,” I say thoughtfully. Tanja nods in agreement, and I can feel how our fascination with this legend only fuels our thirst for adventure even more.

Before sunset, we find a spot for the night in the endless expanse of the desert, where the silence is almost audible. I look around and say to Tanja: “Look at this vastness! Our transience is particularly noticeable here. Every moment is unique.” Tanja nods in agreement and smiles.

In solitude, we feel how valuable encounters are. “It’s crazy how the unknown always shows us that real life often takes place off the beaten track,” I murmur thoughtfully. The desert teaches us humility and gives us the feeling of being part of a greater whole. “This is where true freedom lies,” I say quietly, “not in controlling, but in letting go.”