As with all trips, it’s the white lines on the map that hold the secret to success. These are the minor roads that take you through real country, back country, beautiful country. Ironically for the Tichka, the alternative route starts in a tourist trap at the bottom of the Ounila valley. Some 30km outside of Ouarzazarte, the Aït Benhaddou kasbah is a maintained Moroccan example of how things were when this road was the caravan route between the Sahara and Marrkaech. It's a touristic pilgrimage for many.

This is the modern day trade for many parts of Morocco. Before that, money was made here in a different way. Just as the river Ounila itself gives rise to the green oases found throughout the valley, this road and the taxes imposed for passing give rise to many kasbahs and one very rich family.

The small commune that sits on the other side of the river from the kasbah is split by the white line we saw on the map - the P1506 - filled on each side with hotels and restaurants ready to accept the incoming revenue. But travel five – no – one kilometer up the road and immediately all that is left behind. Because 99.9% of the tourists seemingly go no further. Suddenly rural Morocco and its ambience takes over.

That ambience is to feel alone in another world, whilst simultaneously (if you have previous experience of this amazing country) knowing that there are always eyes watching and that around the next corner, there is a village in crevices of the Atlas where you thought modern life was not sustainable. That's because this is not modern life as we know it. And that is refreshing.

After Aït Benhaddou there are eight listed civilisations on the Google map before you arrive at Tiz n'Tichka. Viewed correctly and positively, that’s eight opportunities to turn another ride through the mountains into a memory for a lifetime.

Approaching each village you will cross locals on foot, on donkeys, or on mopeds. Said mopeds are frankensteins of the highest order. A black market melange of Yamaha, Kawasaki and Suzuki becomes a 'Yamkawazuki'. And they appear entirely natural in the context in which they are encountered. Even when they are transporting anywhere between two and five people – men, women, children. Sometimes goats.

There’s a nice set of switchbacks 35km up the road and we meet a gaggle of three Yamkawazuki’s, which turns into a race when it becomes apparent that the power-to-weight ratio of a tired 125cc engine carrying two humans versus Côte d’Azur trained legs on a carbon bike are, roughly, equal.

The outcome of this race is not win or lose. It’s smiles all round and an invite for tea. Literally, everyone is a winner. Tea is backwards, down again to the last village below the switchbacks. Illogical but perfectly acceptable in the circumstances. And the reward is the best mint tea in the world, accompanied by the best bread and olive oil in the world. Double win. Served by the most gentile people in the world, who don’t mind having cameras poked in their faces to make photo memories. Triple win. And the blue tiles on the wall reflect the cycling jersey on our backs.

All is so well-aligned in this moment it’s tempting to stay. But North Africa’s highest col awaits. The Altas mountains on this road unfold gently. They are more like the Alps mostly with gradual gradients. After remounting the switchbacks, a rise and fall run around the mountainside and through the gorge beside the river, the road turns 90 left with intent. There is what seems like a trading post on this corner. A stopping point for essentials to feed the settlements that hide between and behind the surrounding peaks. It’s a small distraction before what lies around the corner - the valley of a thousand shades of reds and browns, dappled with greens, dissected by a perfectly-laid snake of bitumen. If you’ve travelled by bike you might recognize this feeling. It happened to us on Little Peru during the Torino-Nice Rally. You do not know where exactly to focus your eyes because nature is putting on such a show.

The slope is kind and progress is effortless. The road tops out before falling onto the flats of the high mountain plateau where Telouet sits. The big school with kids pouring out of it suggests we’re in an Atlas heartland, the main street says otherwise.

This place was once the seat of the ‘Lord Of The Atlas’ – where the family of most powerful Pasha to serve the Sultan outside of Marrakech made its fortune. The El Glaoui family dominated the olive, saffron, and salt trades due to Telouet’s optimal placement on the caravan trail. Thami El Glaoui ruled as the ‘Pasha of Marrakech’ until he helped staged a coup to dethrone the ruling Sultan, only for the nastiness to bounce back on him when he fell foul of the Moroccan Independence movement in 1953. Since then Telouet has not been able to reinvent itself and the dilapidated Kasbah stands as a symbol of the town’s fall from grace. Watching the locals in djelebas, the laden trucks, the stray dogs and the loaded Mercedes vans pass along the main street is to see a raw Morocco that is seemingly standing still in time. Maybe that’s what makes a tagine in Telouet so memorable.

Going from Telouet to the top is to make the transfer to the high Altas. As the road snakes, the view back towards the plateau and the mountains on the other side give a sense of scale. Big, colourful and unique. Twenty kilometres of mountain riding perfection under the spring sun. Tarmac, gravel, tarmac, river crossing, small hamlets.

Then bam! Road works. The reconstruction of a washed-out bridge, but more than that. Re-working of the road's foundations tells us we are close to re-joining the main Tichka road. One last gravel secteur and then corrugated concrete (which always seems to mean steep gradients) leading to the freshly laid tarmac that takes you to the top.

Footnotes: Photography : Matt Wragg