Cycling

It’s World Cup fever here in Marrakech, and Wimbledon is in full swing, too, but Hamoud is a cyclist and a cycling fan. He rides 3-4 times a week including a four- hour ride on the weekends. For him, the World Cup takes a back seat to the Tour de France, and he watches it religiously, filling us in each day on who won the stage, who fell, who won the various sprints and other bonuses, and who is likely to win after the doping allegations wiped the favorites from the race.

He shows off his new shoes and Campagnolo biking components till our eyes glaze over. Each weekend he rides with his team, which competes at races across the country. While he loves riding with the team, there’s a big internal push to make Hamoud the team’s manager. It’s the manager who is responsible for renting hotel rooms and providing meals when the team travels to races.



Two weeks ago, the regular manager wasn’t able to make a race in Casablanca, and Hamoud filled in. In typical Hamoud style, he brought flair and fiscal creativity to the project. When all was said and done, with Hamoud in charge, the trip cost less that 50% of what it normally costs. It turned out the team manager had been negotiating with the hotels and restaurants to get huge kickbacks on all that was spent. Given that the team just lost a sponsor, and every dirham counts, Hamoud’s homemade picnic dinner and budget lodging earned him a “yellow jersey.”




Hamoud has been inviting us to join him at races or watch his team practice at 6 am for weeks, and well, we’ve run out of excuses. This morning, we drive out to photograph Hamoud and the team. His wife, Hint, is at the wheel of their rickety white Renault wagon, circa 1976, and she turns out to be a far more skilled and intrepid driver than expected. Crammed in with us are their sons, Youssef and Yassim, and well as Hint’s 15-year-old sister, who’s along as a translator.


We drive south on the road to Taroudant for an hour through flat farmland, past women doing laundry in an aqueduct by the side of the road. When we finally come upon the peleton of 20 or so riders, the boys squeal with glee. Like sports stat-crazy kids the world over, the boys shout out the names of each of the riders. We follow them back as the riders mug for the camera and endure the honking of horns from the cars we’re blocking. Hint’s sure hand at the wheel keeps us from several near head-on collisions with large vegetable-laden trucks hurtling at us from the opposite direction.









At one point, as the peleton surges around us, Hamoud grabs ahold of the car and we drag him up to the front of the group for the final sprint. He gives a conspiratorial wink as he shoves off for the sprint to the finish. Afterward, we stop to say hello before Hamoud and the group head back to the city at cool-down speed, he points to his heart rater monitor where 187bpm is blinking his efforts.



While the team has riders of all ages and skill, there are a couple of young cyclists who are quite successful, and Hamoud hopes to use the photos to show to potential sponsors. He’s worried that without a new sponsor, the better riders with decamp to another team.


We finish by 11 am, and as the temperature rises toward a projected 104 today, we head off in search of shade.