Land Roving in 1997 – Amadeus Matzker on the spirit of adventure and exploring North Africa

Sprache wechseln

November was knocking at the door but it wasn’t the weather alone that motivated my friends and I to start planning our next tour to Africa—it had been 10 months since we were last there.

It was raining outside as we drank Kölsch, the local beer, in a Cologne bar and channelled our thoughts toward Africa. Our small group comprised my school friend Ralf, who spent most of his time in Bamako, Mali, our experienced travel partner Hans-Christian (aka HC), our Belgian logistics and Africa expert Jan, and myself, Amadeus Matzker—Land Rover specialist and racing driver from Cologne.

This tour needed to be something special with off-road driving our foremost priority. We wanted to spend as much time as we could amidst some of the most exhilarating terrain the Sahara has to offer, the Sahel. That this entailed passing through some politically unstable regions wasn’t too much of a concern because we had experienced several Touareg ambushes in the past.

The plan was to drive through Morocco, Mauritania, Mali, Algeria, Nigeria, back to Algeria, and finally to the ferry in Tunisia. The stage from Chinguetti to Timbuktu would be particularly spectacular: approximately 2,000 km of free navigation without any opportunities to replenish supplies en route. Consequently, our cars had to be extremely capable off-road with a range of 3,000 km.

Four people, four concepts, four cars: Ralf took his Defender 110 V8 EFI hard top with 185 BHP and considerable payload. HC went with his sporty Range Rover 3.9 V8 EFI with 202 BHP. Jan favoured simplicity and stuck with a naturally aspirated Range Rover 3.5 V8 tuned for torque. I drove the only diesel: my Defender 90 TDI with 143 BHP.

The petrol engined cars had to carry 1,000 litres of fuel to cover the the longest stage whereas my diesel only needed to squeeze half as much into the confines of its small body. All vehicles had finely tuned suspension with as many as three shock absorbers per wheel.

The first stage took us from Nouadhibou to Atar, not on tracks but through the Erg Akchar. One of the Paris–Dakar stages was cancelled here due to the disarray of particularly soft dunes which are virtually impossible to cross. The cars were pushed to the limit as they dug their way through the soft sand under the burden of fully laden tanks. It was impossible to follow the sat-nav because the terrain simply didn’t allow a straight course. For every kilometre the crow can fly, we needed to cover three on the ground. An ideal proving ground ahead of the challenging stage from Chinguetti to Timbuktu which led us through 2,000 km of unpopulated barren desert.

There are no tracks. The landscape appears completely unspoiled and, contrary to our expectations, the route begins with vast expanses of extremely soft dunes punctuated sporadically with tufts of camel grass. Our maps promised a more accommodating terrain.

We were already brooding on the first evening: despite intense driving and high fuel consumption, we only managed to cover 200 km. Come the second evening, after a total of 400 km, we started to wonder if our supplies would actually last as far as Timbuktu. The poor quality of the fuel we purchased in Chinguetti let the consumption soar to an astonishing 40 l/100 km (7 mpg).

And just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse: at the 450 km mark, the terrain changed to an endless expanse of stone and rock where the heavily undulating surface forced us to drive in first gear for hours at a stretch. Not only were our fuel reserves dwindling, so too was our time-frame because our Algerian visas were going to to expire. I cannot begin to describe how we felt after battling our way through virtually impassable terrain without reaching the halfway mark. Close to 1,000 km separated us from both the start and finish.

Things weren’t about to improve. The rocky stretches were replaced by a mix of sand and tufts of camel grass; each tuft surrounded by a mound of sand approximately 30 to 40 cm high. We faced a shock absorber testing ground of unprecedented scale. The axles were constantly fully articulated and more than 30 kmh was out of the question. The shock absorber temperatures rose above 100°C. After two solid days under these conditions, there’s only one thing on your mind: peddle to the metal and let it fly!

Concerns regarding fuel consumption and our visas were more prominent. Eventually, we found a track just short of Timbuktu but were still nervous because a few weeks before we arrived, a relief convoy had been attacked here. To cap it all, there wasn’t an official entry point into Mali. But reaching Timbuktu after 2,000 km of free desert navigation from the north, just like Heinrich Barth (a German Africa explorer in the 19th century), was quite an achievement.

La Mystérieuse, as the town is also known, gave us an almost warm welcome. Unfortunately, we only had one day at our disposal to visit Heinrich Barth’s house and the 12th century mosque with its historic library. And we needed to refuel. We had three days left to cross the Algerian border at Bordj Badji Mokhtar.

Not an easy task considering 1,000 km still lay ahead of us and we couldn’t use any tracks because the risk of ambush was simply too high. Giving the regular routes a wide berth, we felt quite safe as we skirted around to the west of the Adrar des Ifoghas mountains toward the Algerian border at Bordj Badji Mokhtar. The border guards in this sleepy town at the southern most point of the 660 km long Tanezrouft route could hardly believe where we came from. Especially as they hadn’t seen any tourists for quite some time.

It took us a full day of persuasion to make them understand our route. Leaving Bordj Badji Mokhtar we followed the 600 km road to Tamanrasset where we finally took a well earned break for man and machine. We were the only tourists.

Tanks replenished, we continued toward the Ténéré desert in Nigeria whilst avoiding the trails in favour of the beautiful rock landscape on our way to the forbidden fortress at Azahoua. We had to keep out of sight. Our plan was to leave Algeria unnoticed and return equally stealthily after our excursion through the Ténéré, thereby avoiding tediously long formalities at the border. This was no mean feat because the whole region is under close scrutiny to expose smugglers.
We were witness to their efforts the following dawn when, 80 km from the border, we heard the unmistakeable sound of a patrolling aircraft at low altitude. We froze in our sleeping bags next to our cars, which we had campouflaged the previous evening, and were lucky not to be seen. That was a close call. Our next unplanned stop occurred just as we were crossed the border when a shock absorber mount tore off, but lady luck was still on our side and we left Algeria without further ado.

The breathtakingly beautiful Ténéré landscape was a just reward for all the risks. Continuing south along the Aïr mountain range, fascinated by the transformation from golden yellow sand in the desert on our left to the pitch black of the lava mountains on the right. On virgin terrain, we fought our way through the highest dunes of the Ténéré toward Gréboun.

The cars struggled as we climbed several hundred metres in altitude on soft sand. The tyre pressures reduced to 0.6 bar. The panoramas were incredible. Passing the blue Chiriet mountains, we drove through the wild gorges of Tamgak to the Arakaou crater which raises its 12 km wide crown from the dunes. Once inside the crater, we climbed the high dunes and marvelled at the fantastic view across the Ténéré. We continued to the legendary Arbre du Ténéré, where our heading changed toward the east, and joined the old salt caravan routes leading to the Fachi and Dirkou oases.

Upon our arrival in Fachi it felt as if we had travelled several thousand years back in time. Salt was being harvested with the simplest means under gruelling conditions, without technological aids, sun-dried, and transported away. Mind you, the camels had succumbed to the good old round-bonneted Mercedes trucks.

From here we still had another 300 km through soft sand before reaching Dirkou. Even the V8s struggled to get above third gear. Our first stop upon arrival was to visit Jerome, an old friend and warhorse, now well into his eighties. It was nice to see him in good spirits. Jerome fought against Rommel during the Second World War at El Alamein and had been selling smuggled fuel from Libya for the last 50 years in Dirkou. He even supplied the Paris–Tripoli–Dakar rally. Alas, it was soon time to bid our farewells and move on.

Heading north, we left the Ténéré via the infamous Balise Berliet trail and reentered Algeria through the Erg Admer. Not along the recently built asphalt road, but across soft sand, rock and through thick bushes in the Oued Imhirou toward Illizi. The old trail was completely overgrown and soft alluvial sand caused the cars sink up to their wheel hubs. But we found solace in a hot well in Oued. Let’s be honest, there are far worse things to do than enjoy the last bottle of whiskey of the journey, sitting in warm water, and gazing up at the star-studded Sahara night sky.

Since we wanted to steer clear of the roads as much as possible, we followed the trails past Debdeb toward Tunisia. Even at the end of this tour, our confidence got the better of us. After a brief calculation of our fuel reserves we decided to take the most direct route through the Grand Erg Oriental to Chott el Djerid in Tunisia.

We should have known better! Exuberance is seldom left unpunished. The cars struggled in the sand and we kept finding ourselves submersed in the mountainous dunes of the Grand Erg. There are still flatter zones between these mighty mountains of sand, but they are becoming few and far between—until all that is left is one mighty dune covered with smaller ones.

We struggled forwards like sand fleas only to discover that our fuel was insufficient to turn back. The two days we calculated for this stage had already turned into five and we had completely run out of food. Finally, we drank our last cup of coffee and all that remained was water and sugar.

To call this driving would be a gross exaggeration because, at the end of a day filled with zig-zagging and steep descents, we had barely covered 20 km. Every metre was scouted on foot lest we waste any fuel. For the first time in more than 200,000 km in Africa, the question as to whether we would succeed in retrieving man and machine from the desert raised its ugly head.

But we made it.

With a good portion of patience and careful scrutiny of the map, we managed to navigate the shortest route out of this labyrinth only to be arrested in Sabrina, the first village we come across, for illegal entry. Suspected as Algerian spies, the Tunisian secret service whisked us off to the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Tunis. Despite our efforts to explain our route and touristic endeavours, the Tunisian authorities remained suspicious and escorted us onto the ferry to Genua to ensure our swift departure.

A fitting finale for such an adventure.

Amadeus Matzker Since 1985, Amadeus Matzker travelled almost annually to North Africa in search of trails less travelled and the beauty of the desert far away from civilisation.

In 1986, aged 20, Amadeus turned his passion into a business when he founded his company Matzker, a Land Rover specialist. Amadeus competed in more than 20 rallies as constructor/driver, demonstrating not only his own competitiveness but also that of his cars.

Amadeus Matzker died on January 24th, 2016, following a tragic accident in the Mauritanian desert. He was 49 years old.

This article was first published in the Spring 2019 issue of Overland Journal.