Benni!....Benni!......Benni! Benni! Benni! Benni! Benni! I must sound like a high volume, low quality Elton John tribute as I chase after the cyclist that has just zoomed past the cafe where we're all sat. It's been a week since our farewell at the top of the Tizi n'Tichka and we weren't sure if we'd see him again but after a detour further south, Benni has caught us up again. He joins us to warm his toes by the fire in the cafe. We're on the last stretch in the High Atlas which means we're rewarded with lots of descending down to Tounfite. One hotel is full, the other is a smoke-filled working man's hostel so we huddle near a street BBQ to weigh up our options. As the rain starts, the prospect of pitching our tents doesn't seem too appealing. But our saviour comes in the form of Khalid who asks if he can help before offering his home for us to stay the night. His whole family embrace us and we're given henna tattoos by his sisters, warmed to boiling point by their stove and fed the largest pile of cous cous we've ever seen. Once again, Moroccan hospitality leaves us grateful and humbled. With the snow covered peaks behind us, we pedal into the wind across a barren plain into Boumia. The tarmac disappears and we're challenged with a steep rocky climb that takes us towards Khanifra National Park and the Middle Atlas Mountains. These feel more alpine, with dense forest interspersed with lush green pastures. The only clue that we're not in Switzerland are the monkeys calling to the rest of the troop from the tree tops. Patient shepherds watch huge flocks of sheep and goats. Between them the fruit orchards are beginning to sprout coloured blossom. Each afternoon we've been dodging thunder storms and on a last, speedy descent into Oum Rabia we get a soaking. The five of us pile into a guest house and hang our soggy kit off every available hook. Luckily Moroccan floors are always tiled so the drips can be mopped up easily in the morning. From here we begin to eye up some more off road routes that have some of the group excited and others more apprehensive. Hopefully there will be a way to satisfy everyone.

The drummers beat a rhythm on their bendir while the crowd chant in unison. We join the villagers to form a circle surrounding the musicians linking arms, clapping and gently bobbing our shoulders. The circle moves round as the music picks up pace while some people break away to dance in a frenzy in the centre of the circle, arms held wide and grinning from ear to ear. When we eventually peel ourselves away from the party we ask our new friend Azi what the occasion is. He tells us this happens every night in Tamalout "It's a crazy village!" It never ceases to amaze me how chance can change a journey like this in an instant. To get to that party we'd ridden over a 2900m pass capped in snow. We'd camped in a small copse of silver birch and then ridden along a long valley filled with terraced farmland before climbing further into the mountains. The asphalt roads had given way to rocky dirt tracks with fast flowing streams to cross, filled with ice-cold melt water. The excitement of a 10km descent was soon forgotten when the reward was a steep climb, just as long. But we arrived at the top of what we hoped was the last climb of the day just before Mohammed in his little Dacia. He jumped out of the car and in broken French began a conversation regarding football, our love of Morocco and eventually where we planned to spend the night. "Vouz restez a chez moi" he told us.  With directions to his village, we sped down the mountain and into Tamalout to be greeted by his cousin Azi who spoke very good English. Surrounded by excited children we push up to his house and spend the rest of the evening eating, dancing and meeting what felt like the entire community. Everyone knows everyone here and Azi explains that they all help each other out. This is why Mohammed wanted to help us and had offered the invitation without a second thought.  The whole experience is a highlight of the trip and a glimpse of a life that is so far removed from our own. We continue on the next day with new friendships, full hearts and an eagerness to find out what might happen around the next corner.

The saying goes that there's no such thing as a tailwind, you just feel stronger on some days. So with new found power we make good progress on the flat, sandy road out of Ourzazarte and manage to tuck down into a dry river bed to camp for the night. Eventually the hills loom large again and we enter the Dades valley where there's enough geography to fill a GCSE textbook. It's taken millions of years to twist and push and carve this incredible landscape and we feel very privileged to be riding our bikes through the middle of it all. Winching up a ladder of hairpins through a steep sided gorge we then climb higher to follow the rim of an enormous canyon with swirling patterns and colours of rock that wouldn't look out of place on a Van Gough masterpiece. The day is amplified by the fact that the new moon has signalled the end of Ramadan so Eid al Fitr has begun. Everyone is dressed in their finest robes and coloured, leather shoes as they happily greet friends and family and begin feasting. Unlike the previous month, nobody goes hungry today and in a small village we're invited to join a family in their home to share in their celebrations. The table is laden with dates, cake, bread, olives and endless tea. We're encouraged to 'mangez, mangez!' and to stay for a few days. If only we had more time. Allah continues to send his blessings with blue skies and friendly greetings for the rest of the date. Excited children offer henna-stained palms for high fives. Another man loads us up with bread and fruit before introducing us to his pet stork. An Eid that we'll always remember, we end the day at an auberge at the foot of the highest pass that we'll cross on the trip. Insha'Allah our legs will stay strong to the top.

Unzipping the tent we discover that we're now pitched on a vegetable patch up above the river valley. Jamal is one of the men that had asked us to move on the night before and this is his land. Perhaps by way of an apology he provides a hearty breakfast for us that more than makes up for the night time upheaval.  Well fed, we climb back on to the bikes and begin two days of climbing. First up to 1800m on double digit gradients and then on shallower roads to the top of the famous Tizi n'Tichka at 2260m. Our legs eventually give up trying to complain. Dropping down off the pass we enter an arid landscape of firey reds and yellow ochre. It's difficult to know which of the villages are inhabited and which ones are being reclaimed by the mountains but there is life in the form of tiny bakeries and basic shops to help keep us going. We speed down to the edge of the desert and into Ourzazate on an unfriendly highway. Without a hard shoulder it's a nerve wracking experience but we make it into the city in one piece.  Benny has now raced on ahead so we're back to a group of 4 and now have two days in the desert before returning to the mountains. I think we already know which landscape we prefer!

There's nothing quite like the sound of the call to prayer to let you know you're somewhere more exotic. It echoes out across the sandy, brown city as we sip mint tea on a roof top terrace. A day is enough for us to get our fill of the narrow alleyways of the souks in Marrakech, laden with coloured ceramics, ornate lanterns and hopeful vendors.  Before leaving town we load up with couscous, porridge and biscuits then steer towards the mountains on the horizon. There's one more week of Ramadan so we're not sure when and if we'll be able to resupply. It turns out we needn't have worried as we soon find fresh oranges and dates from friendly roadside stalls but have to be careful not to eat them in front of anyone while the sun's up. After 25km we turn off the smooth road and quickly scramble for traction on a steep gravel road. It's a taster of what The High Atlas is likely to throw at us and leaves us breathless but beaming. We collect another cycle tourist on the way in the form of Benny from Germany and our peloton of 5 rolls up and over the foot hills slowly but surely. At the end of the day we find a perfect riverside campspot and enjoy the evening with the snowy mountain tops peaking down from further up the valley. Less perfect is the rude awakening by the local sheriff and a policeman at 11pm. They can't be convinced that we are happy where we are so we're forced to decamp and follow them into the night. It seems that Morocco is going to be full of surprises. #routeofcaravans #morococycletouring

A change of plan means a change of map. We were supposed to be flying to Dubai today to begin riding to Muscat but the world had other ideas thanks to Don and Ben. We're extremely fortunate to have the luxury of being able to switch to a more stable region to ride our bikes but will be thinking of all of those who don't have that option at the moment. Next stop Marrakech. #marrakechtomadrid #atlasmountains #routeofcaravans #cycletouring

Worcester to Brussels 5 trains, 1 ferry and 5 bike rides have taken us from Worcester to Belgium's capital with @letsgoanddofunstuff. Land of waffles, frites with mayo and for some reason statues of peeing children. We're hoping the infamous Flandrian wind will be kind to us for the return ride along Eurovelo 5. #calais #ghent #brussels #flanders #cycletouringbelgium #orangebikes

A @hilleberg_the_tentmaker tent is a big investment but at the same time they are remarkably good value. Ours has given us nearly 500 cozy nights in all weathers, landscapes and altitudes and is still going strong. Things do sometimes wear out but the team in Sweden are always happy to help and get replacements sent out immediately without question and without cost. We've just changed a few pole sections, shock cords and zippers and it's ready for another adventure whenever we are! #hillebergthetentmaker #cycletouring #getwhatyoupayfor #homeiswherethehillebergis #campinglife #5millionstarhotel

Dauin to Manila, Luzon, Philippines  It's nearly time to go. It's by no means the end of the archipeligo but we need to get a ferry from Cebu in 2 days time. It's tempting at the port in Dumaguete to look at the boat to the island of Mindinao in the south that has been recommended to us by a few people but not by the foreign office. Instead we board the boat to Bohol and ride towards the middle of the island to find a sanctuary for the world's smallest primate: The Tarsier. Sleepy from a night of foraging we find them nestled under the leaves and clinging to trees surprisingly close to our eye level. I have to hold Kirsty back from trying to smuggle one into her barbag. The road across Bohol is about as pleasant as they come. Sweeping through the forest with little traffic and few hills we're taking it easy knowing this is the last full day of riding of the trip. There's a slight detour to swim at a waterfall before we drop down to another ferry to Cebu city.  There's just one last slice of Filipino culture that we need to sample and I hand over 5 pesos at a small cafe, scribble a number on a piece of paper and wait my turn. Karaoke is bigger here than even Taiwan and Japan. All too soon the opening bars of Wonderwall blast out and I take to the stage to give it my best shot. It's a very supportive crowd and when it's over I thank them all for humouring me. The 16th and final ferry journey of the trip is a long one. 30 hours on board the MV Masigla to return us back to Manila gives us more time to read, rest and watch the islands that have taken us 3 weeks to ride down pass gently by. In a call to my mum she says the time has flown by but for us the start of the trip seems an age away. A lot of road has passed under our wheels since the streets of Tokyo, the volcanoes on Kyushu, the string of Japanese islands, busy Taipei, coast and mountains of Taiwan before the smiles, colour & heat of the Philippines. 10 weeks jam-packed with ups, downs, surprises, challenges and wonder. Checking the bikes in at the airport the curious airline staff ask "Where have you been?". We both take a deep breath and begin "Well.....".

Bacolod to Dauin, Negros, Philippines  Our ferry arrives on Negros in the middle of a torrential tropical rain storm. Unlike the cold rain we'd endured in Taiwan this a welcome relief. The only drawback is that the roads quickly flood which hides all the pot holes. We get to dry off at the home of Edi and Emma, more wonderful Warmshowers hosts. Edi has already been a great help in advising our route down from Manila having spent a few years and many thousand km exploring the area by bike. This is on top of two laps of the globe. We spend the evening pouring over maps to plan the last leg of our journey and learning a bit more about life in the Philippines. Negros is a sugar cane island and although the route Edi sends us on is relatively quiet, there are occasional horn honks as enormous trucks chug past with sugar cane stacked so high that they barely fit under the trees. Between the fields are cockerel farms with hundreds of prize birds being bread for fighting. This is not somewhere that you need an alarm clock. After Kabankalan we turn onto a smaller mountain road and the living gets more basic and the views more rural. Buffalo take the strain lugging the harvested cane and ploughing. The road gets rough but climbs at a comfortable 5%. Edi had promised this would be the best riding on the island and it's hard to disagree. As we drop back down to the coast the sky looks ominous & the rumble of thunder gets closer. We just make it to Sipalay before the storm hits us and the evening is spent sheltering and watching the storm flash all around us. We work down the coast through noticeably poorer areas. The villages have hand pumps for water and the only paved road is the main one that we're riding on. Supplies are harder to find except for the ever present Sari Sari stores that stock the basics in single serving sizes from behind a mesh window.  The final stretch into Dauin is fast with wind assistance but in the middle of town we pull on the brakes. We're stopping here to do some more diving ' the break feels well timed with fatigue from the heat & hills sitting in our legs like a lead weight. It'll be nice to have a rest before the last few days of the trip.