A postcard from Morocco.

Stefan Hähnel is a Berlin-based photographer and racer who thrives where the pavement ends. A dual-threat behind the lens and in the drops, Stefan doesn’t just document the sufferfest—he lives it. Fresh from the High Atlas, he brings us a visual and personal account of the ice, the wind, and the unexpected warmth of this year’s Atlas Mountain Race.

Words and Images by Stefan Hähnel

Six hours of rain, followed by a fresh –7° and a good amount of snow up at 2,600 meters while crossing the High Atlas Mountains. It wasn't just the roads that were covered in ice—my clothes and shoes were stiff from a thick layer of it, too. The first night of this year’s Atlas Mountain Race was special. But it wasn’t the hardest part of the trip.

As the sun rose on the first day, heavy headwind picked up. The elements sucked a lot of energy out of everyone early in the race. Reaching the first checkpoint after just under 24 hours, I felt sick and weak. So I made a decision: an early stop, some food, a shower, and a gentle six hours of rest. That helped me to recover, but I still felt the need to give my body more sleep and stops for real food throughout the rest of the race—to avoid breaking down and to make sure I could reach the finish line by bike.

Leaving CP1 at 10 p.m., I was hoping for a quiet night, but the wind returned, even stronger than before. Wind gusts exceeding 100 km/h are seriously no fun when riding on loose off-road tracks. Often, I had to push the bike. Three times the wind blew me off the path; luckily I didn’t crash. I’ve never experienced anything like that on a bike. The sunrise up on a high, remote plateau was incredibly beautiful, but I couldn’t really enjoy it because the wind was still blowing. And it didn’t let up for the rest of the day. During the daytime, it was mentally easier for me to deal with those conditions, but progress was slow and low.

The expected warm Moroccan weather—with a strong African winter sun—finally arrived on the third day. Race routine set in: where do I get the next omelette? Do I bivy outside in the desert or do I manage to find an auberge for the night? My body didn’t feel perfect, but it felt good enough to finally enjoy the ride. I met other racers along the route and had good chats. Not only did camels cross my way, but I also encountered a big, black scorpion during the long, dark climb up the "Moroccan Stelvio"—good to know that just one percent of all scorpion species are life-threatening to humans.

The last night had a special gift to offer. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, I stopped to refill water and realized the building beside me was a mosque—with its doors missing. It was a no-brainer to take that spot for two last hours of sleep on the soft carpet floor before pedaling the final stretch of the race along the coast up to the finish in Essaouira. AMR was tough but offered us a rare taste of what an authentic winter can be in Morocco. What a better way to start a new year of racing?