The really exceptionally deadly dangerous Bolivian death road.
From the center of La Paz we book and take a trip to cycle the Bolivian death road, high in the mountain range of the Bolivian Andes. We manage to haggle a little with Altitude (the trip providers) and get the entrance to the location paid for us (other less hagglesome riders are forced to pay the fee).
We get picked up alongside the Aussie girls, Jasmin Rachel and Alba from the Cruz de los Andes hostel and three Bolivian mechanics/route guides sit up front in the Urvan minibus. We depart and navigate the fraught rush hour traffic of La Paz, stopping at the whim of the drivers stomach (The driving is always slightly careless with an uneasy density of cars and pedestrians at any one point). We pick up more people along the way until the van is full and we sit shoulder to shoulder with other death road riders. Our stomachs sink as we hear more stories of people being robbed by people pretending to be police officers, rifling through bags on “supposed” drug searches.
We continue to drive along the outskirts in a perpetual incline through superfluous checkpoints with superfluous police/security guarding mountains. Our van is underpowered and proves inept against the mountain ascent, struggling to keep a decent pace and creating tailbacks en route. For what the van cannot deliver in speed, the scenery pays us back in spades. A spectacle of enormous pyramid shapes jut forward prominently in the morning sun as the van weaves through the challenging mountain roads, the engine almost becoming audibly relieved when reaching brief periods of descent. We eventually stop at a stunning vista that is truly worthy of a Tolkein descriptive. Think Mordor, think Mount Doom, think Rivendell, think Holy crap (not so Tolkien). The gargantuan scenery instils a sense of insignificance, boldly stretching from base to plateau, river deep, mountain high. Four thousand, seven hundred meters up, the moist mountainscapes are green from almost being perpetually immersed in cloud, and could not be more different from the sprawling mass markets of La Paz.
The group squeezes into weathered wind proof jackets and trousers over our jeans and leggings (I wear the jeans, Lucy wears the leggings). It is cold and we are thankful for the layers of protection, all except for Lucy’s ankles which are exposed from having to wear protective trousers designed for a very short person. The ankles of the trousers ride high around Lucy’s shins and I find this very funny.
We eat a humble breakfast of bread rolls and jam and are then given one of many safety briefings for the death road. Don’t fall off the side seems to be the only message from the briefing in true Bolivian style. There is time for a few group photo’s and we begin the three/four hour journey down the death road.
The first section is fast, steep Tarmac and we set a good pace down the mountain road, which is wide and windy (and windy). The combination of speed, and sweeping bends demands concentration and I have to keep remembering the brakes are on back to front (on this bike the right brake controls the back wheel and the left controls the front). Occasionally I get it wrong and the advanced suspension sickeningly lurches forward and down towards the ground (thankfully I don’t go over the handlebars). The scenery flies by and I have to remember to keep looking up from the road to watch the ocular goodies pass on by. The road is slightly slick looking and reflects the light from the sun creating intense high contrast vista points which we don’t get time to take in.
The next section is where the true death road begins. We are transported by van (bypassing a nine mile uphill section) to the beginning of the track. The road is much narrower here without the luxury of asphalt or Tarmac, our tyres grip to nothing much more than dirt. The track is carved into the mountain side and the top of this section is shrouded eerily in white cloud, initially not allowing us to gauge the height of the white abyss to the left.
We start and pedal tentatively trying to keep ourselves away from the edge (and certain death) of the death road. The guide at the front of the pack sets a sickeningly fast pace. There are sporadic barriers in place on the worst corners, but these remain far and few between. The descent continues and brief breaks in the cloud allows us slightly terrifying glimpses of the distance to the canyon floor below. The mountainsides are steep and lush with green vegetation. Again, the road demands full attention with little time being allowed for looking over the edge. Motorised traffic is diverted onto the road due to a nearby landslide chucking it’s muck, requiring us to “hug the edge”, stop and let cars, trucks and diggers pass. The road at points is scarily narrow, only allowing one vehicle at any time to straddle the mountain road.
As we continue, mountain waterfalls cascade before us, landing directly onto the old mountain road. This in combination with the wheels of the oversized vehicles creates a quagmire of grooves which, at times, our bikes our forced to follow. We ride through the cold waterfalls which soak our bikes and clothing in the process. Cold mud flies from our tires and covers our faces and clothing. Skidmarks emblazon our backs from derrière to hair. A support van stays at the back of the pack in case something happens and then it did.
In terms of balancing the gopro video footage to feature both of us on the death road, Lucy offers to wear the camera on her helmet and we stop for a minute to set it up. I setup the correct angle and we ride onwards. As we start to pick up speed through the waterfall section, the track starts to deteriorate. Lucy fights against the slippery mud and deep truck tyre grooves getting driven closer towards the edge of the road. Finally Lucy’s bike slips out from underneath her and she falls directly onto her knee, causing a painful injury. I look back to see Lucy in a heap on the floor, centimetres from the edge of the death road precipice.
I dump my bike and run to help. The Aussie nurses are also quick to the scene to help Lucy off the floor. Lucy picks herself up and dusts herself off, slightly embarrassed but lucid enough to blame the fall on my speed through the waterfalls. Valiantly Lucy continues to ride most of the rest of the descent even though she is visibly in a lot a pain. We take it easy for the next few sections, hang near the back of the pack and get more time to take in the dramatic scenery.
Our bikes are specifically designed for down hill mountain trails with deep suspension forks that absorb bumps in the road, and allow a “pop” or two of semi sized boulders in the road. Our slower speed allows me to play with the bike a little.
The rate of descent is such that the journey noticeably transcends different climates. The top is wintery and chilly, but by the time we reach the halfway point we have to change our clothing to accommodate the surging temperatures we experience.
We reach the final section and Lucy decides to take the support van down to the bottom of the death road, knee still in a fair degree of pain. This turned out to be its own scary experience as the minivan wobbled its own route down the death road, wheels teetering scarily close to cliff edges.
With Lucy “safely” in the support van, I let loose with the bike and pedal hard down the death road. One by one, I manage to pass the other riders (some falling on tight hairpins) and go wheel to wheel with the guide at the front. He looks back and pedals really hard, leaving me for dust. We pass through settlements and villages with small children holding large chickens running out of the path of our bikes. The road narrows even further as the corners narrow and tighten. I realise my bike’s back break has stopped working properly, leaving me forced to use the front break, truly unnerving at this speed. The final few turns twist forth and one by one we reach the bottom of the death road, shortly followed by Lucy in the support van.
Panting for breath, hot and sweaty, we rehydrate and change from the protective clothing into our “survivor” t-shirts. We had survived the death road with a fair bit of scathing and we lived to tell the tale but the road made us pay with the sacrifice of a twisted knee. Upon reflection, I think we got off lightly.