The Death Road

A nice cycle rid through the countryside it was not. Kilometer 69 north of la Paz marks the beginning of the World's Most Dangerous Road - a treacherous winding road whose narrow dirt track hugs vertical cliffs. With an astonishing statistical record that has claimed three hundred lives per year, it is no wonder that the Inter-American Development Bank labelled this the "Death Road" in 1995. Today it was the mountain biking adventure of our lives.

Why exactly is this road considered the most dangerous? I once read an article written by my Paris buddy, neighbor, partner in crime and F1 journalist, Adam Hay-Nicholls.

Any seasoned traveler can attest that sometimes the worst places make for the best stories. The decision was clear, Mom. The worst regret of anyone's trip is never the places they went or time they wasted, but always what they could have done but never had the chance. I personally have a growing list of adventures we never did on our year-long trip (see below) and I was itching not to add another regret to the list of thrills we could have taken. While our friends Marc and Manna are off snacking on tarantulas, toasting Marc's survival from the Death Road, we are usually fussing over how clean or comfortable our hostel should be, if we owned it.

And where did I get the hairbrained idea to plunge down the the road of death on a bicycle? Our Parisian friend Marc and FIA communicator gave us a fantastic account of his descent. His and Manna's blog Bounding describes their trip around the world in the opposite direction, with some pretty big footsteps for us to follow.

It was fate really. My worst regret to date came from a pub quiz in adrenaline-obsessed New Zealand, you see, where I had won a bungee jump off Auckland harbor bridge but was never able to take the plunge. Therefore the cash prize from the Wild Rover pub was surely destined to be spent at the tour agency downstairs on their suicidal mountain bike ride (where "standard" suspension was advertised as a bargain). Through this justification I just decided the heck with it. Our new Irish friend Liam from the Amazon trip was also up to the challenge. To my shocking surprise so did Steph! And so the three of us signed up the night before our last day in Bolivia - dead or alive.

Praying to Pachamama

In a confusing series of errands we eventually picked up our guide who overslept by about an hour. He seemed a bit out of it until he stopped off for some red bull and a curious bottle of rubbing alcohol that he handed to the driver. He in turn poured some out the window and on to mother earth for good luck. I think we were going to need it. Let's just say that weather was not on our side that morning. La Paz's elevation was overshadowed by a sky of gloom. When I asked our guide if they ever cancelled a trip, he shook his head saying trips are never cancelled. "Even if it were to rain a cat and a dog, we would just have to bike slower". This particular freak cold front decided to worsen in the only way it could by a full-on snowstorm.

The road of death on a sunny day was for sissies. We were destined for the most sinister conditions Bolivia could throw at us. Up we drove through the unrelenting snow that was now blanketing the mountains.

Our date with the downhill circuit was 64k and would be take pretty much all day. Luckily the crew were professional and we were given quality mountain bikes with excellent suspension. A rickety bike is not what you want on this journey. All-kitted up, we were ready for an easy warm up circuit on a sealed road. This neither easy nor boring since our glasses were fogged, an rain was alreading starting to drip down our backs and straight into our butt cracks right down our legs. The excitement came when we drove through a random Bolivian festival on the mountain road. The villagers of the Yungas region were celebrating some sort of trout festival associated with the Virgen del Carmen. An odd choice for this altitude - but this is Bolivia!

At it's deadliest this narrow road between La Paz and Coroico has seen an average of 26 vehicles launch over its unguarded edges in one year. Luckily only 16 cyclists have gone over so far.

Liam, Steph and I may have been drenched through three layers of clothing and caked in mud, but afraid we were not.Nor were we distracted by sunny vistas. It's funny because we had met a kiwi cyclist/thrill-seeker who raved about the trip for it's stunning scenery. This was indeed the top reason we were able to justify paying 500 Bolivian Bolivianos for such an insane trip. Today you could not see past the edge edge of the cliff and the pea soup that masked the six to seven hundred meter drops straight down. This might have been a blessing in disguise since we couldn't exactly see how scared we should be (and how stupid we were).

The gravel surface was muddy, slippy and only 3.2 meters wide. What's more the clouds fogged up our glasses making them useless. Mud then spat in one eye very often, and sometimes both eyes, forcing me to make a few pit stops.

Jeremy Clarkson attempting the WMDR on Top Gear.

Having made it to the bottom via the preferable, gradual way, we could toast to our survival. It was funny to later read that our little bike ride was included in a new book 101 Places Not To See Before You Die, that lists some of the weirdest, most uncomfortable locations around the world. Not surprisingly we also managed to find others from this list along the way on our trip, including a disgusting underpass in Connaught Circle in Delhi. Even funnier was the Top Gear attempt at the WMDR.