Let me begin by stating that I do not have a death wish. However, the desire to experience different and increasingly intense challenges is a huge one. I meet someone. They say that they have done something quite remarkable. I search for enthusiasm and sincerity in their eyes and voice, and suddenly it is on my to-do list.
It was whilst I was horse riding in Salta, that I met a group of twenty somethings (they are all twenty somethings!) and one of the girls, when she discovered I was heading to La Paz said, "Ohh! Are you going there to ride Death Road?" My quizzical raising of an eyebrow was enough to indicate that I had not heard of Death Road and she instantly launched into her description with her friend. It was a captivating performance of enthusiasm, energy and excitement. Their eyes shone with recollection. When they finished babbling at speed, they looked at me with expectation. So I answered their question: "Yes, strangely enough, I am going to La Paz to ride Death Road!"
I decided not to tell any loved ones of my intention. I also resisted looking it up on the internet. I had a vague memory of a documentary I had seen years ago about the 'World's Most Dangerous Roads' and besides, I had phenomenal descriptions already in my mind.
As La Paz grew ever nearer, I met more young travellers sporting t-shirts emblazoned with dramatic logos with the words "I survived Death Road - will you?" and I heard more and more people discussing it. I was more determined than ever to make sure I tackled this mountain biking adventure.
I had just three days in La Paz and a long list of things to do, from buying a new camera to visiting the Iglesia and Museo of San Francisco, but first - track down a company who rides Death Road.
It turns out there are lots of them and they all vary in price, quality and experience. Some use bikes which have front and rear suspension, hydraulic disk brakes and a range of professional safety equipment, from quality helmets to knee and elbow pads. Other companies then buy these bikes and equipment second hand at the end of a season, whilst the first company replace them all with new. A third tier of provider then buys resources third hand and offers bikes without disk brakes or suspension.
I choose the second category (it better fitted my budget.)
I was going to be picked up between 8.00 and 8.30 from my hotel. As ever, I was ready early, which was fortunate, as the guide arrived at 7.45. We introduced ourselves and as we walked to the vehicle he told me we were lucky with the weather today, we had only a small group of four riders and that two were beautiful women from Brazil ! With our driver Luis, our group totalled 6 and we set off into the mountains of La Paz. I recognised the route I had travelled the day before on a private tour and admired again the stunning scenery of La Cumbre. Within an hour we had arrived and we started to don our jackets, trousers, pads, gloves and helmets. Other, larger bicycle groups started to arrive and set up around us and I was glad we were so few. Stood in snow and ice, at an altitude of 4750m above sea level (15,584 feet - the highest I have ever been outside of an aeroplane) I did wonder whether I was up for the challenge.
Harry, our guide, was from Germany, but he spoke fluent Spanish and English. He had visited Bolivia 15 years earlier and had never left. Now married to a Bolivian, he had lived in La Paz for 8 years and had a child on the way. He cycled Death Road 3 or 4 times a week depending on the weather, but after recent snow and rain, today was his first ride out for a while. When he was satisfied with our equipment and had adjusted each bike for each individual he gave us a significant and sobering safety talk about what we had ahead. "People die on this road every year," he began, "I recently lost one of my group when two riders, riding side-by-side collided. They were friends. The one who swerved into the other knocked him over the precipice. I told them not to ride side-by-side." Then he smiled and said it was time to read and sign our indemnity papers.
I read and signed. We posed for final departure photos, a group shot and then some individual close-ups "for identification!" joked Harry, and then we set off.
The first part was an amazing downhill on good quality tarmac. We were soon passing buses and lorries, laying flat over our handlebars to decrease our wind resistance and increase velocity. The speed was exhilarating, though with my height and weight, I found that my momentum kept growing and Harry had to instruct me to slow down when I kept threatening to overtake him.
Despite the huge mountain bike tyres and heavy bikes, we were flying at 70kph+ round hairpins and curves, with steep drops to our side, marvelling at the majestic views of snow capped peaks. After 15 minutes we came to a halt. Harry wanted to check everyone was OK and we had chance to admire the dramatic valley and landscape ahead and below. Looking over the very edge of the cliff face I could make out a bus on the valley floor. "Eight years ago that bus went over", said Harry, answering my unspoken question, "everyone died." We all just nodded and kept staring at the bus. "And there," continued Harry pointing to the right, "a Canadian man, cycling on his own went over the edge. They only found his body three month later." I noticed two more vehicle wrecks at the bottom and swayed momentarily with a sudden sense of vertigo. I decided to step away form the edge and remount my bike.
Ten minutes later the road entered a tunnel and a sign said that bicycles were not permitted. We rested up as Harry explained the next section was off road. We let another cycle group go past. 12 bikes flew by, but a girl riding three bikes from the rear of the group promptly fell off and landed heavily. Her fellow riders helped her up, but she soon sat down again, seemingly unable to unstraddle her bike. We rode past carefully and left her to be dealt with by her group.
We were now cycling through green, tree covered mountains and hills, the snow far above and behind us. Our speeds increased again as everyone grew in confidence and we once again hit tarmac. I had only needed to pedal on three occasions so far. My kind of cycling!
We reached the border of the National Park and a police check point. We paid a nominal entrance fee and stopped for breakfast. Everyone in the group was smiling like school children and we were fast becoming friends as we laughed, talked and encouraged each other. Fabiana joked about not telling her mum what she was doing today and it turned out that none of us had told our respective parents.
Our bikes were then loaded back onto our minivan and we set off for part two of our adventure.
We were now travelling through denser forest and jungle. The temperature had increased dramatically from our icy start and we were all admiring the stunning Bolivian scenery, trying to take photos as we rattled and bumped along increasingly unsurfaced roads. After just 15 minutes we pulled over at an idyllic high spot. Everyone clambered out of the van and we all admired the 'road' we could see winding through the hillside. Bikes were given a once over, clothing and equipment was checked and then Harry called us together for our next briefing.
"This is the start of the hard part," he began. "It is now far more difficult and dangerous. Do not ride side-by-side. Stay to the left, because occasionally big vehicles will be coming and if you are on the right, you will not see them as they come around the bend and that will be that. Do not go over the edge on the left, but the road is best there. Go at your own speed. We will stop many times and Luis will be following us in the van. If you have a problem or want to stop, he will pick you up. Any questions?" We all shook our heads and grinned stupidly at each other. "Stand up in your saddles, keep hold of your brakes and remember, rear brake always first." He looked each of us in the eye until we nodded understanding, repeated some things in German for Florian and Spanish for Fabiana and Adriana and then he said "let's go!!"
Now I have ridden on numerous tracks before. Forests, hills, trails and paths. The surface is usually a mix of mud, shale, shingle, chippings, bark and so forth. Bumpy - yes, slippy - yes, but this surface was something else. Huge rocks and stones, dips and hollows, ruts and peaks. The width of a single lorry and with a 1000 foot precipice to the left hand side. We all started rather gingerly (except Harry) brakes clenched, standing on our pedals and we started to pick up speed. The road twisted and turned with sudden and severe hairpins and blind corners. Water flowed and dripped continuously as the sides of the hills and mountains cascaded water down their sides. The sun shone, the sky was blue and I was singing.
For forty minutes we whizzed downhill. Speed increasing and the jolts constantly shaking each rider as suspensions valiantly tried to accommodate the surface. My arms were shaking with effort, my hands aching from the constant judder and clasping of the brakes, my neck sore from looking up as I adopted a crouching stance on the pedals. Eventually, Florian and I started to gain on Harry as we abandoned our brakes and let momentum take us. Adriana, flew almost as fast, grinning the whole time as she raced down the mountain, but Fabiana fell a little further and further back, jolting and bumping and braking her way down the mountain with Luis and the van close behind.
I cannot adequately describe the light, the smell and the air, but I will try. Our rapid descent from nearly 5,000m was intoxicating as we started to feel the rush of oxygen in bodies. Butterflies fluttered everywhere, clouds of them dancing on the path in front of us. Birds squawked and flitted from bough to bough. Huge ferns festooned the cliff and hillside, condors and birds of prey circled in the thermals above, our bikes rattled and bounced and we grinned like fools. Harry was right about the road surface being smoother at the edge, and I confidently road a line precariously close to the drop to maximise my speed and minimise my vibrations. Adriana stubbornly kept to the right, preferring to take her chances with an oncoming vehicle than ride too close to the edge and Florian adopted a central line close to Harry.
I would skid around a corner into dappled sunlight and dripping foliage, splash through puddles on the road and whoop and holler with enthusiasm. At times I stopped to admire the scenery, take photographs and to allow the girls to catch up, before shooting off again. This is not a route you can get lost on - it is a single winding descent, marked with occasional crosses and shrines to those who have died on it.
Eventually we came to a halt at a shelter and gladly drank cup after cup of water. I felt on top of the world and could feel the difference in altitude as an abundance of adrenaline fuelled energy. A tour group of older travellers, who were sharing the shelter, took photos of us all and our bikes and then trained their eyes on the road ahead. Harry called us together. "OK, this next bit is the most dangerous and the most difficult." I looked at the track. "I will go first. I will stick to the right this time and hug the cliff wall. I will be careful through the waterfalls. I will not go on the left. I will go slowly. It is very slippery, very narrow. You all take care yes?" and he nodded enthusiastically at us all. We all nodded back.
I can proudly say that this time my tongue did not feel dry and my mouth did not go clacky. I was not nervous - I was excited and eager. I didn't want to patiently wait for Harry to make his descent I wanted to go now. The four of us watched as he cycled down the mountain. The tour group watched. We saw Harry go under falling water, we saw him twist and turn on a narrow road which hugged the cliff face and then fell away to nothing. We saw him standing on his pedals, cycling at times and maintaining a path on the right. Then he stopped at a distant corner, dismounted, waved and signalled for us to set off.
The descent was amazing. Whilst the rocks were slick with moss and water, which cascaded from the cliffs above, I rode with unnatural confidence and assurance, twisting and turning, at one with my bike. Refreshingly cool water poured onto our helmets as we passed beneath the remnants of waterfalls (which pour with force when the snow melts and the rains come) and I laughed out loud. I had time to wonder who made this road centuries earlier - probably Incan slaves literally carving it out of the cliff face by hand - and I offered up a prayer of thanks to all those who probably died in doing so? Their legacy was our elixir of pure adrenaline. Harry filmed us all as we completed the descent and I could hear the whoops and hollers of each of our group as we passed the camera. After a photo stop on the the very edge of the precipice and a wave to the elderly tour group up above who had stayed to watch our madness, we set off again, careering down 'Death Road' at an indecent rate of knots. Harry told us we were twenty minutes away from our next check point and it now felt like a race.
We had been dropping consistently now for a couple of hours and the scenery had changed dramatically. Lush jungle foliage, warm, humid air and everywhere the smell of damp earth. This was to be our final significant downhill stretch and I made the most of it despite getting hotter and hotter in my multiple layers. When we finally stopped I stripped off and greedily drank from the water container we had in the van. Fabiana, made the decision that she had had enough. Her hands hurt and she was getting tired and she had gathered that the last stretch was going to require some hard cycling as it was predominantly on the flat. We asked Harry if we could cycle without the jackets and jumpers and just put the elbow pads directly over our t-shirts and he agreed.
Ridiculously, I was full of energy - not really realising that it was due to the fact that I was now at just 1200m. We set off and I was determined to cycle the whole way, through two final streams, a small village and more rough road. I cycled quickly behind Harry and felt like I could run a marathon. 30 minutes flew by, with still enough downhill stretches to make it enjoyable, and before I knew it we popped out at a tiny Bolivian village and stopped at a bar. As Adriana and Florian finished, we hugged each other with sincere respect, adrenaline and relief - we had completed the full 65 kilometres of Death Road and done so without injury...or death.
Luis pulled up in our van with Fabiana and whilst the four of us then bought beers and coke, Harry and Luis took each bike to wash them down before loading them onto the roof. Our enthusiastic chatting was interrupted by a village celebration and suddenly dozens of older Bolivian women in huge pink skirts and bowler hats were dancing by, accompanied by smart looking men in waistcoats, playing a range of brass instruments and banging drums. As we finished, Harry said "come on then, time for lunch I believe," it was approaching 1.30, and we promptly drove down another 200 metres to a small hotel nestled in the jungle. It had a pool, a fine buffet selection of hot and cold food and was festooned in flora and fauna of a kind I had not seen in the heights of Bolivia or Argentina.
We ate, swam, lazed and sunbathed before Harry reluctantly told us it was time to go. In the van back to La Paz, we all dozed during the four hour journey, each with satisfied smiles on our faces. Arriving back at the cycle office, photos and videos were quickly loaded onto disks, survivor t-shirts were dished out and contact details were exchanged.
I thanked my co-adventurers for being such wonderful companions. They had spent the day with me communicating in English (rather than Portugese, Spanish and German), had chatted with great enthusiasm about their lives and travel and I know we shall keep in touch. Indeed, I shall be meeting up with Fabiana when I reach Lima in early September, as we realised we would overlap there before she flies back to Rio and I fly back to the UK.
I got into bed that night and assessed my aches and pains. A blister on each thumb (from overt braking), unexplainable grazes on both shins, two bruised palms (from the bumping battering they took on the handlebars), a bruised right thumb nail (unknown) and chapped lips - not bad for a 46 year old bloke who has not cycled off road that much before.
A friend asked me afterwards if I was scared during the ride and I admitted to her that I was...just at one point. She wanted to know when and I said it was when Florian came up to me during one of Harry's briefings and suddenly brushed my back with his gloved hand. Looking at him questioningly he shrugged and said "big spider!" and I juddered. I hate spiders!
What a ride! What a day! What a beautiful part of the world!
Thank you Adventure On Wheels and thank you Harry, Luis, Fabiana, Adriana and Florian.
Paul x
