Bolivia - Death Road

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Whoever came up with the idea to bike down the “Death Road” - officially the world’s most dangerous road, connecting La Paz with the jungle - was a genius. Imagine being taken to an overpass 4,000 m high, surrounded by snow-capped mountains hanging in the clouds, only to descend, on a bike, to a jungle in just 1,000 m in altitude. An unbelievable, adrenaline-rich experience.

We had a quick breakfast and left briskly, at 7:30 am. Unbelievably, when chatting with the tourists in the group, I realized that one of them - a French/Lebanese national - will be my classmate at Columbia University next fall. What are the chances of this? I guess my journey and plans are not that unique after all… From La Paz we climbed in a van to an overpass where we were given our bikes - Treks with hydraulic breaks - and instructions what to do not to die. Apparently, just 6 weeks ago an Israeli tourist slipped of the road to the canyon and died. We were warned not to “play” with our bikes, a mistake that he did. While this and other horror stories of people being kidnapped in La Paz were a reason for concern, I learned to make myself comfortable with the risks of traveling. Like the Bolivian guy that we met on the bus on the crossing from Argentina to his homeland said: it is all just the matter of chances and you just have to live with it. When doing the quick statistics on how many people actually visit this country and how many of them die, it is not that grave.

Looking at our group, it was quite obvious that Nick and I were some of the most experienced bikers there, and so we started off as the 1st and the 2nd, just behind the guide. I headed uphill and Nick finished downhill. It turned out that we had quite a crazy guide - a German hippie that kept telling us that the trip was not a Tour de France but in the end speeded up so we could hardly catch up to him. The first part of the trip was on asphalt, easy downhill with just few short but brutal uphill stretches. Soon we parted from the “new”, maintained asphalt road and joined the dusty and curvy “old” road. This is where the real adventure starts. We were given a chocolate bar and a banana, took a short break, and headed downhill, often on the edge of a canyon few hundred meters deep. The most exciting part came when we had to ride through a waterfall and over a river. This is where the Israeli tourist died. After that, the road widened and the race started. The guide tried to shake Nick off, but did not manage to. I kept them in my sight but did not have the guts go immediately behind them. Not sure how Nick did it. Dust and small rocks flying, road suddenly curving, chickens and small children jumping to the ditches to avoid a crash, and small streams cutting through the road. By the time we reached the finish line, just below Coroico, a pretty jungle town, we were thoroughly soaked in mud and our own sweat. A quick shower, a nice lunch at a hotel on the hill, and we headed back to La Paz, arriving to our hostel at 8 pm, very tired but still incredibly excited.

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