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Published: January 30th 2011
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Klaus Barbie wasn't a very nice man. During the second world war he earned the name 'The Butcher Of Lyon' because of his methods in dealing with enemies of the Reich in the French city. He was ranked Hauptsturmfuhrer in the SD, the intelligence wing of the SS, a rank equivalent to a captain, and carried out his duties with sinister zeal. It is believed he was responsible for the deaths of 14,000 people.
After the war, and with the aid of the US, he fled to Argentina and eventually Bolivia where he continued to stick his beak into shady government affairs, coups, spying, and even claimed to have had a part in the capture of Che Guevara. When the world came to it's senses he was eventually arrested and deported to France. He was tried and went to jail, but died four years later from Leukaemia. A lucky let off you may say, and you'd be right. More on Klaus later.
The Yungas Road runs for 38 miles from La Cumbre outside La Paz to Coroico. It was built in the 30s by Paraguayan POWs, and luckily for Bolivia they finished it by the time war ended because they lost. The road is carved into the sides of Andean peaks and snakes down from 4700m to Yolosa at 1200m, from cold snowy Altiplano to steaming hot Amazonian rain forest.
In 1995 it was given the name 'The Worlds Most Dangerous Road' beause of the number of deaths per kilometre that occured every year. The road rarely excedes 3m in width and still had to cater for heavy vehicular traffic. In 2006 a new road was opened and all heavy traffic was finally diverted, but the road stayed open.
The first organised mountain biking trips down the road began in 1998, and the first cyclist killed was in 2001. Since then there's been 19 or so deaths, usually due to inexperience and excessive speed; if you take a corner on the gravel too fast and brake too late you will shoot over the edge and fall at least 600m to the valley floor. Not a very appealing prospect.
The first cyclist killed was an Israeli girl, in 2001 as I've mentioned, and the last one killed was also an Israeli girl in December 2010. Nine years to the day, and not 100 metres from Klaus Barbie's old mountain villa. A sisister coincidence and not a little bit creepy I think.
We climbed out of the bus with all our gear and bits and pieces, struggling to get a decent lungful of air at the altitude of La Cumbre. After a bit of instruction and tips from the guide we were given our mounts; beautiful front and rear suspensioned Kona downhill mountain bikes. Worth a few grand, and looked every penny. It was snowing at this point so I was all North Faced up, scarf, gloves, helmet, etc. It still didn't keep the cold out, but nobody noticed as fair flew down the short paved section of road amid the clouds to the first of many checkpoints. We were all soaked, but it didn't matter; the fun of overtaking trucks and other cyclists was too much. All you can hear is the wind, and sometimes your own giggles.
Very soon, though, the paved road gives way to the old gravel road and this is where the real fun begins. Because the gravel is looser and tends to move a more delicate hand is needed. You need to brake further from the corners and accelerate a bit harder out of them.
The more we decended the warmer it got untill at one point everyone was down to shorts and tee shirts. Cycling through the many waterfalls was a welcome relief, even if you did get soaked through. Another welcome relief was the thicker air; it was like soup and a joy to just fill up the lungs with the stuff.
All of us managed to get down ok, though one fellow had a bit of a mishap, going over his handlebars. A few scratches is all he suffered.
At the bottom was an animal sanctuary with monkeys, snakes, parrots, etc. We had a spot of lunch there, and were meant to meet to animals but apparently a bear escaped, so we were all locked away for our own safety. The irony.
Right about this time the sky darkened, and several peals of thunder rumbled through the valley, followed by flashing sheet lightening and teeming rain. Everyone climbed back onto the bus; it'd be a bit much to ask to get us to cycle back to La Paz, and we set off. Strangely, the journey back up the road of death was a bit more scary on the bus. It was generally vehicles like this bus that went over the side, not bicycles. and of course, you're relying on someone else doing the driving.
But the drive back was fine; a lot longer of course but all good. Except the music. I don't know what it is about the image of outdoor pursuits that has it linked with heavy metal, but the driver felt we all loved it and played it long and loud all the way back. I still fell asleep.
That was the most fun I've had in a long, long time. From the start, getting pelted in the face with hail, to the end where I could feel the beginnings of sunburn creeping up my arms and face, from the snowy peaks to the triple canopied jungle, this was a day out that I will repeat.
My arse is bleedin' killin' me though.
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laura venables
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Sore Arses and Klaus Barbie
All I can say is, your sore arse is our gain. Like being there!!!! M O R E P L E A S E