The Worlds Most Dangerous Road

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It was a little overcast this morning when I got up, but most importantly my headache had gone. I nudged Harrison and Tim as I went to grab a quick shower, to make sure they were both up and ready for the off. We were leaving early this morning to take on what had been dubbed the Worlds Most Dangerous Road. The thin stretch of unsealed road ran along the mountainside from Chuspipata to Yolosa, and had seen many an accident over the years. Due to the early start, we left the hostel before breakfast had been served, so I spent much of the forty-five-minute drive out of La Paz starving. The road took us along a winding mountain path that ran parallel to the reservoir that fed much of the city. It looked very empty, and as I looked at the snow less mountains above I began to understand why Bolivia would be facing a water shortage in the next decade.

We eventually arrived at La Cumbre, almost five thousand metres above sea level. It was incredibly cold as I climbed off the bus in my shorts, T-shirt and hoody but the view was spectacular. Clouds lined each of the snow topped mountains in the near distance and made it impossible to see the road which we had just driven up. We were handed our safety gear by our guide Will, and I hurriedly put on the thick jacket an trousers to try and conserve heat. Once warm I tucked into the breakfast of bananas and sponge cake, so that I could keep my energy levels up for the ride ahead.

Keen to get going, Will explained our itinerary for the day as well as advising us on some of the safety points for the trip. Our first thirty minutes would be on the tarmac, so we could get a feel for our mountain bikes, before hitting the 'Death Road'. Being cautious I set off at my own pace, as it had been a while since I'd been on a bicycle and the rain had made the road rather slick. As my confidence grew I eased up on the brakes to try and get up some more speed. Having been left behind by the rest of the group I began to pedal, but still couldn't get enough speed up because the gear differential was awful! Eventually I caught up with Harrison, who was having a whale of a time, and I complained to him about the bike. After confidently shouting 'You've just got to peddle really fast' he lost control of his bike, and went flying over the handlebars. Having managed to narrowly miss hitting him and checking he was ok, I continued down the hill to try and catch up with the rest of the group.

Although I was still being careful on the tight hairpin bends, it was exhilarating to be tanking down the hillside at almost forty-miles-an-hour. I soon caught up with the rest of the group at the first checkpoint, and told Tim that Harrison had come off his bike. No sooner had I explained what happened he appeared around the corner, a little scuffed up from his fall, but still raring to go. We continued down the tarmac for another fifteen minutes until we came to Unduavi, the final checkpoint for this section of the road. We grabbed a snack from the local Cholitas, before loading our bikes and piling back onto the minibuses to start the eight kilometre climb to Chuspipata.

Chuspipata marked the start of the 'Worlds Most Dangerous Road', and there was a marked difference in temperature when we arrived. We had descended around two thousand metres into glorious, warm sunshine and the jackets and trousers that we had been given at La Cumbre needed to be taken off. Once we had adjusted ourselves and the unloaded the bikes, it was time to get going. Although everything I had read described two-hundred foot drops and sheer cliff faces, the road started out rather serenely, with lush shrubbery lining our path. The road itself was unsealed and made up of loose stones of varying sizes, none of which were flat.

The further we got the more I started to understand why the Bolivian government had spent so much money on building a safer path to the bottom. The crazy potholed road began to pan out into some stunning scenery and as it did it began to thin, becoming no more than two metres wide in places. With a sheer cliff faces on my right, and nothing to stop me flying off of into the chasms on my left it started getting pretty hairy. Stopping occasionally to make sure that everyone was ok, Will assured us that as long as we were sensible there wouldn't be any accidents. Feeling brave, I asked how long he'd been taking tours down the road. 'I've been doing this seven days a weeks for the last six-and-a-half-years' came his reply. I didn't want to tempt fate but was curious, what with the roads reputation, as to how many accidents he'd had with groups in that time. Amazingly Will had only had eight people who had run afoul of the road, which was amazing given the speed at which some people took the corners.

As I continued down the road, my confidence began to grow, and I started to pick up speed. I went through huge puddles, waterfalls which overhung the road and had a couple of lucky escapes from taking on corners a little too fast. The sun continued to beat down on me as the road flattened out, and it felt like I was riding through waves of heat. I had started to really enjoy the ride, and all if the fear and apprehension that I had at the start had disappeared. Unfortunately, just as I had started to get really brave we reached the end of the road at the small village of Yolosa. It had been an amazing ride, one that I would certainly do again and heartily recommend to anyone traveling to La Paz. We relaxed with a beer at the local bar, reliving the entire thing while Will and his team loaded up the buses for the journey back.

Once back in La Paz, Tim, Harrison and I went out in search of some street food and codeine. The headache that had plagued me last night had returned with a vengeance, and I needed something stronger than paracetamol. Once we had eaten, I decided to turn in for the night hoping that the combination of codeine and exhaustion would help get rid of the altitude sickness that had dogged me for the last three days.

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