Tuesday, Sept. 23, 2003 - 2:03 a.m.
The World's Most Dangerous Road
Got up at 6:30AM and soon after had breakfast in the hostal, part of the tour of going mountain biking down Death Road: "The World's Most Dangerous Road".
This was one minor detail I failed to mention to the family until after the fact. I didn't want them to worry.
On the tour there was a German couple, Bernard and Maria, an opinionated Englishman named Ed, two French guys and a Chilean / French couple.
I was nervous about biking down this road, called Death Road due to its average of 100 fatalities a year, (mostly of buses full of locals going off the edge). The road is unpaved, one lane wide and a steep, steep drop off on one side. I had heard that there was a French girl who, while biking, fell off the edge of the road & died. I'd also heard of some bikers that sometimes get going too fast and slide off the edge to their death.
Before we left the hostal we were each given a bag containing a helmet, bike shorts, jersey, windbreaker, gloves and a reflective vest. I changed into the bike shorts and jersey, and put trousers on over the shorts.
On the drive there Bernard, Maria, Ed and I talked about the protests. Ed was itching to get out of La Paz the first chance he got. (It's ironic that the name of the city means "Peace", yet at the moment, with all the protests it was anything but!). For me, I wasn't sure where I was going to go next, after La Paz. I'd wanted to go to this pretty little village called Sorata, north of La Paz that I'd heard about it from a fellow traveler in Peru, she told me it was very picturesque, with nice hikes and interesting caves. But after some nasty protests left some police and locals dead and a hotel was burned down (and some travelers were stuck there & couldn't get out. One girl missed her return flight back to Germany because of it), It was apparent that I wasn't going to go there on this trip.
After about an hour and a half we stopped by a small lake and unloaded the bikes from the minivan. It was cold and windy, we were at 4700 meters! We put on our helmets, windbreakers and gloves. In the distance were beautiful snow capped mountains. The first part of the road was paved, two lanes that snaked through the hillsides. This was not technically part of Death Road and was relatively safe (or safer than Death Road). The scenery was amazing.
We stopped a few times for photos and snacks. I took off my trousers and windbreaker after the sun came out. I made a mental note to put on sunscreen and then promptly forgot.
After a couple hours we came to the dangerous part, which was not paved, one lane wide and almost all downhill (this route is 90% downhill), Everyone else went zooming down the road, I was more cautious and kept both hands on the breaks the entire time. That eve and next day the muscles in my forarms ached like you wouldn't believe. You also can't take your attention from the road the whole time, at times it was a little nerve racking.
When we stopped for lunch at a vehicle turnout we learned that Ed had fallen off his bike. He'd been riding and hit a rock. At the same time he hit the breaks and did a head-over-heals flip with the bike. He had scrapes along his upper arm, he said he'd hit his head hard, and glad he was wearing a helmet. He also said he was really shaken up from the experience.
Our guide showed us where the French girl fell & I learned it was only 2 months ago! It was really spooky. We also saw the remains of a bus that went over the edge & must've fallen like 100 meters.
While we were gawking at the fallen bus a large truck came trudeling around the corner. We had to stop and let it pass. I stood as close to the edge as I was comforbale, determined not to make the same mistake that the French girl did (she had stopped for a passing vehicle and when it got too close, she took a step back and fell down the cliff). The road was only narrow enough for one vehicle at this point and the truck came closer to me than I would've liked. This was the moment I was most scared on my bike ride. The moment seemed to be in slow motion, but in reality passed quickly.
The sun was bright and I was starting to get a little more comfortable biking down the road. The whole time I was the slowpoke, but I wasn't comfortable zipping down the road as fast as the others. Besides, I told myself, at the end of the day, what was more important? That I survived the experience, not that I was the first or last person in line.
We stopped in the small village of Yolosa for lunch. The road went all the way to the town of Coroico, which I'd also heard about from other travelers as a really beautiful, chill place. But I also saw that the road was uphill from Yolosa to Coroico, so I was okay about not continuing to bike any farther. The village had a small creek pass thru it where the local woman washed clothes & small insects feasted on my arms and legs.
After lunch we packed up our stuff and all climbed into the minivan who drove back up the same dangerous road we had just ridden down. We had biked 65 km that day and were pretty bushed. I was also nervous sitting in that minivan that trucked back up that narrow strip of road that hugged the mountainside.
I got a bad sunburn that day and by the time we got back to La Paz, was feeling pretty sick. (Now I believe it was soroche, altitude sickness due to the sudden change of altitude, from the jungle town of Rurrenebaque, back to La Paz and then biking the next day from 4700 m to 1200 m, then back to La Paz!) I went straight to bed & didn't get up until about 6:30pm the next day when I dragged myself out of bed and went to get some dinner.
