Topic: South America
The Death Road
When I die I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather. I don't want to die like his passengers, screaming as they went over the cliff. No buses on Sunday, so a bunch of Irish girls found a simple solution. Hitch a lift with a local veggie truck driver returning from the market. The driver had only been on the road for 14 hours straight. He fell asleep and took the express route 300 meters to the bottom of the canyon. In 1983 a bus crash got more than 100 in one go. The death road as it is known, is estimated to have killed more than 20,000 people in its lifetime. It has now been bypassed by a safer route but still remains in use, and is a favourite destination of mountain bikers because of it's 60km of steep downhill. Though much less fatal now it still gets a few every year. An Israeli tourist was GoProing her boyfriend racing down the hill when she decided that corners were for beginners, she didn't stick the landing. And so with these stories Ted and I headed off for our day of biking.
Early start, a couple of hours up the hill to a cold 4600 meter pass, stack hat, gloves, and a well used mountain bike. As they say it's all down hill from here. Just as well as I wouldn't like to try an ride this bike up hill anywhere. The first bit plunges off the pass about 30 km down a relatively modern sealed highway. Even the old mountain bike boogies down this, as we pass the odd truck creeping down the hillside. We stop every now and again to keep the group together and take a couple of photos. Snacks and drinks are handed out, our guide tells us stories. Eventually we get to the old road. This part was bypassed in mid 90's after the world bank christened it the most dangerous road in the world. It's the only road in Bolivia that they drive on the left so the driver can see how close his wheels are to the edge. It's dirt, and is carved to the cliff side like a scar. We spend a few hours riding under waterfalls, looking down bottomless chasms, and avoiding the odd road washout. Every hundred meters is another pile of crosses, on the edge of the emptiness. The landscape quickly changes from high mountain pass to rain forest, and we shed another layer of clothing every 15 minutes. We start to get closer to the bottom of the valley and , I have to peddle to keep the old girl moving even though it's still down hill. Hard to believe I was struggling to keep it under 60 km/h on the earlier bit. Someone in another group loses it in the dirt, bit of bark off but seems like nothing mejor. They strap her to the stretcher and take her off to get checked out. We hit the bottom, only 1200 meters above sea level, high fives all around.
Off to lunch, and a swim, pollo e arroz, just for a change. Hate to be a chicken here. A few beers chatting with the other's, and it's back on the rickety bus. We crawl the 80km back up the hill. How ironic I never felt scared on the way down but on each outward corner I hope the groaning steering holds. We make the pass, and the "I survived the death road tee shirts" are handed out. We only slightly winged one, all in all not a bad result.
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