Greg_n_bec's travel blogs:
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Life After the Death Road
Entry 10 of 17 | show all | print this entry |
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The road between La Paz and Coroico in Bolivia is the most dangerous road in the world. More people have died travelling this road than any other road on the planet. The reason for this carnage is that this road is a bumpy, ill maintained, single lane dirt track that clings precariously to the side of a sheer cliff. Actually, saying it is a lane wide is a gross overstatement of its width.
Until recently this 67km stretch of road was the only road between the Altiplano and the Yungas Valleys. Trucks crept up and down this skinny goat track, edging past each other on the widest sections of the road. Crosses mark the many places along the road where the trucks didnt quite squeeze past one another and one went careening to a firey doom hundreds of metres below.
Thankfully a new road has now been built, and whilst it is sealed and considerably wider than the famed "death road", it has also seen its share of deaths. In this nook of Bolivia there is no avoiding the sheer drop offs and the blind corners. Landslides are also an ever present threat to road users with sections of the road being frequently swept away in entirety. In other sections of the road water falls cascade mega litres of water straight down into the centre of the road.Yep, it is one scary motor strip!
Of course, once you have a situation as dangerous as this it becomes a tourist meca.
The moon cratered cliff shelf that constitutes the old road (now known as the death road) snakes its way steeply down from La Cumbre far above La Paz at 4,700m asl all the way down to the rain forest below Coroico, at 1200m asl, a drop of 3,500m. This is ideal mountain biking terrain. The poor state of the road means that the road is suitable for little else other than goats and donkeys!
Every day dozens of loons, risk their lives as they plummet on rented mountain bikes at break neck speeds down the mountain. The risk of death is real. An Isrealy backpacker went straight off the edge late last year, unfortunately in a section of the road with a sheer 200m drop off.
Needless to say the bike was not able to be reused by the hire company. I guess the equipment hire deposit did not form a part of the young Isrealite´s death estate.
Like the running of the bulls in Spain, the real risk of death is small, however, with only a couple of deaths each year. The risk of injuries is far greater and stories of near misses, that can be exagerated over a beer if you survive, are guaranteed.
Now I must confess that I am a loon that places little value on my life and will willingly pay money to pit my dodgy balance, slow reflexes and limited bike handling skills against any old dirt road. Bring it on I say!!! That is probably no news to those of you that know me well but the twist to this tale is that I managed to convince Bec to give the trip a go as well. Yes this is the same Bec that is terrified of bikes, particularly since the dog with the broken tooth incident in Loas, and the same Bec that is not too fond of heights.
I can not vouch for Bec´s reasoning to follow me into this little adventure, but I was glad that she was coming along. With Bec keeping an eye on me I was less likely to get testosterone blindness and try and kick the butts of every 20 something, french, ex-mountain bike wold champion that would be riding down the mountain at the same time as me.
My flawed logic that my extra mass would favour me in a race that incorporated the effects gravity would be tempered by Bec´s sensible influence.That was the theory at least.
Huddled in a sputtering minibus on the way up to the start of the ride I was informed that the governement had now closed the road to all traffic other than mountain bikes and their support vehicles. This was because too many mountain bikers had ridden head on into oncoming trucks that were avoiding the toll on the new road.
The fact that there would be no oncoming traffic, and I would not be playing Frogger, greatly increased the safety of this trip (you old time gamers out there will know what Frogger is. Sorry to anyone born post 1975).
The authorities were trying to take the fun out of the game. Thankfully I was one step ahead of the bureacrats.
The companies with the best safety record charge $80 for the trip. I managed to sign up with an outfit that were charging only a bargain basement $40. With poorer quality equipment and low rent guides, surely this would counteract the benefit of no on-coming traffic.
To add further spice to the ride, on the day Bec and I were undertaking our death trip we were also shouted a pea soup fog at the top of the mountians that would stop us seeing any on coming pot holes. Sub zero temperatures were also present to ensure that our hands wouldnt be able to pull on the brake levers after a couple of minutes of riding down hill. The risks were stacked nicely agianst us. We were definitely going to get our money´s worth.
We got kitted up and we were off.
I duly let everyone head off and Bec and I stationed ourselves at the rear of the pack. I tried to give Bec basic bike instructions, to keep her upright but I was nervous. She was complaining of speed wobbles at 10kph and had no concept of bike gears. Instead of threatening my own life I was now more worried about Bec´s life. Maybe the sensible streak in her had deserted her on this occassion and she was the one who really was risking her life..... WHAT HAD I GOT HER IN TO?????
Thankfully, the first 20 kms of road is sealed and Bec and I managed to stay out of trouble and started to gain some confidence on our equipment. Bec was still refusing to change gears, but she at least seemed to have a good grip on the brakes and had stopped complaining of speed wobbles.
Once we made our way onto the death road proper, I could no longer resist the lure of high speed adrenalin, and left Bec to make her own body jarring descent whilst I sped ahead to play with the fast boys in the pack.
The further I went down hill, the more confidence I got and the faster I went. Cliff walls to the right and a chasm to the left slipped past in a blur. I charged through streams flowing across the path, splashed beneath waterfalls, and bunny hopped like a crazy kid over pot holes. A couple of times I nearly found myself being thrown clear off my wheels to a face scarring end. Somehow I stayed upright and somehow I kept the bike on the road. I was having the time of my life!!!!
After several hours of beautiful views mixed with heart racing excitement we made it to the bottom of the valley. Bec and I both survived the death road.
Everybody in our group survived the day. There had been only one minor crash, with nothing more than a couple of scratches as evidence of the inept riding of a young german lass. A little disapointing really. I would at least liked to have a broken cheek bone or a fractured arm to write home about.
Bec still wont admit that she enjoyed the ride, but from what I saw she was also smiling most of the day. Maybe the fact that she was aked head to foot in mud at the end of the day affected her assessment of the adveture. For me, being covered in mud was part of the fun!
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