This entry brought to you by the more adventurous one (he survived! yay!). I should also let y’all know we’re disappearing into the salt plains for a few days, in southern Bolivia en route to Chile, so next time you hear from us we’ll be in San Pedro, Chile… and yes, we realise that adds up to very little time spent in Bolivia. But the salt plains should be really cool!
As Lis mentioned at the end of her last entry, I couldn’t resist the temptation of mountain biking down the World’s Most Dangerous Road. To be fair, if you’re going to give it a title like that, you’re going to have to expect that lots of hyped-up tourists are going to want to throw themselves down it! 65km long, 3100m down, with just over 40km of it along an unpaved, gravel-and-dirt path just wide enough for one truck to squeeze through (apparently truck face-offs are quite common).
So after some research, and much humming and haa-ing, five of us decided to sign up with the most reputable agency in La Paz, amid promises of top quality bikes, knowledgable guides and excellent safety support whilst on the road. At 7:30 in the morning, we found ourselves in a cosy cafe, peering around at our fellow idiots trying to figure out what kind of a trip this was going to be.
The tour bus drove us out of La Paz and up, until we were atop a mountain pass some 4700m high. Here we were given our bikes, adjusted to each of us, and our guide gave us a safety talk. Then we were told we had to engage in something called “Pachamama”, which means Mother of the Earth. Basically, we had to take a sip from a small bottle that was passed around, and trickle a bit of it on the ground, to give us luck during our descent. The guide said that it was 96% alcohol, and I believe him – it tasted foul (kind of how you’d imagine nail polish remover must taste).
And then we were off. I have never ridden a bike so fast in my life. We didn’t have speedometers, but I know I’ve got my bike over 30mph (50kph) in England, and I swear we were going faster than that. One thing that I hadn’t counted on (but should have on a high mountain road) was the wind – at times, you really had to lean in to stop being blown off the road!
But in general, that was the fun (and easy) part. After dismounting and pushing our bikes through a police/drug checkpoint, our guide said we now had a 5km section that was uphill. That was hard. Although I’m good at uphill, at 4000m the breathing was difficult.
Still, it didn’t last long and we all reached the top of that section. A short ride later, we reached the start of some major roadworks. The guide had warned us about this, but had said he didn’t think they would be working on a Sunday. Sadly, we were not to be so lucky, and it became clear that the support bus was not going to be able to go any further until the workmen agreed to open the road again in a few hours’ time. Loading our lunches and extra water onto our backs, we cycled through the roadworks and arrived at our intermediate destination – the start of the World’s Most Dangerous Road.
The bikes were inspected again to ensure they were in top condition, and we were handed out dust-masks. Looking at the road, a brown strip snaking down the mountainside, it became clear why we would need them. Although the roadworks would prevent any traffic from sneaking up behind us, there were still trucks coming up the mountain in enourmous clouds of dust.
After another brief safety talk, and we took off, one at a time. And here it hit me that this was going to be a lot harder than anticipated. Not because it was dangerously narrow, or too fast, or because of the traffic. But because the road was so incredibly bad. Imagine biking over loosely compressed gravel sprinkled with sand, at 20-40kph, for hours.
When the guide pulled us to a halt a couple of kilometres after the start, everyone was exclaiming at how hard the vibration was on the hands and forearms. It took a fair bit of strength and grip to simply hold on to the bike, let alone manage to brake competently and take corners. One poor girl couldn’t handle it and crashed on only the second corner. She was OK, and in no danger of going off the edge at that point, but it must have been a blow (she crashed again later in the day, the only member of the group to have any problems by falling off).
But we soon got into our rhythm, with the group separating out a bit. I was one of the middle runners, and every once in a while (usually about the point you started to think that your arms couldn’t take it anymore and you were going to have to stop) the guides called a halt to allow the group to catch up and everyone to rest a bit.
The scenery was amazing. And the road itself, while not really all that dangerous (especially with the reduced traffic), was exciting enough to provide the intended thrill, particularly as we got further into it and some people (myself included) built up the confidence to stop riding on the brakes and really just fly with it.
Sooner than expected, we were at the bottom, 3100m lower than where we had started. In a quiet little village, we gratefully discarded our safety gear and stood around to receive the complimentary beers and t-shirts that were being provided. After which, we were loaded onto the bus to visit the pretty town of Coroico and the Hotel Esmeralda. Apparently the agency has an understanding with them, and we were treated to hot showers, a swimming pool (which was cool but refreshing), and a slap-up buffet lunch.
All too soon, the day was drawing to a close, and the four-hour trip back to La Paz began. We had to drive in the tour bus back up the dangerous road, and although those of us with window seats had a spectacular view of just how close the bus was coming to the edge, we survived the journey unscathed. Unlike the 100+ poor souls who aren’t so lucky each year – the road earns its reputation for a reason. But most accidents tend to happen in the rainy season, when the road is wet and muddy and the trucks slide into each other, unlike now when everything is just dry and dusty.
It was a great experience, and I’m very glad to have done it. Despite the stories (although most accidents happen to vehicles, occasionally things happen to mountain bikers too, although mostly when they’re being silly), I never felt particularly at risk, and the returns, such as the views and the whole combined biking experience, definitely made it worthwhile. Would I do it again? You bet…
– Rich
