Death Road mountain biking
as scary as it sounds
I’ve got a slight fear of heights. It’s not debilitating panic attack fear and I can go on cable cars and stand on bridges etc without any issues. It’s specifically cliff edges and people standing near the edge that freaks me out.
What if you trip on a rock and face plant over the edge. What if erosion decides to bare its teeth right at the moment you walk up to the edge. What if you get vertigo and start leaning forward without knowing it. What if a strong gust blows and knocks you off balance. What if, what if, what if?
So naturally mountain biking 64km, 3,500km in descent down one of the most dangerous roads in the world sounds perfect for me. Understandably it was not my idea of fun.
We were picked up from our hostel by the minibus and were soon joined by a group of 3 young brits and an Israeli/ Russian (what a combo…)
We immediately recognised the Brits and chucked each other side eye glances. 2 days earlier we were in an adventure store that they also walked into with very loud, obnoxious British accents
“aw fuck mahn this sheet is way too expensive” one guy said waddling in with bravado
“Nah in and out bruv, like the burger joint” the other replied
“Nah you’re having a laugh” the girl agreed
Mind you they were wearing the most expensive hiking shoe brand on the market. Everything was a normal price because it was genuine gear, in fact there was pretty good stuff to be bought. I guess it just wasn’t fake Columbia or north face that dominated the markets here. Shoot them down for selling real gore-tex at the correct price.
Seems trivial but it seems the majority of ignorant, obnoxious travellers we meet are British or American (like the girl at the cholitas wrestling that gauked that my beer was 2.5AUD instead of 1.75AUD and then was outraged when her beer was snatched by a cholita and used as part of the performance being smashed over the head of another performer and spraying the crowd in cerveza. So outraged she pleaded for a free one and when denied left to buy a beer from a vendor across the road for 75 cents less and boasted to me about it.
Back to the minibus though. It turned out the British girl and the Israeli had met each other before on a 10 day trek in Peru and were catching up with warm embraces as she introduced her countrymen.
“Ben” the waddling caricature of a British lad straight out of Skins groaned without turning around, “I’m still rebooting, almost didn’t get out of bed, too many nose beers”. The two lads had been out until 5am sampling Bolivian sugar from a bar in town.
“We are Daniel and Daniella” I awkwardly interjected after 10mins of them not asking our names despite talking across us.
We geared up in canvas top to bottom with flimsy elbow and knee pads and a motorcycle helmet. We were handed our bikes and much to my relief mine seemed fine and had functioning breaks. The front wheel looked slightly wobbly but everything passed the low bar I’d set.
After 15mins flying down a main road with cars and buses the Israeli asked to swap his bike because his back wheel was rattling, the spare had no suspension though so he quickly swapped back.
The downhill on the main road was mostly fine save for a bus that cut us off meaning Ella and I had to hang back and wait for a safe time to overtake a bus on the downhill.
We had a break for brunch before hitting the official Death Road. Built in the 1930s as a way to connect La Paz with the Yungas jungle region and by extension The Amazon basin, the gravel Death road is about the width of one car with no guard rails and soaring drops, of which when we visited you couldn’t see the bottom of…just 300 or so metres and then whatever lay below the clouds. It was primarily built by Paraguayan prisoners during the Chaco War with many of them dying during construction.
Oh and this is a two way road…somehow…if two cars meet in a narrow section, one has to reverse until they can just squeeze past each other. Something we witnessed as it’s still used by local indigenous populations. Up until 2009 it was used as a main thoroughfare for motorbikes, cars, cyclists and BUSES!
Added to the narrow gravel conditions is constant rain and fog due to the mountain meets jungle location reducing visibility, increasing mud and lack of traction and frequent land slides. It’s the only road in the country that is left hand drive to allow drivers to judge the distances between them and the cliff face on the way down. We heard stories of buses literally hanging wheels off the cliff face to be able to get around some sections. Yes it’s as bad as it sounds.
One report says that the road caused 209 accidents and 98 deaths PER YEAR! In 1983 a bus fell into the canyon killing more than 100 passengers - the deadliest crash in the country’s history.
In 2009 the government built an alternative, much safer route which is what the buses run on now. We took this road later and whilst it was steep I never felt like I’d fall off.
The biking was another story. White knuckling the handle bars and breaks, I slowed my ascent the entire way down. Whilst I’m sure it was fun for the English guys and the Israeli to fly down with no regard for their life, they then had to wait by the side of the road for 10mins for me to catch up. I caught one glimpse of the drop at the start and my stomach lurched, felt the drop in my loins and proceeded slowly. With so much gravel to hit my hands were cramping too from the vibration.
Very quickly the jungle conditions crept their way up the pass and we were stripping off any layers we had put on at the beginning. We were, over the course of just a few hours, descending from alpine weather to steamy jungle.
After a few hours we reached the bottom and gradually I grew in confidence, funnily enough in line with how high up I knew I was. Whilst the Israeli bunny hopped sections and ramped others I kept the slow and steady and alive attitude and made it down in one piece.
Have I conquered my fear? No.
Would I do it again? No.
Yeah nah to that one too!!
Sounds like a fun group to be with - not!