Surviving the Death Road

We started extra early for the Death Road because the tour operators were unsure if the roads would be blockaded as part of the transport strike in Bolivia, yet my hostel failed to inform me of the time change and I was almost ready when I got a knock on the door. The guide says, "Sorry, but breakfast is..." "Ready?" I ask hopefully. "No, finished". Mother fucker!

It wasn´t finished, in the end, but very nearly, and I gulped down some bread and tea before we all readied ourselves with our super sexy bikeriding gear... Tight lycra riding shirt, orange and green windcheater, coral blue (only for me) 80s trackpants, helmet, arm pads and knee pads (the last optional but I thought it better not to tempt fate).

We set off in 2 minibuses, bikes on the roof, and before I knew it we were pulling over and given instructions about what to do. The first part of the road was not officially the Death Road, so it gave us time to get used to our bikes and established somewhat of a pecking order for the group. I tried to stay away from the couple of people I already found annoying, and was consistently somwhere in the middle of the pack.

Before long, the track turned from ashpalt to gravel and dirt, and the holes we had been avoiding earlier pailed in comparison to the bump n grind of this section. Stopping every 5 minutes or so, and always going downhill, our bodies never had a chance to feel the full grunt of the track (although several of the bikes had problems with their suspension and even my double hydraulic suspension didn`t save me from all the impact) and it was a pretty pleasant ride.

But the view... WOW. We were instructed carefully not to look at it, and just concentrate on the road ahead, but sometimes it was just so hard not to! The track fell away some 450m below us, so looking out there for too long did kinda creep me out... but the mountains, streams, tracks, they all combined to make the most romantic setting I`ve ever seen for a Sunday drive. It`s just a shame so many people actually died on such a drive before they finally finished the safer, much more expensive alternative road. Hence the name Death Road.

We passed several memorials and crosses, and our guide dutifully informed us of some places where several people had slipped over the cliff or falling from their bike at a standstill. That instilled some confidence into us. Hooray. But no one was hurt, not even close. We may have almost given ourselves heart attacks at the last uphill bit, but we survived.

Lunch was served in a lovely valley where some people swam in the pool, we all had showers (promised hot but of course freezing cold) and I stupidly didn`t put my shoes back on for a while, allowing the insects to make a 3 course meal out of my feet. I swear I have never seen a foot so covered in bites in my life. And they are itchy as hell!!

A couple of spliffs later and we were back in the bus, heading back to La Paz pooped but happy about the day. Then it was a case of organising my things YET AGAIN, and trying to get sleep before the 3am pickup for Tiwanaku the next morning. But of course my body wouldn`t let me sleep, would it... Argh, hideous.