Going Down

Before leaving La Paz, there was one last thing I wanted to do. About an hour and a half north there is a stretch of road that was named the "World's Most Dangerous Road" by the Inter-American Development Bank in 1995. There were more deaths annually on this road than on any other road in the world. In 1986 alone there were 362 deaths. The road hugs mountains with steep cliffs over the edge. The majority of the road is barely wider than one car and it is not paved. Most of the deaths are caused by drunks drivers or speeding.

In March of 2007 a new, paved road was opened up following a safer route and most cars have been redirected to this route. The number of fatalities has dropped drastically and the road, now, is no longer considered the World's Most Dangerous. But it doesn't stop bike companies from advertising downhill excursions on the World's Most Dangerous Road. I, of course, wanted to go biking down this old superlative and so I signed up to do it (again) for the Monday before leaving La Paz.

I was up at 5:30 in the morning to get dressed and catch a cab into town. The company, Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking, warned me to wear warm clothes since the ride starts at 15,400 feet. But they also suggested I bring a bag with a change of clothes since we would be descending 11,800 feet into the Amazon jungle. I met the other riders at a cafe where we were to meet our biking guide. When the guide arrived we were asked for proof of insurance. They weren't taking any chances with us - not when inexperienced bikers would be speeding down a gravel/dirt road beside 3,300 feet sheer drops.

We were piled into the back of a Landrover with our bikes stacked on top. The ride up was quiet - much too early for anyone to really talk to each other. Doing the road with me was a canadian couple, a dutch couple, and a german woman. Our main guide was originally from Cananda - he had moved to La Paz with his girlfriend 8 months earlier to do volunteer work with homeless children. To make some extra money he picked up this biking gig. He had been doing trek biking since he was a kid and was apparently thrilled to go down this trail each week. Our guide bringing up the rear was originally from La Paz. He was apparently the 2nd best down-hill biker in Bolivia. At the end of the trek, over beers, he showed me video of some of his downhill competitions. He admitted he wasn't able to the do the whole course - he chickened out on a 18 foot drop on one course.

When we reached La Cumbre, our starting point, we were told there were usually grand views of the surrounding snow capped mountains. But it was now snowing (in summer) and foggy. We could see about 50 feet in front of us. I was anxious to see how this would effect out riding. But we were immediately suited up with goggles, gloves, and water proof pants & jackets. It was freezing and I was glad I had layered up. Before setting off, a small container of pure sugar cane alcohol (97% alcohol) was passed around. We were told to take a shot and pour a small amount on mother earth for good luck.

Within minutes of starting the ride I was soaked - as we descended, the snow turned to rain - and my hands started to go numb from the cold. My goggles were almost as useless as going without them. We were doing 40 miles down the road, but fortunately the first section was on wide, paved road. Made things a bit safer. The only thing that really freaked me out was the occasional sharp horn blasts from truckers passing us.

Eventually the rain let up a bit and I could see the land we were riding through. It was beautiful. After about an hour we got to the section where the road split - old from new. And down the old we went. No more wide, paved road. As we passed the only guard rail (on the safest part of the road) it was clear the technical part of the ride was beginning. I wasn't shy. Off our lead guide bolted and off I went peddling after him.

I am not an avid biker. In fact, I rarely ride. Especially not on narrow gravel/dirt roads with 3,300 feet sheer drops to one side. I had no business trying to keep up with the guide. In fact, they encouraged us to go at a comfortable speed. But the thrill of flying downhill, hugging sharp turns, dodging larger rocks, and knowing this was the World's Most Dangerous Road was too much and I continued to peddle faster and faster. There were too many instances when I almost lost control or hit a rock too fast and came close to wiping out or going over the side of a cliff. But I was enjoying the thrill of it all.

As we descended farther and farther we took breaks to check out the scenery or have a bite to eat, or make sure our brakes still worked. It warmed up a bit with each stop and a new layer would come off every rider with each stop. By the end most people were down to tees and their orange vests; a big change from the bulky layers we started with. I almost kept it all on despite the heat just so any spill I might take would be a bit softer.

Under waterfalls we rode, into more rain, through mini-rivers cutting through the road. When we finally arrived at the small village of Yolosa, we were all dirty and sweating. We had just a short ride left to Senda Verde Hostel, which doubles as an animal refuge - where we were able to take hot showers and eat a late pasta and salad buffet lunch while checking out the rescued monkeys, parrots, snakes, and wild cats. Everyone was exhausted. But we enjoyed seeing the hundred or so pictures our guides managed to take along the trail, now set up to play on a tv monitor.

The other riders were staying at this small town for the night. But I had a flight early the next morning to the other side of Bolivia and rode back with the driver and two guides. We stopped before driving back up the World's Most Dangerous Road and bought several beers for the ride back (the driver got a Fanta) and for the next three hours I chatted up my Canadian guide about his experiences in Bolivia. With only one stop for more beer and another stop when we almost hit another car coming the other direction on the Dangerous Road (coming too close to adding four more to the annual fatalities), we made good time back. They dropped me off back in the center of town around 9pm and I found a cab back out to my coworker's house. I managed to stay on the bike during the entire ride, but once I got to my bedroom I crashed hard.

For a few pics from the ride, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603819518089/