Friday, 15th January, La Paz: The Road of Death
As far as marketing goes, The Road of Death is a pretty clever name. Nothing like death to get the attention. I’m no thrill seeker, but everyone had said that when in La Paz, this is the thing to do: hire a mountain bike and cycle the length of one of the most perilous roads on the planet.
It’s a dirt road which runs from above La Paz down to a small town called Coroico, about 3,000m lower. The road is 64km in length in total, and is named The Road of Death for two reasons:
1. On one side, it plunges into the oblivion below. It’s carved into the foresty steep hills, has no safety barriers and the drop, in places, is sheer and up to 1,000m. You fall, you die.
2. It’s very thin. Wide enough for little more than a car. It’s name comes from the fact that it used to be two-way. I have NO idea how this could have been possible. There are few passing places, and even they are barely wide enough for two vehicles. It’s steep, and the thought of reversing to find a passing place gives me the shivers. Large trucks used to pass on the road, apparently letting wheels hang over the edge in order to pass. Many people lost their lives on the road.
It’s now pretty much only open for tourists. The idea is that you sign up for a day trip: you, and the countless other folk, are collected in rickety buses with the bikes on top and bussed up to the top of the road (which is now one way only: down). You’re then set free on the road for the 4 or so hours that it takes to ride it, then deposited at a nice hotel at the bottom for a cold beer and lunch, then bussed back to La Paz.
There was the usual TIB factor (“This Is Bolivia” – TIB is what we say when once again we are underwhelmed by the service culture here), but we eventually set off on the bus at around 9am. A low fog was hanging over La Paz, a city with some of the most temperamental weather systems on the planet. We headed up into the mist. Further and further up. Along a road which wound through imposing hills, like something out of the Lord of the Rings. We arrived at a point near a lake, snow capped peaks surround us. Roads very much asphalted at this point. We’re given our bikes (I’d made Mike let us get bikes with hydraulic brakes – at extra cost. Of course it appeared that they were no different from the others and in fact a rickety back wheel on mine meant we had to request a new one. But not before Mike melted my heart by giving me his bike to ride and him taking the dodgy one)
We were all given raingear. The fog was freezing cold and wet. Shortly it started to rain properly. I haven’t been that cold for years: as we cycled down, glasses were rendered useless by rain, fingers so cold that I could barely use the brakes. Still on the new road, trucks honked loudly as they passed us. I couldn’t see anything, I was sodden. I was not happy. Once again, I raged at the promise of Bolivia.
Buuuuuuuuuuut, I can confirm that it rapidly became one of the best experiences I have ever had in my life. As we dropped through the cloudy layer, the rain eased and it got warmer. We were in a group of 6 who, mercifully, moved at a speed which worked well for me – not too fast (large groups of flourescent blokey youth would shoot past at intervals). Mike and I weaved around each other, and I loved every single minute of it. It was exhilarating, but not so much that I was terrified (though any lapse in concentration would have had us plunging off the cliff). The terrain became more and more rainforesty – waterfalls cascaded across the road, the hyper green canopy draped down across our ride, the eerie fog layer prevented me from seeing right down into the valley below and from comprehending the full extent of the sheer plunge to our left.
After a month of being a bit tense, I finally relaxed and had more fun with my husband (who I generally have a lot of fun with, mind) than we have had for ages. It was such a rush, the scenery was so spectucular, not for nothing is this reputedly one of the most beautiful roads on the planet. I think it was amongst the most memorable days I have spent in my life. I loved every minute. The ride lasts a long time, we meandered down the hill, fast in parts, slower to suck up the views which greeted us on every side. Quite breathtaking. If you ever, ever find yourself in La Paz, this is an experience I would recommend with my whole being.
(Here are some fast facts I found about it online)
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The worst year on record (1983) saw 320 people lose their lives in the gaping valley below, including the biggest single road accident in Bolivian history when more than 100 people were sent crashing over its near-vertical edge.
The title of the ‘World’s Most Dangerous Road ’ was bestowed upon this transport route by the Inter-American Development Bank in 1995, based on the macabre ratio of deaths per mile. The ‘road’ itself is nothing more than a narrow sliver chiselled out of the mountainside – it’s unsealed, there are no barriers guarding you from the vertiginous drops and in places the rough, potholed track is only 3.2 metres wide. FAST FACTS Official name: Unduavi-Yolosa Highway Nickname: ‘World’s Most Dangerous Road ’ Location: La Cumbre – Coroico , Bolivia Length: 64km
Avg death toll: 100 people per year |
