The Death Road gets the better of me

One day in La Paz. I’ve never been a fan of cities, so I agreed to hurl myself down the Death Road on a bicycle instead.  Seemed like a good plan at the time.

We get fetched in a minibus loaded to the hilt with mountain bikes and safety equipment (thank heavens).

Drive up to 4700m, there is snow on the mountains and on the ground next to the road.

Soon after, we stop and have to get out and kit up. It is freezing, it is drizzling,  every logical part of me says stay in the bus…but I don’t.

First part is on tar, my hands are frozen like talons around the handlebars within seconds. Soon we stop for breakfast, I hug a cup of coffee just to feel again.

Then the fun begins,  we now find ourselves on a gravel road with steep descents to 1200m. This is the Real Death Road with sheer drops into canyons filled with mist and waterfalls by the dozen.

We whiz down with the occasional stop for water or to remove items of clothing as it gets hotter. I get braver, and start passing people, a small lapse in concentration and very strategically positioned gravel and I go flying. That’s once.

Later we are bottled-necked, 10 minutes from the end, I don’t see a large loose rock until it is too late and I go flying again taking one lonely soldier with me who couldn’t break in time. That’s twice.

Eish, I think I’m fortunate only to have scraped hands and a bruised knee. It was the most exhilarating fun I’ve had in a long time and I’ll have the scars to prove it.