By the grace of god my eyelids opened at 6:30am with a half hour to make it to El Solario, the company handling our hurdle down Death Road. Our alarm for some reason never went off, but the mere fact that we woke up on time, of our own accord, boded well for our upcoming adventure. Arriving just in time for the breakfast orientation, we scarf down our grilled cheese sandwiches and drown our drowsy eyes in coffee... now we are ready.
Piling into one of two the 12-person vans, Andrew and I are delighted to find that there are only 5 in our van, and we have room to stretch out while we shake off the coffee jitters left over from one to many cups of coffee. Twisting our way up the mountains that hold La Paz like a fish bowl, we finally reach La Cumbre, our launch point at 4700 meters (15,400ft). Unloading our bikes, the guides give us instructions while i let my eyes wander to the massive, snow dotted peaks that surround us. The valley only partly-shrouded in the mist from the jungles below is lined with sheer rock cliffs colliding at their pinnacle to create the impressive 6000 meter (19,685ft.) mountain range we would ride through. Gearing up in knee pads, elbow pads, gloves, a helmet and a wind breaker, we begin the first stage of the road.
Speeding our way down the winding, asphalt road and into the valley, I stay in full tuck making sure to stay in front... I'm not here to look at any butts. Instructed not to use our cameras while riding, I of course sneak my camera out of my pocket for video documentation of the breathtaking scene. As I film, Clouds blow over the mammoth peaks, waterfalls creep down the cliff faces like jungle vines and the valley opens below me. Under me my bike jolts as I lean into a turn and the air whips my face. After an hour and a half of hurdling ourselves down the twisting paved road, we stop for lunch. Filling our bellies with bananas and ham sandwiches, we pile into the van to be ferried up the hill portion of the road. It's time to start Death Road itself.
According to some estimates some 200-300 visitors are killed here each year, and just a few years ago our guide informed us of a bus that plunged off the cliff lined roadway killing 51 passengers. Unloading from the van once more, we find our selves on a two meter (6ft) wide dirt road that hangs delicately on the edge of a massive cliff. Inlaid with jagged rocks, it becomes instantly clear why this is called Death Road... one slip on the winding, bumpy, cliff-lined roadway and your dead. Now this is more like it.
As we get our instruction, a bus peels around the corner just 15 meters from us, completely unheard just seconds ago. The sheer rock walls had blocked the sound of the engine and the thick jungle had swallowed its echoes. Our guide instructs us that unlike the rest of Bolivia which drives on the right, we must descend on the left side of the roadway, closest to the cliffs edge, the reason being that drivers sitting on the left are better able to make sure their tires do not plunge over the 90 degree embankment.
Beginning our descent, I again make sure to take the lead behind our guide so that I can enjoy the scenery with the least amount of dust in my eyes. Smart me, I'm the only one who forgot my sunglasses. Anyway, I figure the guide knows the best tracks to take I can then get more speed. WEEEE!
Occasionally stopping for video and pictures we race down the narrow mountain pass. Jumping and bumping over rocks and skidding around tight turns, I go only slightly faster than comfortable, constantly aware of the fatality a mistake would produce. As we snake down the uneven terrain, my hands grow sore and numb from constant bumping and breaking, and I shake them out whenever I get the chance. Eager capture some home video of my own, I dare not during the steep, rocky descent. As another bus whips around the corner ahead of me, I hug the cliff edge, which drops 600 meters into oblivion. Avoiding its massive, metal grill I manage to slide over far enough to avoid it from punting me off the roadway. Blinded by the thick cloud of dust it kicks up, I wipe at my eyes and regain my composure. Blazing around turns, jumping rocks and smashing through waterfalls we descend quickly. Adrenaline pumping, you sometimes forget the immediate danger of the roadway, but the occasional crosses lining the roadway act as solemn reminders of the threat and shake you from your complicity. After 2 hours we finally reach the flat portion of the road, where I am able to take some home video. Oh wait....Shhhhh! It's not allowed.
Riding through a river a local family has set about washing their cars and clothes and bathing in the cool clear water. Andrew and I follow suit, hopping off our bikes and dunking our heads under the waterfall created by the small river. Hopping back on our bikes we begin or way down again. A girl's tire pops, a common occurrence on the road, so a little further down, the guide stops to wait. The place where the guide has stopped he explains, is a very dangerous part of the road. Pointing to the jungle below, he tells us that this is the spot where the bus carrying 51 passengers plunged off the cliff a few years back. Marked by three crosses, I look ever the edge and see nothing but jungle. As the guide talks, he tells us that the bus still remains at the bottom of the valley, the thick jungle swallowing it whole and preventing its recovery. Finally reaching the bottom of the road in Yolosi which sits at 1200 meters (3937ft) we take a break, watching a local hang her laundry out to dry in the baking sun. Having descended 3,500 meters (11,482ft) in four hours down the most dangerous road in the world, I was finally able to say, "I Survived Death Road!"
After a small hill climb to the Hostel Don Lucho for lunch, I strip down and dive head first into the cool water of the swimming pool. There in the swimming pool, set in the valley of a rich, colorful jungle and surrounded by mountains thickly blanketed in green, I relax. After a delicious, home-cooked, buffet lunch. I grab a Duff beer from the fridge and relax in the hammock, finding my own personal heaven in the sound of the breeze through the trees and the exotic bird calls echoing from the canopy.
Piling into one of two the 12-person vans, Andrew and I are delighted to find that there are only 5 in our van, and we have room to stretch out while we shake off the coffee jitters left over from one to many cups of coffee. Twisting our way up the mountains that hold La Paz like a fish bowl, we finally reach La Cumbre, our launch point at 4700 meters (15,400ft). Unloading our bikes, the guides give us instructions while i let my eyes wander to the massive, snow dotted peaks that surround us. The valley only partly-shrouded in the mist from the jungles below is lined with sheer rock cliffs colliding at their pinnacle to create the impressive 6000 meter (19,685ft.) mountain range we would ride through. Gearing up in knee pads, elbow pads, gloves, a helmet and a wind breaker, we begin the first stage of the road.
Speeding our way down the winding, asphalt road and into the valley, I stay in full tuck making sure to stay in front... I'm not here to look at any butts. Instructed not to use our cameras while riding, I of course sneak my camera out of my pocket for video documentation of the breathtaking scene. As I film, Clouds blow over the mammoth peaks, waterfalls creep down the cliff faces like jungle vines and the valley opens below me. Under me my bike jolts as I lean into a turn and the air whips my face. After an hour and a half of hurdling ourselves down the twisting paved road, we stop for lunch. Filling our bellies with bananas and ham sandwiches, we pile into the van to be ferried up the hill portion of the road. It's time to start Death Road itself. According to some estimates some 200-300 visitors are killed here each year, and just a few years ago our guide informed us of a bus that plunged off the cliff lined roadway killing 51 passengers. Unloading from the van once more, we find our selves on a two meter (6ft) wide dirt road that hangs delicately on the edge of a massive cliff. Inlaid with jagged rocks, it becomes instantly clear why this is called Death Road... one slip on the winding, bumpy, cliff-lined roadway and your dead. Now this is more like it.
As we get our instruction, a bus peels around the corner just 15 meters from us, completely unheard just seconds ago. The sheer rock walls had blocked the sound of the engine and the thick jungle had swallowed its echoes. Our guide instructs us that unlike the rest of Bolivia which drives on the right, we must descend on the left side of the roadway, closest to the cliffs edge, the reason being that drivers sitting on the left are better able to make sure their tires do not plunge over the 90 degree embankment.Beginning our descent, I again make sure to take the lead behind our guide so that I can enjoy the scenery with the least amount of dust in my eyes. Smart me, I'm the only one who forgot my sunglasses. Anyway, I figure the guide knows the best tracks to take I can then get more speed. WEEEE!
Occasionally stopping for video and pictures we race down the narrow mountain pass. Jumping and bumping over rocks and skidding around tight turns, I go only slightly faster than comfortable, constantly aware of the fatality a mistake would produce. As we snake down the uneven terrain, my hands grow sore and numb from constant bumping and breaking, and I shake them out whenever I get the chance. Eager capture some home video of my own, I dare not during the steep, rocky descent. As another bus whips around the corner ahead of me, I hug the cliff edge, which drops 600 meters into oblivion. Avoiding its massive, metal grill I manage to slide over far enough to avoid it from punting me off the roadway. Blinded by the thick cloud of dust it kicks up, I wipe at my eyes and regain my composure. Blazing around turns, jumping rocks and smashing through waterfalls we descend quickly. Adrenaline pumping, you sometimes forget the immediate danger of the roadway, but the occasional crosses lining the roadway act as solemn reminders of the threat and shake you from your complicity. After 2 hours we finally reach the flat portion of the road, where I am able to take some home video. Oh wait....Shhhhh! It's not allowed.
Riding through a river a local family has set about washing their cars and clothes and bathing in the cool clear water. Andrew and I follow suit, hopping off our bikes and dunking our heads under the waterfall created by the small river. Hopping back on our bikes we begin or way down again. A girl's tire pops, a common occurrence on the road, so a little further down, the guide stops to wait. The place where the guide has stopped he explains, is a very dangerous part of the road. Pointing to the jungle below, he tells us that this is the spot where the bus carrying 51 passengers plunged off the cliff a few years back. Marked by three crosses, I look ever the edge and see nothing but jungle. As the guide talks, he tells us that the bus still remains at the bottom of the valley, the thick jungle swallowing it whole and preventing its recovery. Finally reaching the bottom of the road in Yolosi which sits at 1200 meters (3937ft) we take a break, watching a local hang her laundry out to dry in the baking sun. Having descended 3,500 meters (11,482ft) in four hours down the most dangerous road in the world, I was finally able to say, "I Survived Death Road!"
The hostel at the bottom of death roade was truely peaceful and I highly recommend it too anyone looking to escape in the jungle for a few days
ReplyDelete