Day 228: The Death Road (13/09/2011)

Things rarely match their description.

The Death Road is a famous route from the mountains on the far side of La Paz to the small town of Coroico. The old road was largely closed in 1991 as a result of the appalling fatality rate that earned the macabre name

The 'Gravity Assisted' truck collected us from the hotel at 7.30am and we left La Paz, forked off in the outskirts and continued to climb the range of mountains that rings the city. John, our Kiwi guide doled out essential advice. At 16,000 feet we parked by the La Cumbre lake in barren terrain far above the tree line.

"If you go off the edge, you will die" he concluded.

We offered 96% proof alcohol to the Inca deity, Pachamama and cruised round the bend and onto the first descent of the 63km road which would take us down 12,000 feet.

Rumbling ominously along behind us was the support bus, ready to sweep up the dead.

Juby, our Bolivian guide rode tail and together we snaked down 15km on tarmac, over-taking slow moving lorries and sneaking occasional glances at the awe inspiring rock faces that plunged a thousand feet into the ravine beside us.

At Hospital Corner, John took delight at pointing out the wreckage, far below, of a camper van that had misjudged the bend a few months before and plummeted to a fiery and mangled end on the rock field 500 feet below.

We edged to the precipice and peeked gingerly down at the remains.

“They all died” he added unnecessarily.

At the bottom of the first section we pulled up at a narcotics check point at Unduavi. We filed through the cordon, John having warned us to abandon or consume any illicit substances that we were carrying. No one had anything to ditch but the idea of taking on the Death Road with anything but a clear head seemed ridiculous.

The tarmac ended and we wound down a dusty gravel track and competed with buses and trucks to be the first to make the corners. So steep were many of them that the cornering vehicles risked pushing us whole sale off the increasingly steep edges. The barriers disappeared with the tarmac and the lack of protection began to focus the mind in a way that John’s black humour didn't.

What followed were sixteen sections of downhill, with a brief but painful 8km uphill climb part way through.

We paused for photos at the viewing point at the beginning of the Death Road and a nervous peel of laughter rippled through the group. Far below us on the far side of the valley snaked a yellow line; a road cut into the heavily forested mountain side. The drop was visible, even from this distance and it was steep, long and entirely unforgiving.

With John’s stories ringing in our ears, we started slowly.

Twenty-six tourists have been killed while cycling on the road since 1998. That number pales compared to the 108 Bolivians lost in a single bus that went over the edge on this section. We passed the small cross that marks the spot and paused to look down into the ravine that falls away from the unprotected edge.

What unfolded was a procession of rides of varying ease but accompanied by the psychological strain of riding alongside the precipice.

"A Japanese tourist fell to her death here" yelled John as he whizzed past.

"An American photographing his group stepped back to his death - look, you can still see his camera" he added 500m later.

"A Chinese woman overbalanced while climbing off her bike - just there". Arghh - make it stop we thought but no one said anything.

The list went on and I wasn’t sure whether John was delighting in the gory detail or instilling in us a respect for the true danger that we were exposing ourselves to. The answer is probably both.

Despite the stories, our confidence grew and as a result, so did our velocity. We learned the technique for taking the corners and increasing speed over the rock strewn path.

And then it happened.

Alex had been over reaching himself all morning. Flushed with success, he failed to spot the offending rock and his front wheel flicked 90 degrees. He tumbled over the handle bars and sprawled into the road. The bike followed overhead and the edge beckoned.

Fortunately his speed and direction were such that he came to rest in a cloud of dust a metre and a half from his Maker. Clearly rattled, he was up and off in seconds despite the blood streaming from his leg.

Further down the hill, Jade fell in identical circumstances. The bus swept her up and took her down to the bottom while we continued on our way, now paying much closer attention.

Periodically a local bus would tear down the road and pass us in a choking cloud of dust, blaring its air horn as it went. The Death Road is officially closed to most traffic but as still saves 20 minutes compared to the new road, some still use it.

This guarantees that those who do use it are in a rush - and that the road will continue to claim its victims.

We passed under the San Juan waterfall with whoops as the cold water soaked us and washed across the road and before long we had entered the lower reaches. The 1,000m drops had reduced to 20m and we felt impervious to the danger.

After dinner at a wild life reserve amongst inquisitive monkeys and Macaws with attitude problems, we showered and prepared for the return journey.

To our alarm the bus was planning to retrace our steps up the Death Road rather than the new road. Descending in the light in control of our own bicycles was a challenging experience. Sitting in a bus barely able to fit four wheels on the narrower stretches was frightening.

Looking down from the windows, the road surface was not visible. Only the drop, the meandering river and the tiny houses with smoke curling from their chimneys far below gave any perspective to the elevation.

Groans filled the bus as it lurched around corners. Moans and whimpers escaped strained throats as the it bumped and jumped over the uneven terrain. Couples hugged and single men buried their faces in women’s shoulders to escape the terror as darkness fell.

When the bus reached the tarmac after 90 minutes, applause rung out and the tension gradually began to subside. 

Death Road?

It did exactly what it said on the tin.