Bolivia Part 3: DEATH ROAD

As I said before, many days of research went into planning our trip to Bolivia. We basically wanted to see and do as much as possible in the little time we had. However, Kelly did turn to me one day while we were planning and say “there’s only one thing I refuse to do in Bolivia: Death Road.” Just the name alone was enough to keep us away… so we thought. Not only did we find ourselves on Death Road - we found ourselves on MOUNTAIN BIKES on DEATH ROAD!

Yungas Road (also called Death Road or El Camino de la Muerte) is known as the “world’s most dangerous road” due to the lives it has claimed every year since it was built along the Andes Mountains in the 1930s. It used to be the only road connecting the rainforest region of Bolivia to the capital city of La Paz and is still the only option for some towns along the mountains. Bolivia eventually responded to the numerous fatal accidents along Yungas Road by creating an alternate highway that was finalized in 2006, but many people still drive along the world’s most dangerous road – and now they do it with the company of adventure-sport enthusiasts!

Death Road

It has become very common for tourists to mountain bike Death Road even though bikes and cars continue to collect in the vegetation trap lining the side of the mountains. I kept trying to remind myself that I was in safe hands as we listened to our biking instructions and put on our thick black pants, orange jumper, gloves, knee & elbow pads and serious helmet.

rocking my gear on Death Road

The 4-hour ride: begins at 4,700 m in the high lands of La Cumbre and ends at 1,200 m in Yolosa (3,500 m vertical drop). Covers 67 km with 25% on tarmac and 75% on dirt.

our group toward the end of the tarmac section

our group on the edge of the mountain

One of the great things about the bike route is that it’s mostly downhill. There are short stints of uphill climbing, but the van drives us up the most dramatic incline leaving us to make our way down to our final destination. The only bad thing about going mostly downhill is that you gain frightening levels of momentum while trying to maintain control of your bike on a narrow, uneven dirt road. Speeding downhill on the paved section was a little less nerve-racking because at least there was ample space on the road. Well, other than when we had to pass semi trucks while bending with the road’s curves and watching for oncoming traffic. While I loved the ease of gaining speed as I leaned over my handlebars on the tarmac; I preferred the dirt section because of the nature and peaceful environment.

Somehow it was easy to get lost in thought while cruising through the Andes Mountains. I thought about how I stopped “mountain biking” in Florida for all the wrong reasons and started getting excited again about the bike waiting for me at home. I also thought about all the unique and incredible experiences I’ve had and the places I’ve seen all over the world, and I realized I’d like to do/see more of them on a bike.

I didn’t struggle with the bike or trail as much as I struggled with the desire to take my eyes off the road and enjoy the view. I stole glances into the mountains and over the edge during the fleeting moments I felt confident enough in my safety. There were times that the road’s cliff-like edge was merely inches from my tires (occasionally as a car/van drove passed me on the inside of the road) but I oddly felt invincible on the bike… that is until Kelly fell.

I heard a quick, terrifying scream within seconds of mounting our bikes after a lookout break and knew in my heart it was Kelly. I immediately jumped off my bike and turned around to find Kelly on the ground attempting to recover from a headfirst fall over her handlebars. After slowly getting up, she realized she was unable to move her wrist or fingers – and we realized she was unable to get back on her bike. Even if she wanted to ride, the intense force of the bike tearing down the bumpy road called for a firm grip on the handlebars – one that was even difficult for a strong arm/hand to maintain the whole ride… one that she could no longer make. Seeing Kelly finish the ride in the back of a van with a (later diagnosed) fractured wrist instilled an all-new level of fear in me. She lost control of her bike while trying to adjust her elbow pads – something I had been fidgeting with all morning. I suddenly realized how serious this ride was (apparently the name didn’t do that for me) while also realizing how lucky she/we were that the consequences weren’t much worse. I tried to be a little more cautious of keeping my eyes on the road and my hands on the bike while still allowing myself to get caught up in the adventure.

standing in front of "death corner" - narrow part of the road where most automobiles fall over the edge

Agata, Kevin, Kelly (injured), me and the Andes Mountains
(Agata and I were too hot to keep our pants up, and I'm sporting a sweet farmers tan from the Isla del Sol hike)

The end of the route met us with a beautiful, relaxing area where we were able to shed our gear and collapse with exhaustion by a pool that overlooked the mountains we were unable to fix our eyes on while biking. We soaked our feet, analyzed Kelly’s arm, shared laughter through grunts of pain and ate lunch before getting in the van for what would become the most painful part of my Death Road experience.

not a bad place to finish the ride

recovering

I can honestly say I felt safer riding down that mountain on a bicycle than I did riding up it in a van! I held my breath and looked away each time we had to share the narrow road with an oncoming automobile - and the anxiety of flipping over the edge didn’t help the sharp pains I was feeling in my stomach. I’ll spare you the gory details… but let’s just say I was suddenly crippled with what could only be described as food poisoning and spent the 3-hour ride back to La Paz forcing the driver to stop, and the 6 other passengers to wait, while I was violently ill on the side of Death Road (in multiple places)! But while I was fighting the pain and Kelly was fighting the tears from her arm being jolted with each bump, something incredible happened… “Stand by Me” came on the radio in our miserable van navigating the world’s most dangerous road and the entire atmosphere shifted. Kevin provided the baritone as our motley crew of defeated thrill-seeking travelers slowly began singing and laughing.

We spent the next morning in a Bolivian hospital getting Kelly’s arm reset and put in a cast. That experience was one of the most obvious moments in my life where I realized the importance of being able to communicate. The doctor knew very little English and I tried to understand what he said in Spanish as he twisted Kelly’s arm and stabbed her with needles (yes, it was that dramatic…if not more!) but I couldn’t. I was brutally reminded that my need to learn Spanish is more than a luxury but a means of survival down here!

Kelly's Bolivian cast

I later had my own experience with a South American hospital. It turns out I was not suffering from food poisoning during our ride back from Death Road. I know this because I was horribly sick for almost 3 weeks before I went to a hospital in Argentina. I did finally recover - AFTER 4 hours in the dirty yet free hospital (that must double as a homeless shelter), having blood drawn by a gloveless nurse on a bed next to an open box of used needles, giving a “caca” sample (you don’t want to know that story) and taking a lot of prescription drugs. Luckily I had my friend Megan there to translate the Spanish-speaking doctors/nurses/lab people for me and provide entertainment/laughter in light of the traumatizing circumstances! Thank you, Bolivia.

sick, sad and disgusted at the hospital in Buenos Aires