BIKING THE DEATH ROAD: Bolivia’s Winding Plunge

When shopping around for mountain bike trek companies who will take you down something called the Death Road, a one-lane dirt tract used for two-way traffic that drops 10,000 feet in about forty miles, getting a ‘good deal’ or a ‘discount’ isn’t the priority. Some things in life merit paying top dollar. I didn’t want a cheap bike tour when the trek follows one of the most notoriously dangerous roads in the world.

To be fair, there are far more dangerous routes to bike in the world, probably more dangerous roads to drive as well, such as any road leading away from a NASCAR race. But the trek was one thing we had to do before leaving Bolivia.

Heading out of La Paz to the northeast the road reaches it’s apex (also the starting point of the trek) about an hour out of the capital at over 10,000 feet elevation. After departing from the bus we were at the starting point for about an hour which was spent doling out bikes and equipment and receiving our safety pep talk. As I took a warm-up spin around I noticed the entrance to the Death Road bend off sharply around a corner down the hill. Up on the hill above lay about a dozen crosses of varying size, stern reminders of why it is called the Death Road. Back in 1999, when my brother did the same trip (only then it was done in a minivan because the road was at the time busier) he said that they were losing an average of two buses a month over the cliff on the road.

Actually, as of a couple years ago they built a ’safer’ alternate road across the valley that, instead of hugging the cliffs and winding back and forth was built much wider and with bridges spanning across the mountain outcrops which eliminated much of the wild corners. Millions of dollars later, with traffic preferring the new road they have now found that many of the bridges and spans are not very stable and are sinking. So, for many people it’s back to the old road.

A religious cross salesman would make a killing (no pun intended) hanging around by the Death Road. And given that cars, trucks, and buses go in both directions on this road and that the new diversion road is collapsing sales should remain steady.

The pep talk was delivered by our guide. Though he was a bit of a show-off he was good at keeping people humble, telling stories of the various people who started the bike trip but never completed the bike trip for various reasons. We were told not to avoid use of only the front brakes because you’ll end up over the handle bars like a Finnish girl did a few weeks prior who is now toothless. And we were not to use only our back brakes and skid because we’d end up like the American dude who did that and slammed into the cliff breaking both legs, trip over. We needed to dismount off the bike on the right side so we don’t dismount and stumble off the cliff and die like a French girl did recently. And surprisingly, we were discouraged from riding down the trail next to a friend videotaping him because we could accidentally hit each other and drive off the cliff like two guys did in April. Game over.

He told us that since it was Saturday that we would encounter our first drunk Bolivian driver within the first hour. He continued by saying that Bolivia is the poorest nation in South America and only has access to a couple medical helicopters. He then showed us that his cell phone had no reception and that would remain constant throughout the trip. So basically, don’t mess up. It was a scare tactic designed to keep egos in check because aside from bad luck the only real danger was going beyond one’s means.

The first part of the trek (22km) would be on actually rather smooth pavement.  It then would give way to the notorious dirt track which we would ride for the remaining 42 km. The latter part is the section of the trek that people get themselves into trouble. When I say trouble I mean crashing or going over the vertical cliffs, which could be very troubling.

We were delayed briefly by a Bolivian road crew repairing the road. The operation consisted of a flatbed truck with two guys tossing a pile of rocks onto a washout . We had to talk Keith down from trying to jump the truck. He cruised the Death Road with the intensity of a hungry wolf on speed.

The dilemma during the trip in my opinion was avoiding the urge to gawk at the stunning scenery while keeping your bike on the road. Arriving at the beginning of the dirt part of the road we were privy to another ‘pep talk’ , this one with more death stories and reminders just how little the Bolivian health care system has to offer.

Interestingly, the road in most places has room for one vehicle with two tracks where tires have packed the dirt down. Given the number of sharp corners, crazy (and possibly drunk) drivers, and steep drops we were instructed to keep our bikes in the tire tracks on the outside, or the side nearest the free-fall. This was to prevent a head-on collision with vehicles coming around the sharp corners that would arise from riding on the inside of the road. Being on the outside gives people a few extra seconds to react (and realize that they would be badly injured soon), as opposed to the sudden surprise and impact of hitting a car by riding on the inside.

The trip included seventeen breaks, which initially sounded excessive. But the breaks, besides offering a rest were also a good time to get the wild history of the road. Such as the place where the guide pointed to a decent sized discolored spot on the cliff. “See that spot? Last fall a minivan hit that and caromed over the cliff, hence the crosses.” It’s kind of chilling being at that same spot where such a tragic event occurred. But, it wouldn’t be called the death Road if it were a walk in the park.

We wrapped up the trek in the afternoon at a ranch/zoo/hostel type place that had monkeys and parrots hanging around. We were fed an all you can eat spaghetti feed and a complimentary cerveza. We also were shown pictures from our trip that one of the guides were taking during the trip. The monkeys stole the show as their main mission is securing both watched and unwatched tourist food. I was eating some pasta when a monkey posted up in a chair to my left and helped himself to a girls unfinished food. As other people shooed him away (I was busy filming him) he snagged a piece of garlic bread and retired to his tree with howls and drooping swings of his lanky arms from branch to branch.

The ride home we took a big van up the same Death Road that we had descended earlier. I opened a window explaining to the guide that it would be easier to bail out if things went south. He reminded me that our driver was excellent and had driven the road hundreds of times. I’m also positive that some of those people now represented as crosses on the side of the road had driven it hundreds of times as well.

We stopped at one point to observe a large green cargo truck far down the cliff across the way,mangled and overgrown with bushes and trees. That truck’s unfortunate story started with the driver being too drunk to drive any further so he handed the wheel over to his 15 year old nephew (or maybe son) who not surprisingly lost control of the truck sending it over the edge, along with 22 people who were in the back of the truck.

Our van headed back to La Paz as night fell. We survived the Death Road. Top to bottom. Just like all but two bikers have so far this year.