On the highway to hell!

Death Road (El Camino de la Muerte in Spanish) near La Paz, Bolivia is described as the most dangerous road in the world. Prior to 2007, an average of 28 vehicles a year would fall off the cliff edges of this road, with drops of over 600m and the road as narrow as 3.2m.

Gearing up

A replacement has now been built, which has left the old road open for tourists to cycle down as well as a few local cars.

All this gear made me more nervous!

With around 15 cyclists have died doing this route (the most recent in May 2011 - a British guy), you'd think you'd have to be stark raving mad to pay money to live on the edge, quite literally.

This thought only sunk in whilst I was flying downhill on a mountain bike, slamming on both brakes while negotiating hair-pin bends and oncoming traffic. Panic struck when I realised that this was the easy tarmac section and we hadn’t even reached the "death" road.

Ready to go!

We started the day trip at 4700 m above sea level overlooking a crystal clear lake mirroring the snow-capped mountains. We watched as a group of locals made offerings to a Pachamama (Mother Earth) statue to guide them on their journey. I wondered if we should have brought something...

Our Bolivian guides at Vertigo Biking handed us our comprehensive protective gear including elbow and knee-pads, a full-head helmet and heavy-duty trousers and luminous orange jacket. Once geared up, I could hardly move as we each grabbed a double suspension mountain bike.

The first 63 km of cycling downhill on the tarmac road made me feel like a kid again. The icy-fresh air splashed my face while I stole glimpses of the snow-capped mountains and valley ahead.

After a snack break, dealing with permit formalities and a short drive, we hit the actual world's most dangerous road. And talk about timing, that's when the clouds hit; we had ten metres visibility and it was very wet!

The mist comes in at the top

My stomach flipped as our guide, Oscar, gave a second run down of riding protocol, most notable of which was the rule whereby if you´re cycling downhill and meet a vehicle on it´s way up, then you pass cliff-side, not mountainside (this happened to me!).

To ease us in, Oscar got me to do the "llama dance" with him, making our hands in the shape of llama heads and busting some moves. It made me feel calm, for about two minutes.

My entire body shuddered as we tackled the rough terrain, weary of the proximity between my tyres and the cliff’s edge.

This doesn't do the danger justice!

As I cycled past moss-covered wooden crosses and shrines, I had told myself that I was there to complete this and not for an adrenaline rush.

So, along with a few others I remained firmly at the back of the pack with the brakes applied 99% of the time! It was rocky, slippery and my left wrist (from an old injury) and hands were in agony before we'd even reached halfway. I was determined to finish it, though.

We cycled through rivers and under waterfalls, stopping at various intervals to check everyone was still with us. The view occasionally opened up to reveal the lush green, sheer drops that had taken so many people's lives.

The vigorous cycle route ends in the small village of Yolosa where we shed our protective layers, bid farewell to our mountain bikes and toasted each other with a local beer.

Oscar filled us in on the beer-fuelled bus journey back to La Paz on the recent incidents where tourists have fallen to their death. It made me realise that sometimes the cliché ’ignorance is bliss’ is best.

So the next time I wear my free T-shirt that says: ‘I’ve got what it takes to ride down the world’s most dangerous road’ I will take a moment to think of those who didn't make it, and value the incredible and gruelling experience of cycling through Bolivia’s rough yet beautiful landscape.