Biking the Camino Del Muerte

For nearly a week, we've been taking Spanish language classes in La Paz, Bolivia. The torture of constant correction and the daily humiliation of being language retarded was taking its toll on our brains, so we planned a day excursion to the Camino Del Muerte. "The Death Road" is the deadliest road in the world. It's reputation comes mostly from drivers falling asleep at the wheel and driving off cliffs, though many deaths on the road were also attributed to Banzo's dictatorship government of the 1940's (they were known for disappearing folks by pushing them over the cliff, or rather giving the option to take a bullet or willingly walk off a cliff... and people say dictatorships don't offer democratic choice... what a horrid choice). You may have seen this road featured on Ice Road Truckers. I can't imagine driving a truck down the narrow, gravel, hair-pin drops, but I was willing to give it a try on a mountain bike. The whole idea started about 14 years ago when a biking enthusiast realized that there was an untapped opportunity to offer bike tours of the Death Road. The owner of Gravity Assisted Bike Tours started peddling the idea to travelers at local hostels. An industry was born. The tour packages are all pretty similar, but Gravity is known as one of the best, in part due to their excellent safety rating. Their outfits are not the snazziest (seriously, orange vests and green helmets? My theory is that the purchasing agent is either color-blind or got an incredible deal on some blow-out construction and army attire), but what they lacked in uniforms, they made up for in granola bars, powerades, and solid communication, oh, and did I mention that they have an EXCELLENT safety rating? That struck me as kinda important... you know, being the "Death Road" and all.

Our van/bus, loaded up with bikes and ready for an adventure

Our first stop down the asphalt section

We met our crew of 12 at the Alexendar Cafe, then ascended in a van for about an hour until we reached 14,100 feet. As we exited the van, a bus full of teenagers swarmed Mark and I for pictures. It was like we were back in India; they all wanted a picture with the gringos. I don't know if we just look friendly, or American, or what, but they singled us out of the group and a frenzy of smartphones and cameras ensued. Mark overheard some of the kids asking, "Famosa?" (are they famous?). Yep, but just on Bolivian Facebook.

Had to tuck my pants into my wool socks to keep them from snagging in the chains and throwing me to the ground

Anyway, we geared up, hopped on the bikes, and started down the asphalt, the initial, easiest, and most anticipated section of the tour. The views were stunning, and I had to consciously tell myself to watch the road. It helped me focus when I remembered the horror stories of people who died from taking in the view. Last year, a Japanese girl was taking a picture with her iphone when she biked right off the edge of a cliff. Another girl pulled over for a truck, but she pulled over on the cliff side and when she dismounted her bike, she stumbled over the edge of the cliff, to her death. Other stories were less deadly, but no less impressionable. One girl went through a tunnel with her sunglasses on, ran into a wall, and went into a coma for four months. Another guy took a corner too wide, crashed into the mountain and broke his collar-bone. Another guy busted his femur on a corner. These stories, along with the knowledge that there is no air-support, just a 3.5 hour bus ride back to town, kept me focused on the road ahead.

Toll booth/ check-point

The road was exciting. The sharp decline sent the bikes sailing. Like tearing off down the luge, our bike sleds wanted speed, and lots of it. Mark and Mohammed, along with our guide, Steve, fearlessly tore off down the road at the front of the pack. I laughed as I remembered Steve's introduction at the top of the mountain, "This is not the f-ing Tour de France. We're not drafting off of each other. Leave some f-ing room between the bikes." At first, I hung close to the front of the pack, but the speed scared me, so I gently applied my breaks before the straight-aways gave way to the curves. "No breaking on the corners," I reminded myself as I leaned into the turns. I consistently finished first among the women, and ahead of a couple of the guys. I preferred keeping a space for myself, a little extra road, just in case. There were two guys in our group, a German and a Dutch guy, who consistently failed to follow the safety briefing for passing other bikers. This peeved me as they snuck up on me a couple of times to pass without warning, cut me off, and sit on my front tire. Rather than scream it out on the trail, I kept my cool and at the next stop I said to the Dutch guy, "Hey, I totally don't mind you passing me, but if you pass, please let me know by saying "On your right," and after passing, put some room between our bikes. On these narrow roads, when you sit in front of my tire, it's dangerous for you and for me." I said it with a smile, but the less mature part of me felt like pushing him over the ledge.

Chills... it's a significant drop

Where folks "disappeared" during the dictatorship

As we descended down the trail, the asphalt gave way to loose gravel. The twists got tighter, the corners got sharper, there were more waterfalls and the landscapes just kept getting better. We passed through waterfalls that cooled us down with their splashes, and toward the end we rode through creeks and around chickens and people. About every 10-15 minutes, we stopped as a group to rehydrate, peel off layers of clothing, take in the view, and process our excitement. Despite my initial terror, it was an incredible day, one of my favorites so far in South America. One of the more exciting moments was when my rear tire exploded. We were about half way through the day and I took off with the front of the pack, but then I felt something explode behind me, then I heard hissing and the peddling got harder. It turned out to be no big deal, the bike just sat down, no careening off any cliffs or spinning out on the gravel. These bikes were awesome; they wanted to stay on the road. It's no wonder our guide kept encouraging us to, "trust the bike." The second guide swapped my tire out and I was back in business in under 10 minutes. I had the road all to myself, which was nice. I only hoped that Mark wasn't worried that I had biked off some cliff. It turns out one of the other girls saw the whole thing happen and when she got to the randevouz point, she let Mark know that "the little blonde girl blew a tire, but she's okay."

End of the day, beer stop

At the animal sanctuary

We ended the day with a round of beers in a second story building in a tiny little town at the bottom of the mountains. From there, we drove the van to a wildlife sanctuary, an open zoo of sorts, where volunteers care for abandoned wild animals. The area is home to red and blue parrots, countless turtles, an adorable but smelly little cousin to the racoon/ant-eater family, a rare Andean spotted bear, and a plothera of monkies. This place was a gem. We shared travel stories over a hot buffet-style supper followed by hot showers (complete with towels and toiletries provided). I was actually sad to leave because I hadn't gotten the chance to swim in the river; I was just too tuckered out from the ride. My fore-arms were sore from dominating the bike all morning (it wasn't until 1/2 way down the trail that I figured out I could sturdy up by pressing more weight into my peddles). On the return trip, the guides and Mark grabbed a few liters of beer for the 3.5 hour return ride. I stuck to a liter of water, but was no less buzzed. The stars outside lit up the night, and the snow-capped mountains glowed. It was such a perfect day to be alive in the Andes.

Evidence of biking the Death Road, my new t-shirt

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