Today I cycled Death Road. El Camino de la Muerte has been labeled the most dangerous road in the world for over thirteen years now. With an estimated 200-300 deaths each year, it of course, has become a tourist attraction.
Prior to coming to La Paz I had decided not to go anywhere near this place. I had heard horror stories of other backpackers with busted faces, broken bones and other unsavoury injuries, not to mention the three tourists reportedly killed in the last three weeks as they attempted this route on mountain bikes. Add to this the fact that I'm obviously not too sensible when in comes to biking (see previous entry: Still Stupid) and I think there is sufficient cause to chicken out of this one death trap.
But as fate would have it, I couldn't get a flight to the jungle until this Friday which left me with one free day and no plans. So I found the cheapest travel agency I could, checked out the bikes and booked my potentially last ever activity.
It turned out to be a really amazing day. There were only four of us in my group, three Israelis and myself. The Israelis were all pretty hardcore, two were semi-pro bikers and one a bike guide back in Israel, so we wasted no time bombing down the sixty-nine kilometer stretch of cliff-clinging dirt road. Most of the road lacks guardrails, is only one lane wide and has vertical drops of up to 2000 feet. Add to this the mud, fog and potential of landslides from above and we had an exhilarating day. 
Breakfast, snacks, lunch and relaxing poolside siesta afterwards were all included for for the shocking price of thirty-four dollars. Our young guide Johnny was also really cool, but I often felt he was more concerned about popping jumps for the camera and doing wheelies though the puddles than about keeping us alive.
And since this was such a dangerous outing, for once in my life I took it seriously and prepared properly. I did NOT go out drinking until five in the morning (because it was NOT my friend Tim's last night in South America. I did NOT guzzle the strongest local beer I could find until I couldn't see straight. I did NOT sleep in and have to be woken forty minutes late by some girl from the travel agency who had magically found my room and bed. And of course I did NOT do the first part of the road steaming drunk and the last part terribly hungover. Because of course I am too sensible to behave in such a way.
Prior to coming to La Paz I had decided not to go anywhere near this place. I had heard horror stories of other backpackers with busted faces, broken bones and other unsavoury injuries, not to mention the three tourists reportedly killed in the last three weeks as they attempted this route on mountain bikes. Add to this the fact that I'm obviously not too sensible when in comes to biking (see previous entry: Still Stupid) and I think there is sufficient cause to chicken out of this one death trap.
But as fate would have it, I couldn't get a flight to the jungle until this Friday which left me with one free day and no plans. So I found the cheapest travel agency I could, checked out the bikes and booked my potentially last ever activity.
It turned out to be a really amazing day. There were only four of us in my group, three Israelis and myself. The Israelis were all pretty hardcore, two were semi-pro bikers and one a bike guide back in Israel, so we wasted no time bombing down the sixty-nine kilometer stretch of cliff-clinging dirt road. Most of the road lacks guardrails, is only one lane wide and has vertical drops of up to 2000 feet. Add to this the mud, fog and potential of landslides from above and we had an exhilarating day. 
Breakfast, snacks, lunch and relaxing poolside siesta afterwards were all included for for the shocking price of thirty-four dollars. Our young guide Johnny was also really cool, but I often felt he was more concerned about popping jumps for the camera and doing wheelies though the puddles than about keeping us alive.
And since this was such a dangerous outing, for once in my life I took it seriously and prepared properly. I did NOT go out drinking until five in the morning (because it was NOT my friend Tim's last night in South America. I did NOT guzzle the strongest local beer I could find until I couldn't see straight. I did NOT sleep in and have to be woken forty minutes late by some girl from the travel agency who had magically found my room and bed. And of course I did NOT do the first part of the road steaming drunk and the last part terribly hungover. Because of course I am too sensible to behave in such a way.
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