Day 59 – La Paz

Ciara and I had made an agreement upon our return from the Amazon – No more adventure – from now on, it was to be a strict diet of beaches, lounging in hammocks and the odd Pina Colada. So quite what we were doing on mountain bikes at 8am in the freezing cold at an altitude of 4700m I don't know.

If the fog had cleared for even the shortest amount of time (which at this altitude it never does) we would have been presented with a stunning view of the 62km stretch of road and dirt track that we were about to cycle. The road drops 3000m in altitude, never gets wider than 3m and the runs along cliffs that are not far off 1km in height – the city calls this The Old Road, to everyone else it's called The Death Road, alleged to be the most lethal stretch of road on earth.

I had looked at a number of different bike companies running the tour – as there were a lot warnings regarding the number of shoddy ones out there, obviously safety was my major concern as well as experience and comfort. The free T-Shirt they offered had no bearing at all on my decision but at least meant I had something clean to wear.

The first hour was amongst the most uncomfortable and painful experiences I have ever had, the visibility was not much more than 10m, the almost horizontal rain was bone-chillingly cold whilst the manic Bolivian drivers that regarded us as little more than irritating human mosquitos were the least of my concerns. The rain had soaked through all five layers of my clothing (including three waterproof jackets), my fingers were no numb I was only just able to pull on the brakes – a pretty essential skill on this road – and to top off everything the guide kept asking me to 'smile' as he shot countless photos. The drop in altitude was not helping either as both Ciara and I struggled to hold onto last nights dinner.

As the altitude dropped, I gradually noticed something remarkable – not only was it getting clearer and warmer but I was also starting to enjoy myself. by mid-morning the clouds and rain were a distant memory and the sun was now beating on us with such ferocity that I was able to dispense with my sodden clothes and (with the exception of my still numb fingertips) all was looking good. Once the notion of simple survival had passed I was able to fully focus on the sheer terror of the drop-offs to the side of the road and really appreciate why The Death Road is honored with such a title. The paved section had ended and the road was now just dirt, gravel, loose rocks and the odd waterfall making it slippery in places and spelling certain doom for anyone foolish enough to relax and start admiring the fantastic scenery.

I arrived at the end of the road elated but strangely disappointed that it had come to an end. As an adrenaline rush it was up there with the best of them and the next time you are in Bolivia I would highly recommend that you ride The Death Road – it is amazing. Although it is ill-conceived advice like that which probably got the road its name in the first place.

As we drove back to La Paz along the same route, at last able to appreciate the scenery and reflect on how precarious the road was, the driver put on a CD, the song was Eye of the Tiger – Perfect, just perfect.