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.

Day 58 – La Paz

A week in the jungle and a starring role in Death Race 2010 was quite enough excitement for anyone, so I decided to relax for the day with the only pressing matter being the refund for our flight tickets. Having been in South America a while now I have come to realise that getting something simple like an extra slice of cheese for breakfast is akin to asking Osama Bin Laden to pop on a tutu, so the thought of trying to extricate £100 from our tour operator was a daunting one. To enter the office and be greeted like returning heroes whilst hearing 'You must be here for your refund, let me get it for you' was really quite staggering.

Would you like that in Terrorist Black or Islamic Green Mr Bin Laden?

In the afternoon I took my clothes for a well deserved and long overdue outing to the laundry, the owners face fell as she grasped the enormity of the task ahead and it sank in that she would be working a late one that night.

Day 57 – Rurrenbabaque to La Paz

According to the airline company, we are currently stranded 400km from La Paz due to the plane being – stop me if this gets too technical – 'Broken' unfortunately they have no real idea when the plane will be 'Fixed'. You didn't think there would be more than one plane did you?

Our options are limited; wait six days for a good quality bus (which takes 10hrs), take the daily local bus (20hrs, breakdown guaranteed at no extra cost) or hire a jeep. The night bus is not going to happen as we are short of money and the town has no ATMs, the local bus is last on the list as I have no wish to sit with a chicken on my lap for the day – that would be foul (bu-dum-tish), so the only real contender is to hire a jeep and driver and make our own way South. As we are not the only people in this predicament we are travelling with Geoff and Jenney, who have been on the tour with us for the last week and we know are good fun to travel with. We then found an Australian couple who need to get to La Paz – although after talking to him for ten minutes we are not sure if he is a medical student or a serial killer. We may need to put him on the roof.

We gave our driver thorough instructions 'La Paz!' and we were off. Ciara's Spanish is coming along much better than mine, but it was left to me along some of the more precipitous cliff tops to translate 'Slow down or feel my size nines in your backside' as we felt her saying 'Slow down or feel my size twos in your backside' did not carry the same level of threat.

With the mountainous dirt roads completed we thought the worst was over and started to relax – except perhaps Geoff, who had picked the front seat and was currently on his twelfth pack of Marlboro's having only started smoking today. Our tranquility was short lived as we gained altitude and the fog cut the visibility down to about two metres – at least on the dirt roads we could see our impending doom this was like being Steve Wonder left on a runway at Heathrow. After an hour we descended into La Paz thankful that our driver was obviously on a promise that night.

We never did quite work out which side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, it seems that in the cities and towns the cars drive on the left but in the mountains they drive on the right. But where does the town road become a mountain road? You may well ask.