The Most Dangerous Road in the World

Or more commonly called…the road of death…

Whew…we made it. Evidently in order to safely ride this narrow, gravel road, you only need one thing…to know how to ride a bike. Unfortunately, this doesn’t appear to be something that is taught in England. Out of our group of 14 riders, 6 had accidents of varying degrees and one ended up heading to a hospital in La Paz, all from England…Andrea was busy, if not unimpressed. Her only question was “Do you think this will count towards my CRNBC hours?”…

Overall, we had a great day. The first part of the road is a reasonably steep, not too tightly curving, paved road that allows you to just go. (The ride starts at 4700 metres and ends at 1100 metres). After the first 32 km or so, you are packed back into the van and transported about 7 km further along the road before starting the more dangerous section. The only reason that you cover the 7 km in the van is that the road is either level or slightly up hill. God forbid any of us would actually have to pedal...

Anyway, the second 35 km section of road is comprised of very loose large rocks/gravel, is pretty steep in areas, has shear drop-offs of up to 600 metres (without guard rails) and has waterfalls dumping water right onto the road. One of the support staff explained that almost every corner had a name based on who had died there. Ten years ago a bus went over the edge at one corner killing 50 people, so you definitely needed to stay focused on your riding and had little time to enjoy the scenery. So really, it is easy to see how accidents can happen, and equally easy to see why anyone on the trip should have had at least basic bike riding skills – which 2 of the 3 silly British girls obviously didn’t. Thankfully, they usually had enough common sense to go slowly and were therefore behind us for most of the trip. At one point though, we had stopped to take some photos so we ended up behind them. Just as we came around a curve we saw the girls in front of us, riding way too close together “so they could chat”. Not surprisingly, one girl zigged over a rock while the other zagged over a different rock and they crashed into each other and went flying. After consoling them and determining that each had received only minor injuries - road rash and bruises - we got them both to their feet and Ian, in his usual generous manner, asked them if they wanted him to take a picture to document the event (a common Lindsay tradition).

Apparently that isn’t something they do in England as they declined his offer with some indignation.…In all fairness to Brits, there were 2 other – more mature – girls from Britain also on the trip and they were not only fun, but they also kicked everyone else’s butts getting to the bottom!

Since we had so many accidents in our group, we asked one of our support staff if this was common, his response was “No, we can go for days and days without any accidents or flat tires, but every time the owner comes with us everything goes wrong!” So, for those of you planning to go to La Paz and cycle the “road of death”, we highly recommend Vertigo Cycling – great support staff, excellent equipment (especially compared to some of the companies that we saw) and reasonably priced – just make sure that Pedro – the owner – isn’t planning on riding the same day that you are!

By the time we finished the ride, we were totally soaked and dirty so we were quite pleased that we had decided to take a break and spend a couple of nights in a higher end hotel – yes, I did write “take a break”, this traveling full-time can be tiring you know!

Anyway, Pedro – the owner of the biking company had recommended a “5 star” hotel “close” to Coroico (a little town in the jungle 80 km or so from La Paz) and had arranged for us to get a ride to the hotel from the end point of our biking trip. So, without even knowing the name of the hotel, we climb into a car (not even a pretense of being a taxi), with 2 men that speak absolutely no English and start driving into the jungle. As we get further and further away from Coroico, and in fact away from any signs of civilization, Ian and I are starting to glace at each other with that “hmm, do you think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea look” while I was quickly reviewing how to say – “thanks but no thanks, take us back” in Spanish. It became even a little more intense when the drivers stopped a couple of children on the side of the road to ask directions – OK, so maybe we were lost in the jungle with two Boliviano’s but at least we weren’t being secreted away to be held somewhere for ransom. Thankfully, the children knew what the two gents didn’t and gave excellent directions to a beautiful, gated hotel.

A weekend getaway location for the rich and famous Bolivianos, the Hotel Rio Selva is truly in the middle of no-where, nestled in the narrow canyon of the Rio Selva with heavily forested walls rising steeply to 400 metre on both sides. It is absolutely gorgeous and because it isn’t in any of the guidebooks, there was probably a 1:1 ratio between pools and hotel guests. For at least a few days, we were well off the gringo trail and paying the equivalent of a Chilean hostel.

Today we made it back to La Paz to dry out the clothes from the humidity and replenish our money supply... for tomorrow we head back into the jungle to fish for parana and chase Anacondas...