The "Most Dangerous Road in the World" leads about 35 miles from La Paz to Coroico in Bolivia's Yungas region. Leaving La Paz at 3200 meters (9600 feet) up to the Cumbre, the highest point at 4700 meters (14,100 feet). From there it drops over 30 miles to less than 1,000 feet above sea level. Until recently it was the only major highway between Bolivia's capital and the Yungas region, and therefore handled vitrually all the heavy truck commerce and bus passenger traffic between the two regions. The road conditions are more than dangerous: they are nearly suicidal. Most of the road is less than 10 feet in width, unpaved; on one side of the road are sheer cliffs which drop over a thousand feet into sheer tropical valleys. Because of the rapid change in climate from the cold Altiplano to the Amazon rainforest, visibility is often obscured by fog, while rockslides and waterfalls often cut right across the road.
Recently, a paved, two-lane bypass road was opened, significantly cutting down on traffic and road fatalities; still, the road has become in famous as being the most dangerous road in the world: at its worst, it was estimated that 200 to 300 people were killed annually on the road. In local parlance, the road is known as El Camino de Muerte, or "Death Road." However, the 13,000 feet of nearly continous downhill grade, plus the name, draws mountain bike enthusiasts and thrill seekers by the thousands every year. You can read the wikipedia article about the road here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yungas_Road.
On Thursday I took my grateful leave of CEDESOL and Cochabamba, though not without some difficult goodbyes from Andrea and her family. I flew from Cochabamba to La Paz, the capital, and installed myself in the Hotel Espana for 190 Bolivianos a night (190 Bs a night is really steep and means a pretty swanky place - as in, television and private bathroom swanky, complimentary soap and hotel towels swanky. Since the offhand exchange rate is seven Bolivianos to the dollar, 190 Bs is about 27 dollars a night, better than Holiday Inn. However, at our hostel in Villa Tunari we were still paying about a third of this, even though bathrooms were shared abd you had to bring your own towels and toilet paper.) I was there to spend my last few days in Bolivia with Alex and Kim, two other UD ETHOS volunteers who were working in La Paz for two more weeks.
Alex, unfortunately, tore a ligament in Villa Tunari and wasn't very mobile. So it fell on Kim and me to try the Death Road by mountain bike.
7:30 on Friday morning, we were up and met at the offices of Barro Biking, on the corner of the Calle Sagarniga and Las Brujas. Our biking group was six: Kim, myself, and four Frenchmen who were spending some time trekking and adventuring on one of those ridiculous European vacations. We breakfasted with coffee and rolls, then piled into a van and drove about an hour to the Cumbre. We unpacked the bikes and got into some serious gear: helmets, gauntlets, jackets, vests, and pants to ward off the cold or any stray rocks that might be kicked up by a tire. Then we started down.
The upper part of the Death road is part of the new road, and therefore it's paved and has two lanes and is relatively safe. At such high elevations, snow stands on the mountain tops and visibility is very clear. I'm thinking we were topside of thirty miles an hour even on those Trek mountain bikes, and I did a couple of brake checks. I was satisfied; the Treks came with front and rear disc brakes and 28 speeds of Shimano shifters; very quality indeed and I trusted that Trek probably more than I'd trust my own Giant on terrain like that. The Frenchmen were also insane and were passing me at every opportunity. The upper road had lots of truck and bus traffic, so you had to watch ahead and anticipate in between taking in the breathtaking mountain views.
We passed a drug checkpoint and a toll booth, and then hit the uphill section of the trail which was only about a mile long but still rather tough, since we were still at high altitude. I found myself struggling for breath as I pushed my bike on the inner chainring. But youth and latent cross-country condition got the better of the four French riders, and I was first in position behind our guide Jose with Kim right behind.
Once we made it past the uphill section, the Death Road split off from the bypass: unpaved, beckoning, twisting down into the jungle valleys. We followed it, flying at still-high speeds down the 10 foot wide gravel road. Fog set in, cutting visibility to 30 feet. To our right was a cliff, and to our left - fog. Fog that hid another cliff that dropped nearly a thousand feet to the valley floor. We rode through waterfalls and around tight hairpin curves, just about perfectly safe on our mountain bikes, but what if we were in a heavy truck or a bus? Then, the road is barely wider than you are, and one false move gives you a free, one-way ticket to the valley below. Jose told us about how one girl on a bike dropped her camera, and then without thinking swerved over to get it, went over the cliff, and died. Thankfully, wasn't going to happen to us.
We came out of the fog and found ourselves on the slopes of beautiful tropical valleys, with spectacular visibility, warm, humid, weather, and sun. We stopped often to admire the views, but even still we found ourselves soon enough at the end of the road - Unduavi, 1,200 meters above sea level. We stopped at a roadside dive for refreshments and then piled all our stuff back into the van to go to the hotel at Coroico for a buffet lunch. The rest was the uneventful drive back up the death road in the van, about which I felt considerably more uncomfortable than I did going down on the bike. But soon enough we came over the Cumbre again and saw the lights of La Paz, and that was that. One hell of an adventure.
Here are some pictures:
Recently, a paved, two-lane bypass road was opened, significantly cutting down on traffic and road fatalities; still, the road has become in famous as being the most dangerous road in the world: at its worst, it was estimated that 200 to 300 people were killed annually on the road. In local parlance, the road is known as El Camino de Muerte, or "Death Road." However, the 13,000 feet of nearly continous downhill grade, plus the name, draws mountain bike enthusiasts and thrill seekers by the thousands every year. You can read the wikipedia article about the road here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yungas_Road.
On Thursday I took my grateful leave of CEDESOL and Cochabamba, though not without some difficult goodbyes from Andrea and her family. I flew from Cochabamba to La Paz, the capital, and installed myself in the Hotel Espana for 190 Bolivianos a night (190 Bs a night is really steep and means a pretty swanky place - as in, television and private bathroom swanky, complimentary soap and hotel towels swanky. Since the offhand exchange rate is seven Bolivianos to the dollar, 190 Bs is about 27 dollars a night, better than Holiday Inn. However, at our hostel in Villa Tunari we were still paying about a third of this, even though bathrooms were shared abd you had to bring your own towels and toilet paper.) I was there to spend my last few days in Bolivia with Alex and Kim, two other UD ETHOS volunteers who were working in La Paz for two more weeks.
Alex, unfortunately, tore a ligament in Villa Tunari and wasn't very mobile. So it fell on Kim and me to try the Death Road by mountain bike.
7:30 on Friday morning, we were up and met at the offices of Barro Biking, on the corner of the Calle Sagarniga and Las Brujas. Our biking group was six: Kim, myself, and four Frenchmen who were spending some time trekking and adventuring on one of those ridiculous European vacations. We breakfasted with coffee and rolls, then piled into a van and drove about an hour to the Cumbre. We unpacked the bikes and got into some serious gear: helmets, gauntlets, jackets, vests, and pants to ward off the cold or any stray rocks that might be kicked up by a tire. Then we started down.
The upper part of the Death road is part of the new road, and therefore it's paved and has two lanes and is relatively safe. At such high elevations, snow stands on the mountain tops and visibility is very clear. I'm thinking we were topside of thirty miles an hour even on those Trek mountain bikes, and I did a couple of brake checks. I was satisfied; the Treks came with front and rear disc brakes and 28 speeds of Shimano shifters; very quality indeed and I trusted that Trek probably more than I'd trust my own Giant on terrain like that. The Frenchmen were also insane and were passing me at every opportunity. The upper road had lots of truck and bus traffic, so you had to watch ahead and anticipate in between taking in the breathtaking mountain views.
We passed a drug checkpoint and a toll booth, and then hit the uphill section of the trail which was only about a mile long but still rather tough, since we were still at high altitude. I found myself struggling for breath as I pushed my bike on the inner chainring. But youth and latent cross-country condition got the better of the four French riders, and I was first in position behind our guide Jose with Kim right behind.
Once we made it past the uphill section, the Death Road split off from the bypass: unpaved, beckoning, twisting down into the jungle valleys. We followed it, flying at still-high speeds down the 10 foot wide gravel road. Fog set in, cutting visibility to 30 feet. To our right was a cliff, and to our left - fog. Fog that hid another cliff that dropped nearly a thousand feet to the valley floor. We rode through waterfalls and around tight hairpin curves, just about perfectly safe on our mountain bikes, but what if we were in a heavy truck or a bus? Then, the road is barely wider than you are, and one false move gives you a free, one-way ticket to the valley below. Jose told us about how one girl on a bike dropped her camera, and then without thinking swerved over to get it, went over the cliff, and died. Thankfully, wasn't going to happen to us.
We came out of the fog and found ourselves on the slopes of beautiful tropical valleys, with spectacular visibility, warm, humid, weather, and sun. We stopped often to admire the views, but even still we found ourselves soon enough at the end of the road - Unduavi, 1,200 meters above sea level. We stopped at a roadside dive for refreshments and then piled all our stuff back into the van to go to the hotel at Coroico for a buffet lunch. The rest was the uneventful drive back up the death road in the van, about which I felt considerably more uncomfortable than I did going down on the bike. But soon enough we came over the Cumbre again and saw the lights of La Paz, and that was that. One hell of an adventure.
Here are some pictures:
Our group at the Cumbre, 14,000 feet above sea level. Note the snow on the mountains.
The upper road, paved and graded, seen at speeds in excess of 30 M.P.H. (Pretty fast on a bicycle).
The "Most Dangerous" part of the "Most dangerous road." That's me and Kim standing on the side of that cliff. I think this serves as a pretty good illustration.
Me and Kim on the trail by a waterfall.
The lower trail, the van chasing us.
Atypically from your usual Tour de France, the French are in the lead.
Literally about 100 yards before Unduavi there was a waterfall and a huge pool of water that was a ton of fun to ride through.
The Cafe in Unduavi at the end of the road. So, that Friday was a lot of fun. And I'm still alive and have most of my major organs.
God bless,
Drew
2 comments:
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