The trip to La Paz, Bolivia had something in store that I was super excited about: a whopping 60km downhill mountain bike ride on a road called El Camino de la Muerte (the Death Road). I mean, how can one not be intrigued with a name like that? The road earned its ominous name from the time where it used to be the only route connecting La Paz to a town in the Amazon. Due to its perilous path through mountains and jungle, many people tragically lost their lives in car accidents while navigating the narrow and steep road. Fortunately, since then, an alternative road has been constructed, and the old and dangerous route is now used exclusively for mountain biking or off-roading.
I gladly booked a tour with a group recommended by the hostel staff, since I wasn’t travelling with my own bike, nor do I own one. Even if I met the latter two conditions, I wouldn’t have had the means to transport it to the 4400m starting point. Another plus was that some of the guests from my hostel were on the same tour. In general, I’ve found that these activities are the most enjoyable when done as a group anyway.
We got picked up early in the morning to transport us to the cold and desolate starting point at an altitude of 4400m. There were about 10 of us in the group and after providing us with bikes and safety gear, they gave us a short safety briefing. It became evident that many lacked biking experience as we all got on to test the brakes and adjust our seats. A few wobbles and stumbles later everyone seemed to get a hang of the bikes and we soon set off.
The initial part of the trail started on tarmac and wasn’t officially part of the Death Road itself, though it was equally as exhilarating. To reach the start of the off-road section, the journey began with a steep 1000m descent on tarmac, navigating through traffic. This was as chaotic as it sounds. The inexperienced riders were all over the place. Some were hogging the narrow road, causing traffic jams with drivers unnecessarily adamant to pass the cyclists. Miraculously, everyone managed to navigate the tarmac section safely. It was estimated that we probably reached speeds of around 60km/h. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking, with towering green-covered mountains all around. I hadn’t seen such lush green mountains in ages, as the Andes range is mostly rocky and arid. I wished we could have stopped more frequently to admire the view, but we were too engrossed in racing each other to care about the scenery.
Soon, we arrived at the beginning of the Death Road. It was gravel, presenting a different challenge from what we had experienced so far. By this point, we had all found our preferred speeds and formed clusters. I found myself in the front group along with our guide, a Brazilian mountain biking enthusiast and a young Swedish couple. We were going remarkably fast, and I was amazed that the entire front group stuck together. The other groups were far behind, and we had to wait quite a while for them whenever we stopped. Maintaining that speed required immense effort and focus. At one point, my arms and hands were painfully fatigued from the constant shaking as we traversed the rocks and navigated the tight corners and ledges. It was an incredibly adrenaline-inducing experience, but I felt that, given the intense focus required and the speed at which we descended, I wanted to savor the ride and scenery a bit more than we did. So, about three-quarters of the way down, I decided to stop fighting it out to keep up with the front group and instead matched my pace to that of the rest of the tour. I had had my thrill, and now it was time to enjoy the scenery.
About 90% of the way down, we encountered an uphill section and I had to pedal for the first time. It was only then that I realised one of the pedals was broken, leaving me able to pedal with only one leg. Eventually, it became too strenuous to continue, so I dismounted and walked. Fortunately, I was near our last break/meeting point. I mentioned it to one of the guides and they were unable to repair my bike, so for the final stretch, I had to use an entirely different bike.
In an attempt to hold on to one of the most enjoyable experiences I have had all year, I tried to stretch out the last bit as long as possible. But all good things come to an end and we soon arrived at our destination and lunch spot, a small hotel/resort in the jungle with a swimming pool. Down in the jungle it was pleasantly warm and a welcome experience after months of perpetually cold conditions. While it wasn’t scorching hot, around mid 20s, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to take a refreshing dip in the pool before we embarked on our three-hour journey back to La Paz.
As we drove back I reflected on an incredible day, undoubtedly a highlight of my trip so far. If I ever settle down somewhere, I’ll definitely invest in a mountain bike and try to recreate this experience in whatever way possible. I doubt I’ll encounter a 3000m descent again, but I’m sure I could replicate the magic on a shorter route even.
When I arrived back at the hostel, I packed up as I wanted to catch an early morning bus to the next destination, Copacabana, a town on the border of Bolivia and Peru. The next morning I faffed and missed the bus that left at 6am. I was forced to take a more DIY journey, which I suspect was unconscious self sabotage to lean into the more adventurous path.
