Gravity Assisted Pandemonium in Mexico
Entering La Paz from above provided a remarkable view of the urban sprawl below. It’s located within a breathtaking valley, overshadowed by the regal looking Los Andes, and the final scene is the unforeseen population spurt which forced the residents to build properties that cling to the vertical walls of the surrounding valley. The city itself is located 3660m above sea level and in turn is dwarfed by the 6402m triple peaks of Illimani dominating the backdrop.
Our chosen destination was the Adventure Brewery Hostel, due to a wide reaching reputation for organising excursions in and around the city. Unfortunately they were full, so we delayed a little while and made sure we were booked onto the Death Road, gravity assisted mountain bike trail.
As a tourist it is possible to spend innumerable hours wandering the steep alleys and traditional Bolivian markets of La Paz. Witches markets are the main attraction and sell everything from shampoo to mummified Lama fetuses - apparently you should be very grateful for if someone buys you one!
Check in was followed by a wander downtown to Mongo’s restaurant for food and some seriously strong Bock lager - an unwise prelude to our perilous bike ride the following morning.
A reluctant 6am rise and shower did nothing to instil a sense of excitement for what lay ahead – mental note to self, do not to partake in a Bock drinking session ever again.
At the speed we were going it was tough to confirm which colour flag they were frantically waving.
This day had been earmarked as the day for throwing caution and reason to the wind, whilst at the same time throwing ourselves down a treacherous mountain trail -infamously known as The World’s Most Dangerous Road. This title is no joke and recognises the fact that one vehicle per month is involved in a fatal accident on this road. In retrospect we maybe should have paid more attention to the opening statement of advertising blurb:
"First & foremost, all survivors of the ride get a free beer at the bottom".
No prizes for guessing which part of the above statement caught our attention. Without focusing too much on the details, this is essentially what happens. At 4200m above sea level you are presented with a $2,500 Kona, dual suspension, disk braking mountain bike - specially modified for downhill speed. Fantastic!
After being subjected to a very responsible health and safety training session by the Worzel Gummidge look a like Kiwi guide, we were forced to gulp a mouthful of 95% proof alcohol - as an offering to Pacha Mama. At this stage I was thinking I will be able to give it to her in person very shortly. Later on in our trip I would see the same liquid in a corner shop, being flogged as an engine lubricant – genius!
So what lay ahead? Sixty-four kilometers of sheer adrenaline, hurtling down tarmac roads, before eventually reaching the 3.2m wide Death Road. The views are apparently breath taking when you reach this road but I couldn’t possibly comment. My eyes were firmly fixed on the gravel track that I was flying down - with absolutely no concern for the 700m drop less than a meter to my left. As if the constant threat of death wasn’t enough of a challenge, we also came face to face with loose gravel, a complete lack of personal responsibility and articulated Lorries heading up the mountainside during the four-hour rapid descent.
Our guide had earlier regaled us with the tale a local man, whose wife and child had been forced over the edge in their car and killed. Heartbroken the man had taken it upon himself to stand on the respective blind corner holding both green and red flags in opposing hands - indicating to any oncoming traffic whether the path ahead was clear. Many souls have since taken up this task, unpaid and will sit on their respective corner all day ensuring safe passage of both vehicles and bikes. Our instructor had informed us to be respectful and nod to them in thanks as you pass. Obviously taking your hand off the handle bar to wave was strongly frowned upon. Personally, I lost count of the number of these chaps and very nearly went careering over the edge as I flew past them. At the speed we were going it was tough to confirm which colour flag they were frantically waving.
Upon reaching our destination of Coroico, dripping profusely and exuding adrenaline, we were treated to showers and lunch on a wildlife sanctuary - surrounded by reformed pick pocket monkeys and socially depressed donkeys. But that’s another story.
- Andrew McIvor
