We woke up early to get breakfast as soon as doors opened. We were getting picked up for our death road cycle and wanted to make sure we had the energy required. However, this was going to be a bad day. The spice from the pizza the night before had decided to wreak havoc on both Katy and me. Not going into the grizzly details but suffice to say, we were considering if we should even be getting on a bike.
Ten minutes before the scheduled pick up time we were summed to the reception. This gave us little time to grab our things and mentally prepare ourselves for the day ahead. We met the travel guide and she walked us around the office for the company. We were fitted into cycling gear and helmets and then asked what bikes we had paid for. Confused by the question, the tour guide said that the agency hadn’t stated what option we had chosen. This was more frustrating for us as we weren’t aware there were options of a bike to be selected.
We were on the bus and on the way. Picking up other members of the group from around La Paz, the bus driver navigated the road chaos with impressive ease. The tour leader stated that the driver was a former trucker and had navigated the death road in commercial endeavours for year. This put us all at ease that we were in safe hands for our experience. We then got talking to the other on the bus and understood that what we had paid was the going rate for the mid-range mountain bike.
As the bus climbed up from the centre of the city to the outskirts, our stomachs began to cramp. Damn spicy pizza!! Thankfully the mini-bus made a scheduled stop complete with free toilets. Still not feeling great, we got back on the bus and hopes that this feeling would pass.
We were sat listening to a podcast on the bus when the tour leader came around asking for 50 bolivianos per person. We were confused by this demand. We asked the tour leader what this was needed for and he replied “Were you not told? You need this to pay police tolls to get into the area”.
We were not amused. This was incident number two where our travel agent had not informed us of something we needed for the day. Katy handed over the 100 Bolivianos to the tour leader and I decided to speak up. Mentioning that we were not informed of this, and the issue with the bikes, the tour leader understood our frustration. He was straight on the phone to his company to discuss the problematic tour operator.
When we got to the very top of the road and the bus pulled into a lay-by. Our tour leader informed us that we would be cycling downhill from this point to the lowest part of the new road. We would then stop at this location before the bus brought us up again to the start of the death road. We were told, “We are not here to exercise, nothing but downhill”. This is the sort of cycle I could get on board with. However, this was also justified with stories of how people used to cycle the uphill part, and given the altitude, would barely arrive at the start of the death road.
We headed off the bus and were read out which bikes would be ours. Looking at the ground, there were different grades of bikes. Names were read off the list starting with the Ferrari’s of the mountain bikes, then BMW’s, and finally the fords. Given we had no idea what we had booked, we didn’t know what to expect, but we did compare prices of the tour to another person on the bus. Our payment should have covered a mid-range bike. So you can imagine that when we were called for the ford, we were not happy.
A few minutes stood to one side, the tour leader came back out again. He apologised profusely for all that had been going wrong. He said he would give us the two remaining Ferrari’s to make up the issue. We were happy with this but still felt anger towards our booking agent. It was great the operator was making it up to us, but it wasn’t their fault we were let down.
We were gathered together for various photos of us at the start of the day. We were then made to huddle into a circle and say a combined prayer with the tour leader. This, however, turned out more to be a jokey version of the disclaimer where we had to promise we would not fall off the death road and die.
Everything done, we headed out onto the road. The scenery was stunning. We were flying downhill on the bikes and whizzing through the clouds. We stopped every now and again to be told of the road conditions ahead before setting off. Katy and I couldn’t resist overtaking the slower members of the group, and I ended up racing with 2 others at the front of the pack.
I arrived at the stop point in first place. Turning around, I saw the others were a little bit behind so I signalled to slow down and pulled over. After I had stopped the two people whom I had raced with arrived. The second-place person misjudged their brakes and skidded on the gravel, hit a bump and did a near full front flip onto the road! Shocked we checked the rider was okay. Apart from feeling like an idiot, he was okay.
After everyone had arrived, we were told the road section was complete. We were also told the road section was a test for the tour company to assess the cycling ability of everyone. After all, if you struggled to cycle on the paved road, it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to cycle on a road known for its dangerous conditions. We were told everyone had passed (even front flip man) and we carried on as a group a few meters down the road to the bus. We got off our bikes and boarded the bus which drove to the start of the death road.
We got to the top of the run and were told the most important advice of the day; “Do not go faster than your skills will allow you”. The tone was suddenly more severe, as it was clear that there was a high level of risk here. The tour lead set off and we all followed. This was amazing! Now on a gravel-based road we stuck nearer to the mountain to avoid being near the edge. Hitting the brakes and skidding around the corners kicked the adrenaline into the bloodstream.
We stopped near a waterfall for a photoshoot. Most of the group took very serious photos. At the same time, Katy and I decided to go for fun and stood right under the falling water. The rest of the ride was filled with great cycling, great sights and great photos. At one section we came across a part of the road which had a landslide crash into it. We were made to wait for a JCB, who was very badly repaving the road, let us pass. We stopped at various locations and the guides informed us of upcoming risks and left markers out on sections where we should make sure we slow down.
Katy and I had to make sure that we were not stuck near the back of the group. Some of the team were cycling with so much caution they posed a danger to anyone behind them. Overtaking them we stayed near the front and took the road at a high pace!
Near the end we stopped at a sign which marked our survival and had a celebration selfie:
Having crossed the finish line, we had a celebratory lunch. We were also told about a pool outside we could all enjoy in. Great! Everyone else on tour had brought swimming gear as they had decent travel agents who understand how to inform people of trip requirements. Katy and I had given up caring at this point, and we went swimming in our underwear.
Our day ended, and we were to get back on the bus to get back to La Paz. We were also told that one of the guides, Laura, was celebrating her 23rd birthday. To mark this, we stopped at the nearby town and picked up some drinks. Told that we shouldn’t be displaying that we have alcohol on the bus, we were told to hide our purchases under our coats until back on the bus. This had all the subtlety of a clumsy elephant, but we were all on the bus, and ready to party our 3-hour bus ride back to town.
What followed has become my favourite bus journey of all time! We were taught how to drink the Bolivian way. Sounding much like a drinking game, the etiquette is that the drink holder must invite everyone to drink. This is done by the host drinking a short drink and saying salut to an individual in the party. The host then fills another small drink in the glass and hands it to the individual they cheered who replied salut, and drinks. The glass is then handed back to the host who repeats this process until everyone is welcomed. This practice was repeated several times around the bus and needless to say, we were all merry in no time.
The driver cranked the radio up to 11 and the small vacant area near the bus door turned into a dance floor. The sunlight drew to a close as the sunset into the mountains. We stopped for a much-needed toilet break and stocked up on more drinks to carry on the party.
Arriving back into La Paz around 10.30, there was much hype for the party to carry on at one of the hostels downtown. Katy and I were feeling our age and thought it best we head back to bed, no longer being able to handle the energy required to keep pace with the young ones.
The next morning was very rough. We had to check out of our hotel at 11 am; we still needed to get our travel to Copacabana sorted. Again, age was taking its toll and we really weren’t able to get ourselves going. It got so bad at one point that we were considering lengthening our stay in our hotel just so we wouldn’t have to move.
The hotel stated that the place was booked for the night. This was the decision for us, and so we packed and got a taxi to the bus station in the hope that we could acquire a last-minute bus ticket. A short walk around the terminal and we were able to get this ticket for a bus at 1:30. Thankful we sat down and started to begin our recovery, thanks to Fanta.
When we got on the bus, we were greeted by bus terminal security who demanded a 20 boliviano charge for merely existing. Everyone paid and not feeling like being arrested; we too paid up. However, for us, it was suddenly raised to 25 Bolivianos. Feeling like some sort of bribe, we stayed quiet. We later found out from other travellers that they too had this charge. At any-rate, random freedom fee paid we were on our way to Copacabana!!