The North Yungas Road — also known as El Camino del Muerte, or “The Road of Death” — notoriously connects La Paz to the small town of Coroico, 70 kilometers to the northeast.  In the 1930s, Paraguayan prisoners dynamited their way alongside the treacherous route as a means of connecting the remote rainforest region of Yungas with central Bolivia.  It was fairly solid work, as the road’s held up nicely these past several decades, but their decision to rarely blow more than ten feet of mountainside away led to an extremely narrow, steep passage down what would be eventually be considered “The World’s Most Dangerous Road” by the Inter-American Development Bank.

How dangerous?  Well, it used to be believed that 200-300 people died yearly along this route.

200-300?  Impossible!

Two trucks passing (Note that this is a stock photo, and not one I took while attempting to navigate between them)

Not really, if you consider that few cars tended to travel around this route.  People were poor, and as such, the few vehicles that regularly ventured across it were either large trucks delivering supplies or large buses filled with passengers willing to risk the trip to make their monthly visit to the capital.  Combine the enormity of either vehicle with a road that is, in places, less than ten feet between mountainside and a sheer 1000-2000 foot drop, and the possibilities for danger are boundless.

In all fairness, though, the dangers have abated substantially in the past few years.  A newer (and safer) route connecting the two regions has been opened, almost cutting Yungas traffic down to nothing.  Apparently the newer road is slower, so a few trucks still use the death route to save time, but its heyday as a high-traffic/high-death passage through the mountains appear to be over.

Hence, we have Bolivia’s most popular adventure-sport craze: Biking the Yungas Death Road.

Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking

Gravity might not be the cheapest tour company to book with, but they do have a pretty good reputation for being responsible and safe, despite this story.  30 plus years of awkwardness have me more than a little nervous about this particular venture, though I’m told that no real technical skills are needed.  Knowing little about Bolivia and its many (or few) tourist options, this ride is quite literally what I came here for.  So there’ll be no backing out now.

In truth, not too many bikers are wiped out yearly along the route, though two recent accidents give extra credence and weight to all of our guide’s safety warnings.  In April, a girl stopped along the edge to take a quick break, resting her left foot down cliffside on some grasses growing alongside the edge.  Apparently, the brush was more precariously rooted than she’d believed it to be, giving way beneath her feet and sending her, and the bike, tumbling down below.  Despite the unpleasant fall, she did survive.

Not so lucky was a gentleman — English, I believe — that shot over the edge in May, barely a month prior to our own trip.  The vans that trail us as we ride tend to carry ropes and other rescue equipment, and claimed the man was still alive when they first reached him, but died prior to reaching a hospital.  His mistake?  (Well, besides flying over the edge of a cliff on a bicycle)  He held onto the bike while falling, which ended up doing more damage to him than the steep (though brush-covered) descent.

Another picture shamelessly stolen from the internet

La Cumbre Pass (elevation: ~15000 feet) is the starting (and highest) point of our journey, and bikes are lowered from the van’s rooftop while our guide stresses the imminent danger we’re about to face.

“The number one thing that kills, maims or otherwise spoils this road’s adventure cyclists is testosterone.  Even for you ladies.  People come out here, and they don’t respect that this is a very, very dangerous road, and they get hurt.  And some of them die.  There are steep turns, loose rocks and wet, muddy surfaces that are completely unpredictable…”

As he emphasizes safety, slowness and smarts, I tinker with the bicycle I’m given, sizing up how much I trust it to keep me alive for the next six hours and sixty kilometers.  It’s a definite upgrade from the type I’d ridden in Cuzco while descending toward Machu Picchu.  For one, the wheels were nearly twice as wide as typical mountain bike tires, allowing for an incredible grip on the road (which, in this case, is quite nice).  Additionally, this ride actually comes with shocks, which were sorely needed on the previous ride, though painfully absent.

Every fist-sized rock I gracefully slid over left me (and my ass) extremely grateful to Gravity for using higher-end vehicles.  I don’t want to come off as an advertisement for these guys, but I noticed that most of the other bikes we passed were of the inferior type I’d ridden in Cuzco, and I would not have wanted to risk this ride using one of those.  And having a fluent, English speaking guide was a huge perk as well.

“The number two thing that leads to accidents and/or death?  Intoxication of any sort.  If I notice that you are drunk, high or otherwise impaired, I will have you off your bike immediately.  Because if I don’t do that, you’ll just wind up off of it anyway, and much more painfully so.”

“It’s not even 8 am,” one of the others mumbles.  ”Bit early for that anyway, right?”

The last of the pictures not taken by me. I generally like to stick to my own, but I was never attacked by a large bus during my trip, unfortunately

“You’d be surprised,” the guide informs us.  ”Just two days ago I had three British guys that had been up all night and were still clearly wasted from it.  We make everyone sign waivers saying their money is forfeit if they show up intoxicated, but it still happens all the time here.  Actually, one of the worst accidents I ever had was at the bridge — you’ll see the spot later.  The road descends and then makes a sharp turn to the right to cross a bridge.  I had a guy fly down the hill, missing the turn entirely and just jumping the chasm himself, crashing into the other side then dropping down 50 meters.

“He lived, but in the hospital, they discovered crack cocaine still active in his system.  Keep in mind, that most travel insurance policies don’t pay in cases were drugs, alcohol or extreme negligence are involved, so he screwed himself on just about every level.  He ruined his trip, and he’s still paying for it now, probably.  So be smart, guys.”

The Long Way Down

From La Cumbre, at the foot of glaciers and cold, barren landscapes, we begin our trip.  Here, the downhill road is paved, with two lanes of bi-directional traffic.  Death doesn’t tail us at every moment, but it’s a good warm-up for the main event.  Early into the trip, our guide waves us to the shoulder, pointing down below over a steep precipice that really should warrant a guard rail, even here in Bolivia.  Hundreds of feet below, the ruins of a passenger bus sit splayed out amidst the dark, brown rubble, visible evidence of the dangers both here and ahead.

An hour in and a dirt road, barely more than a trail, breaks away from the main, paved road we’d been traveling on.  As we break for water and snacks, the crew examine all of our bikes again, making adjustments on one whose brakes were deemed less than efficient.  We’re given a few more rules before setting off.

“Given the narrowness of the road, there’s a special rule to this road that puts downhill traffic in a less favorable position.  Since the edge of the road is always on the left for those going downhill, it’s crucial that drivers be able to see precisely where the road drops off.  Therefore, all downhill traffic must drive on the left side of the road.  There are parallel tire tracks sliced down the entire road — this means that you guys should always be riding in the leftmost tire track.”

“The one closest to the edge, that is..?”

“That’s right.”

Swell.

A sign that greets us toward the beginning of our descent. Whoever would've thought people could be so happy about hosting a "DEATH ROAD"

The next four hours are filled with some of the most beautiful scenery I’ll never get to experience.  Early on, it’s clear that taking in the sights for even split seconds throws my concentration and pathetic biking skills to uncomfortable levels.  I save the sightseeing for rest stops, which we are granted fairly often.

A lone mistake while riding through a wet spot causes the rear wheel to fishtail slightly, and I barely overcompensate enough to right myself, but this happens during one of the wider points in the road, and at a time where I (against suggested rules) find myself nervously hugging the mountainside.  Other than that, the ride is exhilarating.  There’s never a single turn where I’m not holding my breath slightly as my heart races with adrenaline, desperately afraid a loose rock sending my bike sliding out of control and into oblivion.  There aren’t many vehicles heading up against us, but all it takes is a single one flying around one of the several blind turns to signal my immediate demise.

For much of the ride, the path ahead is clear and manageable.  Sure, there’s the ever-present drop, often with the eventual bottom so far below as to be obscured by clouds and distance, but once you can get past that, it’s smooth sailing.

And We’d Come So Close To Having No Accidents…

Barely 2000 feet above sea level (that’s 13000 vertical feet in just a few hours), and the dry, wintery bluster from above has given way to a hot, dense humidity.  The most dangerous sections are over with, and we’re all competent enough by now to fly down the last few kilometers, letting the wind cool us down a little.

An animal reserve sits at the base, just outside the border of Coroico, and we’re greeted there with food and a complimentary beer.  There’s a swimming pool as well, which I cheerfully take advantage of, despite most of the group opting against it.  The reserve hosts an assortment of various monkeys and other jungle creatures, though by this point I’ve seen nearly each specie that calls this place home.  Relaxed and fed, we re-board the van and begin the last noteworthily dangerous activity of the day — driving back up the Yungas to La Paz.

It happens early on.  As we near a bend, with the dirt road twisting inwards so sharply that it initially appears as though our path cuts off at the mountain’s edge, two 4-wheeler ATVs shoot by around us, oblivious to the obvious dangers of doing so around such a sharp curve.

“Jesus, that’s dumb,” one of the other riders says.

Our driver slows down even more, riding as close to the edge of the slope as possible, now with his hand pressed constantly against the horn to give warning.

Our driver confers with a group of ATVs after sending one of them nearly over the edge

Despite his efforts, it’s not enough.

Halfway around the curve, another rider flies by, riding too close to the mountainside, seeing us in his immediate path too late.  He spins his wheels, almost avoiding the passenger side of the van, but not quite.  Two girls riding in the back of the van scream in unison as our entire vehicle shakes and we watch the 4-wheeler spin 180 degrees, and begin rolling backwards over the edge.  His rear wheels spin without finding purchase in the brush-covered cliff’s edge, and we helplessly watch him fall back with the ATV at a 30-degree angle downwards now.

It all happens in mere moments, frozen in time.  Somehow, his wheels catch and he shoots up over the edge, flying forward toward the van and stopping just before making contact with us a second time.  Shaken, he gets off of the vehicle and we all let out a long overdue breath.

Our driver and guide get out and speak with the group for a few minutes.  It’s uncertain if there was talk of fault, blame or mistakes.  The front of the ATV is damaged, and the van is at least marked.  But no one is dead.

Always a good way to end a trip, particularly on this road.

Loading up at La Cumbre

Bike, protective wear and me

Down the Death Road

I can't remember if I was being really stoic here or urinating

Note the crosses toward the left of the picture honoring the fallen

Looking down out the window during our ride back. I had other shots where we were closer to the edge, but you couldn't even see the road, which actually made the pictures less effective. Fun ride!