Meet Chuck. Chuck for various reasons decided on a radical change of lifestyle, quit his job in Washington, sold everything and has embarked on a multi-year round the world motorcycle trip. We met up in Cusco and catching him in La Paz, we both agreed to a challenging route through the infamous `Camino de la muerte` formerly the world`s most dangerous road. In recent years an alternative safer route into Bolivia`s Yungas region, has meant that locals are no longer impelled to use this rather macarbe tourist attraction. It is now the domain of mountain bike tours and the odd un-hinged motorcyclist, although the road is still open for traffic.

The Road of Death in its prime claimed about 100 lives per year, down sharp drop-offs and single track. The road wasn`t designed by engineers but by army sergeants with dynamite needing to create a route to their painful and embarrassing military expedition in the Chaco war. At some stage it was graded and became the access to the painfully poor villages (nowadays) just 2 hours drive from La Paz. Still with some trepidation, Chuck and I ventured towards the top where the driving is on the left-hand side of the road.

To my disappointment the views were obscured by dense mist, presumably the warmth of the jungle clashing with the cold air at the 4700 metre summit (La Cumbre). But once we had lowered our tire pressures and inched our way around some corners this was just another simple Bolivian road. Fairly uniform curves without potholes or mud, the main hazard was overtaking all the nervous girls at the back of mountain bike tours. I suspect some never let go of their brakes.

The most interesting aspect is the abrupt change in climate from altiplano cool, to highlands forest, to tropical savannah within 45 minutes. At 600metres at the bottom, the Road of Death is a giant descent and the fearsome reputation probably lies with a Bolivian reckless attitude to driving. We made camp in the comfortable and relaxed town of Coroico and I tried to find fresh coffee unsuccessfully (market is on Saturday not Friday).

Waking at 1800 metres above Corioico, the morning was fresh but not cold. I have given up trying to patch my thermarest pad and sleep on the ground. The dawn chorus is deafening, big birds here.

We set off for the town of Guanay at a leisurely pace with only 130km to travel in the day. The road is graded and fast with only short single lane sections. I discover abruptly that the rule to drive on the left-hand side of the road is still in force (although not in towns, strangely) and when we leave Caranavi, there is no sign telling me when to switch back! Turning from Caranavi, we leave the road towards Amazonia and instantly the potholes and large rocks appear. Still, the riding is exhilarating as long as you can overtake the dust cloud from marauding taxis cum-rally drivers. I note that the taxis all have 4WD, NOWHERE in South America do the taxis have 4WD and yet here in Bolivia they do? This should be a warning.

About 30 km from Guanay, the soft luggage straps I had repaired at Cusco fail simultaneously. This isn`t good, my spare straps are already held up on my sidebags. Damn that shoe-repair idiot! Chuck lends me some straps and I am good to go. Following the crystal clear river, I look forward to a swim when we reach Guanay but the crystal clear torrent merges with a muddy brown 15 km from town. The weather is also hot for a refreshing change from altitude, about 30 celsius. We make Guanay and quench our thirst with fresh squeezed orange juice cooled with sealed bags of ice at $0.30 per glass. The next day is to be the roughest so we make for an early night.

We wake up to the hotel`s three beautiful tame parrots. `hola, hola` they chirp. We instantly make a wrong turn leaving town and I get directions from a man wearing a Relay for Life t-shirt. Many clothes donations are actually sold by middlemen in developing countries but obviously some charities are reaching out. The best t-shirt I have seen so far was Operation Iraqi Freedom replete with the stars and stripes worn by a middle-aged woman at church in Honduras.

Leaving Guanay at last, we begin to gain altitude and can appreciate the stunning landscape with sheer hills, and sporadic forest. We ford two rivers, the longest crossing of about 30 metres. The main river is perpetually muddy, seemingly a consequence of strip mining up the gorge. Tributaries flow crisp and clear. The road varies from steep switchback hill climbs on red clay to large rocks on the descent. Our goal is the town of Consata but leaving the town of Mapiri, the road traffic stops and the track falls into disrepair. Landslides thankfully have been cleared, but the jungle has begun to reclaim the road. We stop for a break about 4.30 pm. You want a banana juice señor? You’ll have to wait, we don’t have power yet. We split a beer and move on. Riding slowly, Chuck realises he is losing radiator fluid and stops to check out the problem. After a small delay we coast down to Consata, a town of little consequence. I wonder if we should move on and find a spot to camp but yet another strap has broken on my side bag and the fabric has been torn to shreds by my rear tire. Thankfully it didn’t reach the chain.

There is cheap accommodation here - $1.50 for a grey cell and a bed like a rock but for once, it really is the only option in town. We dine on deep fried chicken and after more beers make for bed.

The following day we pack and leave town quickly, thoroughly bored of the place. I take 5 minutes more than Chuck, turn right, up the hill and there is my first river crossing of the day – about knee height. I recognise a hole and swerve to avoid it, putting me in line with some large boulders. There is no dismount but Chuck has the evidence of a less than graceful crossing. Oh well, I`m dry and the bike is safe.

From here, the climb out of Yungas begins, and it doesn`t stop. We climb sharply, climb, climb, climb. We rise from 800 metres to 3500 metres, from lush jungle and banana country to harsh highlands and the Aymarà indigenous people tilling crops and grazing livestock. My bike coughs and splutters with the altitude unlike earlier adjustments to altitude. Chuck suggests my air filter and I realise it must be filthy. Thankfully the road descends and we attack rolling hills on the way to Sorata. With the worst behind us, the riding is fast but honestly, this is the real Camino de la Muerte. Sporadically, overloaded jeeps speed around corners ignorant of what might be around the corners. Going slow seems to be no defence and they don`t return a horn to warn you on blind corners. I seriously considered turning around and fighting one particular macho and if it happened again I probably would. But I keep my temper in check, barely, and we move towards Sorata and the foot of mighty Mt Illampu (6368m) and Ancohuma (6427m) . A picture postcard of a town, it feels like having left the frontier of the jungle we have driven into a small slice of Switzerland. Incidentally we dine on breakfast at the brilliant Café Illampu run by Stephan from Switzerland. Swiss muesli and rye bread is like mana after weeks of a monotonous diet.

The following day we take our time. Only 200 km to La Paz we have an easy day and I need to care for my lagging bike with the altitude. Climbing again to about 4300 metres on a steep gradient I actually worry that I won`t make it but the Rosa the red machine chugs along gamely. Looking back over the mountains north of the altiplano, you really do feel on top of the world and Lake Titicaca spreads out to the west. Hawks soar overhead, the air is crisp and life is good.

Next stop - the great salt flats of Uyuni.

The Road of Death - it doesn`t really turn sideways but I`m too lazy to fix the last photo
More Photos, in the Yungas

Posted on Friday, July 27th, 2007 at 12:39 am in Josh's Journal.
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