I am sure I have been in close proximity to death before. I am sure there has been at least one time in my life that we have stood next to each other. I am also sure I have never been aware she was standing there next to me, watching me.

I’m reckoning I’ve stumbled past her drunk or high as a kite as she has watched on and decided it was not our time to actually meet.
 
The night before I mounted my pushy to cycle down a most dangerous road I lay in my bed at Loki Hostel in La Paz listening to my dorm mate Irish Daniel moan and groan his way through one of the worst drug comedowns I have ever seen (or heard!).

I wondered to myself how many times he’d danced past death, coked up to the eyeballs without even realising she was there deciding whether or not to take him. Daniel and his lads had apparently spent the last 72 hours in a La Paz bar called 'Route 66.'                                                                                                                                    

Route 36 is strictly a gringo joint and its main attraction is the $100 Boliviano (Approx $17AUD) gram of cocaine handed to you over the bar accompanied by a small mirror and a dainty little straw.

I’m told Route 36 is one of several similar establishments in La Paz, and it wasn’t until after I’d been told this that I also realised that most people in my 160-bed hostel seemed either overly excitable, or extremely exhausted and grumpy! Up until then I’d noticed the lacklustre folk and put it down to the crippling altitude sickness that strikes us all as we arrive in Bolivia’s altiplano.
 
So while Daniel was lying in a dream state stand-off with death herself, I lay there pondering what it must actually feel like to plummet 600 metres with your pushbike to your death, as many others have done before whilst descending from La Paz to Coroico.

The world’s most dangerous road is a 64km descent from La Cumbre (literally meaning ‘the top’) to Coroico. There are a few factors that make this the world’s most dangerous road. Up until recently, it was the main traffic thoroughfare between these 2 towns. (Recently a new paved road has been opened, drastically reducing the amount of drivers gambling their lives on this strip).                                                                                                               

The road is 3.2metres at its widest and is etched into the mountain side leaving only a couple of metres between you and, at times, a half kilometre drop into the Yungas valley. There are several points throughout the descent where waterfalls stream directly onto the surface of the road creating a super unsteady surface and a sort of stream you have to pass over.

Finally, while there is no official figure on the amount of people who have died on (or more appropriately off) this road, locals estimate at least 30 people a year head off the side to meet their maker. Tour companies and those gringos who inhabit La Paz that seem to have been here for years will all happily report a couple of recent instances where some unfortunate backpacker has gone off the edge.
 
I couldn’t quite work out whether it was my lingering altitude sickness or some fear of freefalling that kept me from sleeping well the night before I did the ride but as I mounted my bike at La Cumbre, I had to decide quick smart how I was going to dodge death and let her know it wasn’t our time to meet!

I figured I had 2 choices: ride slowly down the road, gingerly and politely letting her know she could take me at any time, or go hell for leather with all the speed I could manage so that even if she decided she did want me, she’d never have a chance to catch me. I opted for choice number 2 and took off to enjoy some of the most amazing hours of my life!
 
The road is actually as scary as hell. Occasionally though, your mind manages to wander from preserving life to the amazing scenery of the Yungas valley.                                                                                                                    

One minute it can be completely covered in clouds and only a soft grey is visible then like magic the cloud can lift to show off the sprawling green valley with strange volcanic earth formations.

When I had the confidence (or stupidity) to take my eyes off the road for more than a few seconds I could spot coca farms on the opposite valley wall and the tiny little coca farmers in the distance working away in their near vertical plots.
 
If you’re one of the lucky ones to make it to the bottom unscathed, there is a great little comedor that serves cold beer and has comfy seats where you can relax and share your tale with any other crazy cyclists who have made it to the bottom with or without their mates in tow!

As I was sitting and drying my socks I overheard a few poms discussing one of their mates who they’d managed to get to hospital after a nasty spill that saw his bike go off the edge, but fortunately not him.
 
I’m back in La Paz now and have been contemplating having another shot at the road to see if it was luck or if it is really not my time, but I’d like to see the Inca trail before I die, so will head to Peru first and maybe head back to La Paz to tempt fate once again.                                                                                                               
I mentioned in my last blog that I’d probably write about the culinary experiences I’ve had in South America. But it’s just not possible to think about, or stomach food when you are 4000 metres above sea level, as La Paz and much of Western Bolivia is. The altitude is great for the waist line, but terrible for getting anything done!

Walking up even the slightest incline can leave you out of breath with heart racing. Lake Titicaca and Peru are my next stops, both just as far from sea level as La Paz, but I will push on with my altitude pills close at hand and fill you in on my adventures on top of the world when I write next.