In La Paz, the capital of Bolivia, there’s an extreme sport beloved by tourists: the Death Road cycling challenge. Officially known as “Camino a Los Yungas” (Yungas Road), the Death Road stretches about 61 km, reaching an altitude of 4,700 m at its highest point. With its narrow and rugged road surface, fatal accidents where riders and bikes plunge into valleys are common—reportedly claiming 200 to 300 lives every year—earning it the notorious title of the “Death Road,” and making it one of the most dangerous roads in the world.
Humans love to challenge themselves, and the more dangerous it is, the more appealing it becomes. As a result, the Death Road has attracted numerous thrill-seekers to race down its slopes by bike, gradually turning it into a tourism attraction. Tour operators drive participants to the 4,700 m high starting point, where they change into safety gear, listen to instructors explain the precautions, and then set off. At first, you ride downhill on paved roads for several kilometers without pedaling much, even weaving through fast-moving cars—it felt at times like I was riding a motorcycle, not a bicycle. Once you get used to that speed, it’s actually quite exhilarating, especially because being surrounded by mountains along the way feels absolutely amazing.
But sadly, the fun doesn’t last long. Soon comes the real highlight—or the main event—the remaining 47 km of the actual “Death Road.” When faced with the steep cliffs, the narrow road hugging the mountainside, the rocky and bumpy path, and countless sharp turns, I truly thought I must have been out of my mind to come cycling on the Death Road. Although I came up with many reasons to justify giving up, in the end I gritted my teeth, gripped the handlebars tightly, and pedaled forward with unwavering focus. It was probably the most concentrated I’ve ever been while cycling—so focused that I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road for even a second, fearing that a single slip would send me tumbling into the abyss and make me just another soul claimed by the “Death Road.”
Descending from 4,700 m all the way down to a small town at 1,700 m, I had to slow down significantly at every turn. For the rest of the time, I kept my hand half on the brake lever. To others, I probably looked like a slow-moving turtle, but survival was more important than showing off. After two to three hours, I finally reached the end. In that moment, I truly felt like I’d come back to life. The feeling of still having a beating heart, still alive, was so wonderful, so deeply grateful. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience—once is enough. It’s worth it, but also incredibly dangerous.
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