BOLIVIA, La Paz (written from Puno, Peru) Tuesday 23rd October

Death Road: Pretty much what it says on the tin. The world´s most dangerous road where many a vehicle has tumbled to its doom down the 200m+ cliff faces as it struggled to pass something coming the other way. It has claimed the lives of entire bus loads of people and when offered the chance to ride down it on a mountain bike, well, how could I say no?

That isn´t exactly how it happened. I´d promised Mummy that I wouldn´t but then the whole group was doing it, I was told that it wasn´t as dangerous as all that (the road being closed to traffic now) and I am clearly very susceptible to peer pressure.

So, up bright and early, we climbed into a van laden with mountain bikes and made the 45 minutes climb up out of La Paz, over the other side of the mountain and the top of Death Road on La Cumbre. It was icy cold and there was snow at the peaks of the mountain. Brakes checked and pep-talk over, we mounted up and began our descent. The first half of the ride is easy. Not officially Death Road yet, we skimmed down the new paved road which was nice and wide with handy barriers to stop you from dropping off he edge. The downside is that it is open to traffic and I was occasionally surprised by a loud ´HONK!´ from an impatient lorry exasperated by my reluctance to hug the right side of the road (yes the one with the big cliff).
My application of the brakes at every turn soon dropped me behind Daniel, Flo, Martin and the two Canadian guys who´d joined us for the day. They whooshed on ahead fearlessly. Jo and John were even more cautious than me and I found myself in the middle of the group and largely alone, which was wonderful. I had fantastic views down the mountain side and valleys clad in dense green jungle, as I glided along.
There was an option of hopping into the van that always trailed us for the uphill bit but I am never to be out done so I joined the die-hards on he uphill slog at around 3,200 metres above sea level.
I thought I was going to die. I had to undo my helmet in order to allow my mouth to gape wide enough to take in the maximum oxygen and I kept putting my hand on my heart to reassure myself that it hadn´t exploded. I found this calming. Still, I did it, wheeling my bike up the final pinnacle to join the other riders gasping on the roadside. We were rewarded with bananas and energy bars and then told: "Right, now we are going to do Death Road." Our guide pointed to a narrow track that lead away from the main road and zig-zagged its way out of sight down the mountainside, loose grass and crumbly-looking stones the only thing between road and a sheer drop. It was potted and bumpy with large loose rocks and plenty of opportunities for skidding (especially if you planned to apply the brakes as fiercely and relentlessly as I did).
Well, here goes nothin´. Our guide pointed out that buses and lorries used to pass each other on this road and they didn´t always fall off so we would be fine.
Righty Ho then... Daniel, Martin, Flo and the Canadians disappeared in a cloud of gravel and gingerly I began my descent, hugging the non-sheer-drop side and squeezing the brakes so hard that my hands were aching by the time we came to our first stop. But Wow. What a view! As we descended he climate became warmer and more tropical, waterfalls spattered the road, the air became denser and more humid, flowers appeared and the great ravine yawned below us thick with jungle.
It took us 4 hours all together to get from around 3,700 to 1, 300m, stopping regularly for photos and snacks. I gained confidence and discovered that loose stones where better negotiated at a speed and soon got into the rhythm of swerving pot-holes, building up speed, reducing speed and consequently finished a very respectable 5th (1st girl, hee hee). We arrived at the bottom elated and buzzing, we drank a celebratory beer and then went to a pretty little restaurant with a tropical garden, swimming pool and much needed showeres for lunch.
Back to La Paz and out to celebrate our survial and comeserate Martin and Flo´s departure. A lively dinner, followed by dancing to the tunes of a schitzophrenic DJ, cheered on by enthusiastic Brazillians who towered over the Bolivians on the dance floor. Then off to another club where the creme de la creme of La Paz gyrated and sniffed conspicuously to equally unpredictable music.

Too soon it was time to leave La Paz. It is a nice city. It sprawls across a large valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains. The streets are a chaos of traffic and market stalls selling anything from deodorant to car parts. Smart, suited people pick their way between vendors in traditional clothes and men in balaklavas crouch by the side of the road ready to pounce and try and clean your shoes.
There is a handsome cathedral and elegant Plaza de Armas where at 6.00pm every day, solom faced boys doing military service marched to a badly played bugal in a ceremony that involves taking down and folding up flags. There were classy cafes serving proper coffee (very exciting, amazingly the coffee in South America is usually awful) and good cheap shopping.

But onwards onwards as usual, I am running out of time and Peru is a calling...