“There’s no coming back from that,” the person next to me said, also peering over the side. I nodded in reply, taking one last look down at the treetops. As I walked away I made a mental note to remember that I’m not invincible and to stay away from the edge.
Death Corner
During the next leg I started to feel the Bolivian sun’s intense heat, so at the next stop I shed my layers. As soon as we started riding again on the bumpy road I knew I had a problem. My elbow pads were now too loose and kept sliding down. I saw a turn a few feet ahead followed by a wider, straight bit of road. After the turn, going at a speed too fast for what I was about to attempt, I took my left hand and yanked up my right elbow pad. The force of the pull, in addition to the rattling from the gravel, caused me to lose control. In a panic I slammed my left hand back down, but instead of grabbing onto the handle I yanked the left brake – the front brake. Cue Kelly flipping headfirst over her handlebars and doing a somersault with the bike.
My first thought was, “Am I alive?” Once I realized I was okay and that nothing seemed to be seriously injured, I sat up to look for Meredith. I knew if she turned around and saw me on the ground she’d have a heart attack. People were stopping around me now and I kept repeating, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” The guide helped me stand up and Meredith was right in front of me saying things I can’t remember now. I had stood up too fast. My head felt light and everything was really bright. The guide started moving my hands and as soon as he grabbed my left wrist I felt the pain. Apparently, I’d instinctively put my left hand down to break my fall and had injured my wrist. He asked if I could hold the bike. I couldn’t. That’s when my worst nightmare became a reality: they put me in the van.
Meredith, Kevin and Agata stood outside the van as the other guide wrapped my wrist in gauze. I cracked a few jokes with her about my chronic clumsiness and downplayed the throbbing in my hand. I sent my friends away to catch up with the rest of the bikers, flashing a huge smile and reiterating a statement from earlier that if this was going to happen to anyone, it was going to be me. As soon as the guide was finished, she took off on her own bicycle leaving me alone with the van, the road, and a Bolivian driver that I begged to go as slowly as possible.
The van started moving. My chest felt heavy, my throat tight. The humor in the situation had completely evaporated and had been replaced with a fear so overpowering that it felt like it was choking me. Through my tears, I trained my eyes on a white plastic rosary dangling from the rear view mirror. I was literally sitting inside one of my worst fears, in the most extreme circumstances. When I ride the buses to work in Buenos Aires and there’s a sharp turn I hold onto the pole a little tighter. And here I was, in a van next to a cliff notorious for gobbling up vehicles on the regular.
An exact replica of the van I was inIt took the driver about five minutes and 20 requests to slow down for him to realize that my tears had nothing to do with my hand. He was compliant, going slower than I was on my bike, and tried his best to soothe me when I actually started whimpering as we came face-to-face with a truck. He veered toward the mountainside and stopped the van, letting the truck inch by on the cliffside. When we finally made it to the next stop, Agata took one look at my tear-stained face and asked if they’d given me medication for the pain. I shook my head and said, “I’m not getting back in that f---ing van.”
I tried to hold the bike, but couldn’t make a grip with my left hand. I told everyone it was probably just sprained. I believed it was sprained. It didn’t hurt that bad. Looking back, I know that my mind was too overwhelmed with the emotional aspect of what was going on to send the message to my body that it was injured. The guide said I had to ride in the van. I asked if I could walk. He said no. With a sick feeling in my stomach I climbed back into my personal hell chamber.
Not happyWithin moments we were driving through a town away from the cliffs and I immediately felt more at ease. That’s when the disappointment set in. I had been enjoying the bike ride. It was exhilarating, gorgeous, and one of those exclusive experiences that not many can claim. And I didn’t finish. The night before I’d been thinking about fate and how it’s amazing the way things always seem to work out. Everything happens for a reason and it could have been way worse for me. I’m alive. One of my friends put it into perspective by pointing out, “Not many people get to say they’ve done Death Road, but even fewer people get to say they’ve fallen off their bikes on Death Road and lived to tell the tale.”
Enjoying the sceneryWhen the ride was over, we sat beside a poolside oasis, taking in the beautiful views and sun. Meredith, my savior through the entire wrist debacle, helped me fix my plate and cut my food as we sat down to lunch. With my sugar and adrenaline levels back to normal the pain in my wrist hit me hard and fast. It wasn’t sprained. My hand was swollen, fingers already bruising. The guides gave me some more ibuprofen and recommended I see a doctor as soon as we got back to La Paz.
Something they don’t tell you on the brochure when you sign up for the ride – even if you don’t injure yourself you will endure Death Road in a vehicle. Everyone piled back in the vans and we headed back to La Paz via the North Yungas Road. Though still scary, this ride was less terrifying as I had people and conversation to distract me from reality. About 15 minutes into the ride, Meredith started feeling sick. She tried to hold it together, but had to ask the van to pull over a couple of times.
The ride back was long, quiet and miserable. With every bump, both Meredith and I let out a little groan. Agata and Kevin sat in front of us and tried to keep the mood light. After one particularly rough bump through which I couldn’t stifle a full-blown whimper, Kevin told me that I should be proud of myself. Apparently he’d been riding behind me and said it was “really quite a spectacular fall.” I had no response for that other than laughter. I didn’t need to come all the way to Bolivia to find out I was really good at falling. Just then the CD started playing a “spanglish” version of “Stand By Me” by Prince Royce. With Kevin starting us out by humming the baritone, we all started singing along. It seemed like a cheesy ending to a Lifetime movie, which is why I find the humor in it, but it was the perfect song at the most appropriate time.
When we got back to our hostel, Meredith helped me shower, dress, medicate, eat, and get into bed. I honestly don’t know how I ever would have made it through that day without her. The true measure of friendship is not how long you’ve known each other, how much time you spend together, or how many places you travel together. A true friend is there for you when you are at your worst, most pathetic, and most helpless points in your life. Meredith has always been there for me without question. Always. But even knowing that, I still felt overwhelmingly grateful and blessed to have a friend like her when she pulled my pajama shirt over my head, gently re-wrapped my bandages and tucked me into bed.
The next morning we found out about an English-speaking doctor a few blocks away. Meredith and I went there as soon as we were up, fed and ready. The x-rays showed a fracture in my wrist. The hand and wrist specialist showed me the fracture and explained that they were going to numb the area, reset it and give me a cast. This man, who looked more like one of the Lollipop Kids than a doctor, was going to be responsible for the future of my wrist. Super. Took him about 5 times to get the anesthesia in the right place. Even then I could feel the shooting pain when one nurse held my elbow and the other pulled my fingers, while a Bolivian Danny DeVito poked and prodded at my injury.
Waiting in the clinic with Mer
The castWithin three hours we were outside, cast on, prescriptions in hand. We met up with Kevin and Agata at the hostel and all took an immediate trip to the pharmacy to stock up on some much needed pain meds. Despite the fact that I didn’t get to finish the Death Road ride, that I had to visit a Bolivian clinic, that I had to spend money I don’t really have, and that the hour after the clinic was - without question - the most excruciating pain I’ve ever been in, I would do the ride all over again in a second. It was that beautiful, that fun, and that amazing. I would recommend it to anyone. Just make sure your elbow pads fit.
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