Tiara in Transit

When I was 7, I was cycling around my suburban neighborhood, in Hornsby through to Wahroonga, in Sydney, Australia, with my brother and school-friend charlotte.

As I was cycling down a hilly road, my tyre rode between where the bitchumen met the grass path, which instantly gave me a case of the death wobbles. I crashed, and my bike and I scraped down the rest of the steep road on the right side of my face.

I remember lying there, like road kill, as the cars swerved to avoid me without stopping to check out if this kid lying on the side of the road with blood running down her face, arms and leg was ok – arseholes.

A horrible day with the only plus side being that I was excused from having to participate in the mandatory school swimming carnival (swimming meet) that night. A bike accident was the lessor of 2 evils as far as I was concerned..

Now, I’m not a ‘get right back on the bicycle’ person. In fact, I heartlessly threw away my bicycle after this incident.

Back to the Present.
22 years later, it was stupidly ambitious of me to think that the first time I ‘get back on the bicycle’ would be to cycle down the worlds most dangerous road in La paz Bolivia, called Death Road.

Death road is 72kms of dangerously high mountainous gravel, crumbling dirt road that has waterfalls going through some parts, starts out in freezing cold, blinding fog, and eventually turns into tropics. It’s estimated that 200 to 300 travelers die on this road yearly.

Before even reaching Death Road, there was a couple of Kms of new road that we were able to warm up on.

Within 60 seconds of this new windy road, highly strung and acutely aware of any traffic, I got the death wobbles purely out of being shit-scared and having no confidence. And when your first reaction before a crash is to lift your feet off the peddles and shut your eyes, you know you’re in trouble.

I knew if I continued, I would end up killing myself – The first time I ride a bike after a traumatic experience, and 22 years, should be in a fenced park with a nice flat, smooth bike path, cycling next to 2 year olds on their tricycles. WHAT WAS I THINKING! So before even making it to Death Road, I quit! And opted instead for the embarrassing support van ride down the most dangerous road in the world, reserved for losers, which turned out to be just as scary.

Lesson – Sometimes its best NOT to hop back on the bicycle. And when you’re in a position of shame surrounded by fit hiking types, the answer is always vodka.