Bolivia's infamous Camino la Muerte has become quite the tourist attraction. So it must be easy to find, right? Wrong, writes Brian Carlin The latter part of our home-brewed tour of Bolivia was not going too well. We had been relieved of our passports, cash and air tickets in a coffee shop in Oruro by a trickster and faced the challenge of obtaining new documents in order to carry on with our travels.The British Embassy in La Paz gave the necessary assistance and in time we were able to carry on.The four-day delay, however, led us to the bright idea of taking on the Camino la Muerte or Death Road.story_article_left1Properly called the North Yungas Road, this is a 69km route connecting La Paz to Coroico.At 3m wide with severe sharp drop-offs, constant fog, tropical downpours, landslides, loose rocks and limited visibility, it is infamous for being "the most dangerous road in the world". Naturally, it's quite the tourist attraction.I sought out a tour operator in La Paz, who quoted me $25 per person for the privilege of following his tour with our own bicycles. That seemed a bit stiff. We thought, "We'll find the road and go ourselves. What's the big deal?"The next day I hailed a taxi outside our hotel. The driver loaded our bikes and off we drove to La Cumbre, which is even higher than oxygen-starved La Paz at 4,650m.I asked him to drop us off, thinking that he knew where the start of this tourist attraction was. We unloaded the bikes and prepared for the descent to Coroico, some 2,800m below La Paz. I was prepared, having packed three sets of brake pads just in case gravity got the better of us.We ventured off and down we went on a disused track. I started suspecting that, although we were heading in the right direction (ie downward), we might not be on the right road.I looked for evidence of vehicle tracks but didn't find any. In fact, any sign would have given me comfort.We carried on for three hours, clambering over rocks and fording ice-cold streams. When the track finally ran out, we were confronted by a river in full spate with zero chance of crossing it alive.block_quotes_start In the distance, I could hear heavy vehicles groaning as they made their way through the mountains and my spirits lifted block_quotes_endMy darling said there was no way she was going back to El Cumbre; she was prepared to take her chances. I went in search of a crossing.About 500m upstream, I found a footbridge that had seen better days. I tentatively gave it a load test and proclaimed that it was sufficiently stable for us to safely cross the river.On the other side, we found a track and pushed our bikes to higher ground. It seemed our assault on Death Road had come to an end.We came across a hamlet occupied by some mountain farmers and, in my best tourist Spanish, I asked for directions to the autopista (highway).Unfortunately, I was not understood and got the feeling that we were well and truly lost. In the distance, I could hear heavy vehicles groaning as they made their way through the mountains and my spirits lifted.If we could get to the autopista, we could take the tar road to Coroico and so have less fun but more sanity.For another hour, we pushed upwards through thick vegetation until we reached the autopista. On the main road was a row of cafés, all providing hot broth. We settled in, warmed up and reviewed the past few hours.story_article_right2We relished the hot food and cups of cocoa and watched the traffic go by, including a tour group on mountain bikes. Don't wait for us guys, we'll find our own way.We had now regained our strength and humour and rather than turn back, decided to carry on downwards. And the rain came down.We were hoping to find the split in the road where the autopista meets the Camino la Muerte but we were not that fortunate as visibility was at a minimum.By then my brake pads had worn out and it was metal on metal. I reckoned it was time to undertake some mountain maintenance. We pulled into a bus shelter and just as I was about to show off my mechanical skills, a bus arrived.The driver stopped to pick us up. There was no time to dither. We quickly climbed aboard and enjoyed the two-hour drive through the mountains to sunny and warm Coroico.We didn't get the T-shirt but we had done the trail and lived to tell the tale.• Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za..