It was a dark and cloudy morning when my dad and I decided to face death head on. We climbed in the back of a fourteen passenger van and set off at a rapid pace climbing our way out of La Paz towards the Andes Mountains. We reached the point where snow began to plaster itself against our red van but we pressed on.
Finally we stopped under the shelter of a toll booth roof. At fourteen thousand elevation, our breath came out in white puffs mixing with the clouds encircling us. We began to put our gear on. First came our elbow pads and knee pads, second our wind resistant pants and jackets and finally came our helmet and gloves. With adrenaline pumping through our veins and knowing full well the risk that we were taking, we began our mountain bike ride down Death Road.
Our guide had informed us before we started that before a safer road was built, there use to be around 300 deaths every year from cars or buses going off the cliffs. Genial. (Perfect.)
We started off on asphalt which was fast but not too threatening. However, after riding 14 kilometers (I don't know what that is in miles.) we began the dangerous part of the trip - the narrow rocky road. As we began, bikers started passing me, little bits of dirt and rocks were flying up in front of my face and I was continually pumping my breaks. As this all happened, this is what was going on in my mind:
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I'm gunna die! I'm going to wipe out on these rocks and go right off the cliff!"
It would seem that my mind was partially right because no matter how I drove or how much I used my breaks, my bike always seemed to end up hitting the biggest section of rocks and after one wobble away from completely wiping out and landing on my face, I decided the road was rightly named Death Road.
We took a short break to rest our cramped fingers then we started off again, me at the back of the pack but as the miles and mountains passed by, I started to enjoy myself. The view was gorgeous and we even rode under a couple waterfalls.
After two hours of downhill biking, the cold and clouds were gone and I had fallen behind to go my own safe pace. It was just me, the mountains, blue sky and the cliff but I blocked the drop off from my mind in order to enjoy the Andes Mountains and the Amazon river below.
The last ten minutes of the ride, my bike was getting harder and harder to peddle and I was getting more and more tired with each bend in the road. All the other riders had disappeared minutes earlier having sped way ahead throwing caution to the wind leaving me to ride alone, tired but thoroughly enjoying the view.
My legs were starting to burn and I was beginning to wonder why I was struggling so much when a polite voice behind me said in a Spanish accent, "would you stop?" It was the bike guide who had been trailing at a distance and had seen me struggling. A little embarrassed, I hoped off my bike and let him examine the wheels of my bike. After a second he nodded his head, pulled out a pocket knife from his pocket that had at least 20 little tools attached to it and said, "Your breaks are too tight. That is why it was hard for you to peddle." He loosened something in my back wheel and when I hoped back on my bike, amazingly, I was able to peddle with ease and once again continue along the rocky road.
What if I hadn't stopped when my guide had asked me? It would have made the rest of my journey a lot harder. Sometimes God calls out to me and asks me to stop what I'm doing in order to see what He sees. I can chose to ignore His voice which will make my life a lot harder or I can stop and see things from His perspective, which will help me and my journey towards the ultimate goal; living in heaven with Him forever.
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