The World' Most Dangerous Road (cont)

Since that chance meeting Tim never traveled solo again. Jason was always by his side. And boy, did they travel. After Greece it was Germany then Spain and France, they dodged stray bullets in Africa and made the water warm in Kauai. Russia was also checked off their list.

After each exhaustive trip they marked their recent conquests with colored pins on a large framed map that hung on Tim’s garage wall. Lately, however, travels had been slow because of Jason’s enrollment in law school. There just wasn’t time anymore and what a shame too. The map had no marks in South America. That all changed towards the end of Jason’s second semester of legal studies. The phone call was a welcome surprise.

“Tim, it’s Jason, I have great news.”

“Damn, I haven’t heard from you in a while. I thought the books had murdered you.”

“Close, but I persevered. Listen. I managed to save some extra loan money and booked us on a flight straight to La Paz, Bolivia. There we are to meet with a driver by the name of Rodolfo, who will escort us to the starting point of our long trek to Peru.”

“And what, may I ask, is the starting point?” Tim was curious.

“Remember when we caught a glimpse of Tour de France and you said you’d love nothing more than to ride a bicycle in spandex down a hilly countryside?”

“How could I forget?”

“In theory we’ll be doing the same thing, except we’re ditching the spandex and rolling our mountain bikes down the world’s most dangerous road.”

“Will there be street side Bolivian natives cheering us down?”

“More like a 4,000 meter drop.”

“Well, at least we won’t be going down that thing in a car. I don’t trust cars in 3^rd world countries.”

“I know what you mean. Anyways I have to go study. Our flight leaves mid June. Pack for winter. Good bye.” Jason hung up the phone.

“What was that last thing again?” All Tim heard was dial tone.