After backpacking the Inca Trail, we set out southward toward Bolivia. We were excited to float on the ancient reed boats of Lake Titicaca, one of the highest lakes in the world at 12,000 feet on the Altiplano.

But first, we had to ride several hundred miles over primitive gravel road to get over La Raya Pass, which was horrifically gullied, rutted and nasty. For the next week, we pedaled our bikes over untold misery. Worst riding of our lives.

Riding a gravel road over La Raya Pass in the Andes headed¬ toward Bolivia, I had an absolutely miserable day. I was wet, ¬freezing and shaking at nightfall. The 80-kilometer ride was one ¬of the worst of my life. I pounded down a corrugated gravel road all day. My arms and butt hurt. My rectum bled when I ¬defecated. I was tired from no sleep brought on by altitude¬ sickness at 13,000 feet.

The road pounded my guts. At 3:30 PM, a rain/hail storm hammered us, and we huddled by a rock. ¬Doug, Brian and I started freezing from being wet. Later, we cranked our way over the pass. With freezing fingers, I pitched¬ my tent and dove into my sleeping bag. It wasn't until two hours ¬later before I warmed up again.

The next day marked the fourth¬ straight day of physical torture on our bikes. At dawn, I¬ unzipped my tent to look at a 113-kilometer ride into Puno. It was a study in dogged determination. My body ached in every¬ cell. I was suffering from the Inca Two Step, which left me weak -and sick. I hadn't slept more than four hours per night because ¬of the altitude and my air mattress leaked. My lower back hurt, ¬my left wrist was jammed from horsing the handlebars, and my¬ shoulders were killing me with muscle tension.

For the entire ride, the endless misery of the gravel ¬demanded my attention. Sometimes it was worse than usual, when ¬the rutted rippling caused my bike to bounce every second front ¬and back end. The bouncing jolted my butt and spine as it¬ slammed my hands into mush. I couldn't go fast, I couldn't go¬ slow. It was like self-imposed torture. At times, it was so bad¬ that we tried to ride the footpath along the railroad track, but ¬that too became a problem with it being too narrow and¬ unpredictable. A treadmill of misery. To add to the excitement, ¬dogs from nearby farms attacked us, snapping at our heels.

By the time we reached a town on the other side of the pass, ¬I was sick, exhausted, weary and hurting. Up ahead, pavement. ¬Upon reaching it, I got off my bike, knelt down on all fours and¬ kissed the road. Nothing like being thankful for the ending of the toughest ride of my life.

Bryan Delay, Doug Armstrong, Frosty Wooldridge, on tour, South America