The reclusive kingdom of Bhutan has for years granted only limited access to tourists. But the country is now slowly attracting more visitors - and one way its doing so is through extreme sports, as filmmaker recounts. It was 2am on a chilly September morning in Bhutan, and a gruelling 268km (166 miles) slog lay ahead. Between me and the finish line in the capital, Thimphu, lay four mountain-passes each more than 10,000ft high (3,050m) and a feat of endurance that has taken world-class athletes more than 11 hours to complete. As the organisers of the Tour of the Dragon (TOD) point out, real dangers awaited. The TOD has been billed as the "toughest one-day bike race in the world". Between the rough undulating terrain and the potential to run into wild tigers, leopards and wild boar, it wasn't hard to see why. Only 47 others took part and most were, unlike myself, perfect cycling specimens from Bhutan and abroad.'It's my dream' Beside me at the start-line was Wangchuk Namgay, the youngest rider at just 17. "It's my dream to complete this race," he confided. He had never ridden anywhere near this distance before, but his nerves were dampened by the months of training he had put in, and the potential to win the first prize of £1,500 ($1,950). On my other side was a more seasoned Bhutanese rider, 46-year-old Rinzin Norbu, who was undertaking his eighth race. "Has anyone ever died doing this?" I asked him, increasingly nervous. "No, not yet", he grinned. "Our prime minister broke his jaw. It didn't stop him finishing." It's a good insight into the people that thrive in this nation of just 750,000, tucked between and , and nicknamed The Land of the Thunder Dragon. 'Shangri-La' caught between superpowers Bhutan's dark secret to happiness How Eminem inspired Bhutan's star rapper Bhutan's Prince Jigyel Ugyen Wangchuck a passionate cyclist, founded the TOD in 2010 as a challenge between friends. But such is the veneration for the royal family in Bhutan, the race has become a national event. The 34-year-old prince, dressed ready to race, stopped to greet each rider personally. Heads were bowed and backs straightened. "Pace yourself, and stay safe," he told me in a reassuring tone. Minutes later a rumbling prayer from saffron-robed monks built to a crescendo, and the starting gun set off a cloud of confetti. Before sunrise, darkness was the biggest danger. The cheap torch I'd strapped to my handlebars failed to spot cows emerging like bovine icebergs in the pre-dawn fog. They refused to move - possibly due to a lack of fear stemming from the ban on all animal-killing in Bhutan, or perhaps due to the copious marijuana growing wild around us. When the sun finally rose five hours later, it brought its own problems. The temperature rocketed, and my skin turned bright-red in the thin mountain air. The five-hour uphill slog that followed deserved its own circle in hell. Bhutan only paved its first road in 1962, and large sections of the route remain
