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The Hustle is dark, dirty and it’s damn fast. Neil Gardiner takes us on a crazy night-time adventure. still evening – the streets and the air recently scrubbed by a thunderstorm. In downtown Johannesburg, wedged between the intelligentsia of Wits and the heaving ghetto blocks of Hillbrow, a congregation of 50 or so cyclists waits. It’s not the Lycra-wearing mobile advertising billboard crowd of pro peloton riding R50m worth of carbon fibre, although there are some. And it’s not fixie-hipsters with waxed ‘taches and horn-rimmed glasses mended by Elastoplast, although there are some. A Lycra boy jiggles his legs, primed, energy pent up like the steam in a locomotive. A tatted-up lady in a three-quarter length onesie checks that her wheel nuts are tight. Like the punters, there’s a vast cross section of machinery. Composite Tour de France replicas, 1980s steel classics, mountain bikes, cyclocross bikes (road bikes with off-road tyres, smaller gears and beefier brakes)

twenty-four

OBRIGADO 39 Winter 2015  

My Coffee, My Life!

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