Modern Cyclist Magazine Issue 1, September 2014 | Page 33

Riding for my

Words and Photographs by Jen Law of in2events.co.za

B

eing a recent victim of
a horrific attack in my car in
Jozi inner city, I was hesitant to
take part in the Freedom Ride
on Sunday 22 July 2014 – the
thought of cycling through the
streets of our City exposed my
emotions of vulnerability once
again.
But being the Zen-positive
person I try to be, I sucked up
my fear, got my husband to
be my bodyguard, and got
dressed in my favourite winter
cycling kit – it was chilly in the
early morning.
The dashboard said it was
four degrees on the way to
Braamfontein. We found plenty
of (free) parking at one of the
parking houses arranged by the
Ride organisers, and peddled
our way to the Mandela Bridge
a few blocks away.
On arrival at the Bridge, the
buzz and vibe from the cyclists
was felt immediately. We
picked up our complimentary
Freedom Ride t-shirt. We
had to giggle at the misspelt
“Freedoom” on the back of
the shirt – but maybe it was to
really emphasise our feeling of
FREEDOOOM!!
There was not a cloud in the
sky, and the morning sun
greeted us as we waited
patiently to start on Mandela
Bridge, chatting to strangers.
There was a representation of
every demographic there, from
nine year olds to 90 year olds! A
social ride like this brings out the
bicycle collector to show off his
re-built vintage classic, leather
toe-straps and all!

life cycle MC

Yes … that is a cake. With
Madiba’s likeness on it.

“Beer”ly made it: One sip for freedom, two sips
for cycling friendships!

There were racing bikes, MTBs,
electric bikes, dikwiels, and
even a road bike twice the
normal height (not scared of
falling?).
The ride to Soweto was laidback, a welcome change
to the fast-rider-on-yourright-keep-left-keep-left race
scenario I’m used to. I loved
that “Sunday Stroll” feeling - I
wish there would be more of
these, where no-one is racing
(except for the odd-crazy
on the Rea Veya bus lane
chasing behind the bus to
abuse the slip-stream).
The route took us past two
universities, Wits and UJ, and
Newclare Cemetery where
struggle icon Walter Sisulu is
laid to rest (interestingly, he lies
among my Chinese ancestors
in the burial section once
allocated to “our population
group” in the apartheid era).
As we rode past Orlando
Stadium, a fellow cyclist
shouted in his township
accent “Welcome to Orlando!
Park your car here, I wash it
for you!!”. Soon after that we
were at the famous Vilakazi
Street, and what a vibe!

The first thing one notices in
Vilakazi Street was the SANRAL
gazebo and hordes of cyclists
grabbing something for free. I
was disappointed to discover
it was not an e-toll concession,
but reflective wristbands.
Oh well, this will come in use at
my next night run. Next door
to SANRAL, was an iced cake
the size of a ping-pong table,
bearing our beloved Madiba’s
smiling face, there was
enough slices for everyone
wanting a bit of sugar and
carbs to continue into the
Mardi Gras!
The street resembled Holland
where stacks of bicycles were
found leaning against each
other, as their owners (and a
pro cycling team or two) sat in
the café’s and pubs for some
foamy cuppucino or another
foamy beverage of sorts.
Crowds of people sat on
pavements, enjoying Carling
Beer straight out of the 750ml
glass bottle (mind you, that’s
the same capacity as the
average bike bottle...hmm).
One beer-drinking reveller
pleaded with me not to print
the photograph I had taken of
him in his company branded
jersey, so we’ve blurred out

the name of this blue-chip
Sandton-based corporation.
Outside the Mandela Family
House, we tied our satin
ribbons on the fence to pay
homage to a great man
whom this Ride has been
dedicated to.
Around the corner, at the
Hector Pietersen Memorial,
marshals gave us more ribbons
to brighten up the solemn
Square. People stood at the
Memorial paying their silent
respects with visible sincerity
to those who fought and lost
their lives in order to pave the
way for our democracy.
Then it was time to re-group
and make our way back to
Braamies. The return journey
was much quicker, with long
roads (and some hills) to burn
off the cake and beer cola.
I no longer felt nervous of
being thrown off my bike by
an opportunist villain, but a
sense of happiness sharing
the road with like-minded
free-spirited cyclists. Or was
it the false sense of security
from two gorillas on mountain
bikes accompanying us along
the way, scaring hapless
pedestrians beyond their wits?

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