Cycling occurs in a world full of sound. From the moment of take-off to the moment of coming to rest, a non-stop chorus sings in time with the motion.
Clipping in makes a loud clack on each side of the bike, as feet settle onto small platforms connected to levers purring to propel the bike forward. Pedal strokes rotate a chain clattering and churning over metal teeth in a resounding chant of steel against steel.
Gears shift with a silence followed by a clunk. The chain settles onto a cog with a click and a ching and a momentary rattling as the chain engages guiding grooves.
Tick, tick, ticking, the wheels count time like a clock without minute or hour hands – just the sound of a sweeping second hand from an old wind-up watch. Brakes screech from road grime coating rims and brake pads, resulting in a death cry hinting of a failure to stop.
Wind rushes through helmet vents, so much like sitting over an airplane wing engulfed in the roaring of a jet engine. The volume dulls the clamor of traffic with a whistling melody rushing past ears cushioned by mobile air, accompanied by the humming of breath being sucked into nose or mouth and exhaled with a smooth expulsion.
Bad knees pop and crunch with harsh uphill pedal strokes. Loose clothes flap in the wind, beating in the wake of propulsion.
High pitched chirping could be birds in branches or something unoiled on the drivetrain. Pedaling breaks occur to distinguish between a biological or mechanical source.
Engines thrum, wheels squeal. A chassis squeaks from rust and age while shocks groan under the weight of a bouncing car. Old cars chug along with plunking metallic sounds.
Vehicles blow by, whooshing like helium escaping from a stray balloon as the sound diminishes into the distance. A horn blasts above the din. Motorcycles scream with high-pitched engines, jetting with a flare of speed, sending a chunk of air into the bicycle’s path.
A car door creaks on a half-greased hinge as it swings along an arc to expose legs followed by a bent torso. The thud of feet resounds with the sound of hard leather stomping on the ground as a motorist prepares to rise up from the seat.
Swinging shut, the door latch catches with a cluck and the thump of weighted metal. An ignition starts with the motor turning over as windshield wipers scrape across semi-bare glass, streaked by squirting liquid, clearing a path for unobstructed vision.
Music blares from car speakers, creating a drumming beat which rocks the vehicle with pulsating percussion.
Miniature motors glide car windows up and down, letting air in or keeping it out. Serenading cell phones repetitively beg for someone to answer.
GPS speech robotically guides the misguided through uncharted territory, calling out roads and distances as if speaking to a driver who follows orders without question.
Sirens shriek from an unknown direction demanding a clear path for an unforeseen emergency – and warning all moving objects to come to a halt.
Power tools whir and grind with the babel of building. Hammering, sawing and buzzing intermittently waft across the road.
Bodiless voices arise from nowhere, forcing the cyclist to follow incomprehensible words as attuned ears listen for someone to step into the bike’s path.
Barking, growling dogs set out at breakneck speed to catch the heels of a cyclist who pedals furiously to escape sharp teeth. A clanking collar signifies the dog’s speed and distance.
Chipmunks chatter alongside the road, darting out between cars in a game of Russian roulette. Squirrels scamper up bark, evading instruments of demise.
Tufts of leaves rustle in the breeze as old tree trunks howl with senescence – all part of the ceaseless symphony of cycling.
