My soundwalk happened on my bike ride from the Brookdale Residence Hall, up First Avenue and over the Queensboro Bridge, and into Astoria on Steinway Street.
On most any
city bike ride, the hum of traffic comprises the keynotes, or background
sound. Cars passing and idling sound different depending on the model, from the
high hiss of compact transmissions to the low grumbles of trucks and buses. Moving
quickly on the bike, I know that pedestrians are talking, but the wind brushing
up against the shell of my ear wipes their conversations from my perception.
Even closer are the loud clicks of my bike’s gearshift, my breath passing in
and out, even my own heartbeat, elevated by exercise and present in my ears.
A few sound signals broke through these keynotes
as I rode. Crossing the Queensboro, the bridge’s panels clanged like atonal
bells every time a car rode over them. The bells, horns, and boomboxes of
fellow bikers sprung forward from time to time. On quiet 29th Street in Queens,
the jingle of a mail worker’s keys pierced through the wind and noise of faraway
cars. Approaching 35th Avenue, I heard music playing from a block or two away,
assuming it came from a store or other building. As I pulled up to the intersection,
I realized it was bachata, playing from a sedan’s very powerful speaker system.
In a predominantly Latinx area, it made sense that community members would make
their culture a soundmark, blasting it for all to hear. The music inspired me
to finish my ride even faster than I’d begun.
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