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Date: June 9, 2004
To continue the story from my last email:
I begin just as the sun peeks and my knees grind
out 70 kilometers to the edge of Mikumi National Park, stopping
only once for food and water. "Danger Wild Animals," reads
the sign. I readjust my machete so the haft is within reach and
practice a few toots on my whistle until my ears ring. My friend
said I am, "Nucking futs," but I figure: A) Animals will
shy away from the road, B) They will be condition to ignore traffic,
C) They won't recognize humans as a food source, D) Animals are
scared of humans.
The road is lined with a variety of thorn trees with
feathery compound leaves and some are flowering. The ground is covered
in an impenetrable thicket of bramble and tall grass that cuts your
legs and leaves burrs in your clothing. My visibility is limited
to a few meters on either side. For the first time, I am checking
my mirror, not to make sure trucks are giving me a wide berth, but
to check for a lion's surprise attack. I give a few toots. Nothing
moves. I tell myself, "Relax. Breathe. Think peaceful, vegetarian
thoughts. Whatever you do don't imagine a big, juicy steak."
I travel halfway through the park and see nothing
but baboons. They don't show much fear unless I stop or circle back,
then they retreat into the nearest tree and watch me. This proves
theory D; however, the baboons disprove theories A, B and C, because
I observe them run to the the road when a bus passes and all the
monkeys inside the bus throw their orange rinds and banana peels
out the windows.
I cruise along, the midday heat making my head ache;
nothing is hunting me but tsetse flies; and, I curse my thirty-sixth
set of speed bumps (I become obsessed with counting things when
I am bored). Just as I fail my serenity test, I hear: thrash, Thrash,
THRASH. Charging in my direction is a....
I have to save secrets for the book.
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