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Date: October 1, 2003
Some days, bicycling down the Stuart Highway through the center of Australia,
the road gently twists and turns and ascends long, shallow hills that pass almost
unnoticed except that miles ahead the road appears to come to a dramatic dead
end in the sky. When I crest the hill, the two halves of the earth reunite with
views of green patches of trees and yellow patches of grasses that recede into
infinity like the swells of an ocean. Up close: termite mounds burst out of the
earth like pimples; the ground is black from a recent fire; the trees and bushes
have leaves colored burnt umber or silver-backed green depending on whether they
survived the natural and unnatural disasters; there are piles of white ash and
matching silky white clouds; yellow flowers are highlighted for the butterflies
by the blue sky; flocks of birds of each or every color swoop and soar; and, hidden
like rocks in a boulder field are the kangaroos and emus.
Other days -- perhaps, I should say weeks? -- the land flattens and the
bramble and brush limit my view to twenty meters on either side and the road cuts
a swath fifteen kilometers fore and aft and the hazy sky appears to melt and run
down the highway like a waterfall. The foliage is more brown and shriveled than
green and lush. The Stuart Highway and the new railroad running parallel to it
are used as a firewall. Ten meters of ground are razed on both sides and an additional
100 meters of bush are burned in advance of the hapless tourists and their cigarettes.
The road slowly morphs from wet to dry and hilly to flat. It takes a keen
and educated eye to appreciate the diversity and beauty of Australia, in particular
the manner in which life has adapted to such harsh conditions. For me, Australia
is fascinatingly monotonous, incredibly isolated and superlatively boring. In
self-defense my mind retreats into itself and I have many amusing daydreams and
clever thoughts that generally elude me by the end of the day. For others, the
outback is a hellish haul hundreds, sometimes thousands of kilometers from one
attraction like, a bunch of little rocks, to another like, one giant rock. Sometimes
there is literally nothing to see like when I reached the geographic center of
Australia and a sign informed me that I was in the most remote and desolate spot
on the continent. And, if there really is nothing to see the locals build something
amusing to divert the stream of tourists off the highway like, Wycliffe Well.
According to the newspaper clippings, this is a famous pit stop for aliens to
swing by and disassemble and reassemble Australians, apparently, to me, with one
screw loose. If perchance the aliens have had a long journey and are a bit homesick
they can spend a night in a motel room surrounded by murals of their home world.
Likewise, if the aliens are bored there are plenty of kangaroos, emus and parrots
that, judging by their dilapidated state, are used for practicing disassembly
and reassembly.
It has suddenly occurred to me: Once a fat bloke with a croaky voice told
me to lock my bicycle outside his hostel and I asked if it was safe, "I don't
know what planet you come from, mate, but it's not safe anywhere IÍve ever been."
And another time, I asked a woman, "What do you think of all the flies?"
"Oh, I guess, we just take 'em for granted."
"Take them for granted? Don't they drive you crazy?"
"Oh, no. We're used to 'em. We wouldn't be the same without 'em."
And another time in a pub, I asked, "How big is a plate of chips?"
"It's a plate full of chips."
"What kind of fish comes with the chips?"
"A frozen fish."
"That sounds refreshing after a long day in the outback," I joked, thinking
she had been in the outback too long, herself, but it didn't even create a flicker
of amusement in her inhuman eyes.
Perhaps, worse than having a screw loose, the Aussies have been replaced
by body-snatching aliens. What better place is there to hide a fleet of flying
saucers than in the Australian outback? These flies -- "We wouldn't be the same
without 'em." -- are probably alien drones programmed to re-sequence my DNA. And,
obviously the alien secret codeword is--
There's one of those damned flies, now.
* * *
"G'day, mates. Come to Australia. You'll love it."
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