| How Far |
| Alex Anderson, dressed in an, "I, Not Robot," jersey, was riding his bicycle in the chill fall air on the Hinckley-Duluth bicycle trail, when another cyclist zoomed past in a streak of red. Alex blinked in surprise. The rider had no head! The bicycle the other rode had two wheels in the back, separated by only an inch, and the rider had an aerodynamic device on its back that looked like a rhinoceros horn. Alex shifted up a gear and peddled quicker. I hope that's not a pro testing experimental gear. I'll never catch him. Ahead, the path crossed a dirt road with trees blocking the view of oncoming traffic. A stop sign sat at the crossroads. I need to catch him soon before the twisted section of the trail. He peddled furiously and said a small prayer. Car tires skidded on dirt and a man behind Alex yelled, ”Are you freaking insane? You're going to kill yourself!” Alex's heart beat quickly in his chest, but he felt invigorated by seeing that the cyclist was only a few yards ahead. "Hey," Alex shouted, "I want to talk to you!” A white orb the size of an egg appeared over the cyclist's shoulder, then he started pumping harder. Alex shifted up another gear, and pushed hard against the pedals. Sweat streamed down his back, and the wind froze his hands. Despite his discomfort, he smiled. Glad I'm not at home listening to Dad scream at me. Why can't he leave me alone? I'm twenty-four years old! The path took a sharp dip, and then a quick right turn. He'd reached the mile long dangerous section. It was more curved than space around a black hole. Alex squeezed his brakes. As he turned the corner, he couldn't help but think the other cyclist hadn't slowed down. Alex pushed himself as hard as he could up the next hill, and shot down the other side. The road twisted several times on its way down, but he didn't touch his brakes. At the bottom, he torpedoed up a short hill. The trail made a sharp left at the top. He jammed on his brakes, but it was too late. He flew through the air, smashing his arm into a tree. Hoping to roll as he hit, he curled into a ball. With the sound of crunching wood, he crashed into a bush. After a few minutes, he eased himself up. His arm throbbed and his neck stung, but nothing seemed to be broken. He pulled off his helmet to find the Styrofoam cracked down the middle. He groaned when he saw the front wheel on his bicycle resembled a potato chip. His biking shoes clicked on the blacktop as he headed toward his car. He pushed the bicycle along in front of him. Ugh. It should only be a ten-hour walk. I guess distance is relative. As he neared the first turn, he heard moaning to his right. He stopped and listened carefully. Something gurgled in the forest. He walked into the forest, and passed the bicycle that had zoomed by. The pedals had a strange system for holding the whole foot, not just a single point on the shoe. The bike had bull-horn handlebars that he looked perfectly normal except for an extra handle in the middle. Another gurgle came from nearby. Alex went deeper into the forest. As he passed a bush, he saw the mysterious cyclist. Magenta fluid, which Alex assumed was blood, seeped from abrasions covering its body. Half of a horn lay on the ground next to the creature. It must have been traveling much faster than I was and lost control on that first turn. Three gangly arms held onto one of its legs. Where a head should be, five eyestalks grew out of the top of its body. A red Spandex-like material covered any other appendages it might have. Alex, who had dreamed of meeting an alien his whole life, forgot what he had always planned on saying, and only managed an, "Urk." The alien clicked and grunted, while a small metal device lying nearby translated it to English. ”How far do I have to go? Can't I just go out for a ride and forget my problems?” Its eyestalks looked at its legs and its broken horn. ”I guess not.” The alien twitched, then lay still on the ground. After a minute of paying his respects, Alex grabbed the alien's translator. This will be able to prove I found an alien. He walked to the bike trail, and three college-aged bikers whizzed by. The last one squirted Alex in the face, and laughed. Alex licked his lips. Beer. Very funny. You won't be laughing when I'm on the news. He gazed back at where he had found the alien. What if some teenagers find it? Would they squirt beer on the alien too? It was dusk when he finished digging the grave. With a grunt of effort, he rolled the alien into its new home. He placed the odd bicycle on top, then threw some sand in. It took him a while, but he placed all of the clumps of grass and weeds carefully so that, other than the ground being a bit elevated, the ground looked undisturbed. As he walked toward his car, he studied the translator in the moonlight. I should bring this in to the news when I get back. They'll interview me, and dig up the body. I'll be famous. Three men hooted behind him. The same cyclist as before pulled up, shook a beer, and sprayed it all over Alex. The cyclist and his two friends laughed and moved on down the road. "Leave me alone!" Alex shouted. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" He heard his own words, and remembered what the alien had said. Maybe I should do the same. When he arrived home the next day, he threw away the translator. © 2004 by David A. Olson |