Shermer, an endurance athlete himself, had an uncanny experience while competing in a grueling bike marathon, which he later described in his
In the wee hours of the morning of August 8, 1983, while I was traveling along a lonely rural highway approaching Haigler, Neb., a large craft with bright lights overtook me and forced me to the side of the road. Alien beings exited the craft and abducted me for 90 minutes, after which time I found myself back on the road with no memory of what transpired inside the ship. . . . My abduction experience was triggered by sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion. I had just ridden a bicycle 83 straight hours and 1,259 miles in the opening days of the . . . transcontinental Race Across America. I was sleepily weaving down the road when my support motor home flashed its high beams and pulled alongside, and my crew entreated me to take a sleep break. At that moment a distant memory of the 1960s television series “The Invaders” was inculcated into my waking dream. In the series, alien beings were taking over the earth by replicating actual people but, inexplicably, retained a stiff little finger. Suddenly the members of my support crew were transmogrified into aliens. I stared intensely at their fingers and grilled them on both technical and personal matters.
After a nap, Shermer recognized this as a hallucination, but at the time it seemed completely real.
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A Few Nanograms of Wine: Hallucinatory Smells
The ability to imagine smells, in normal circumstances, is not that common—most people cannot imagine smells with any vividness, even though they may be very good at imagining sights or sounds. It is an uncommon gift, as Gordon C. wrote to me in 2011:
Smelling objects that are not visible seems to have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. . . . If, for instance, I think for a few minutes about my long dead grandmother, I can almost immediately recall with near perfect sensory awareness the powder that she always used. If I’m writing to someone about lilacs, or any specific flowering plant, my olfactory senses produce that fragrance. This is not to say that merely writing the word “roses” produces the scent; I have to recall a specific instance connected with a rose, or whatever, in order to produce the effect. I always considered this ability to be quite natural, and it wasn’t until adolescence that I discovered that it was not normal for everyone. Now I consider it a wonderful gift of my specific brain.
Most of us, in contrast, have difficulty summoning smells to mind, even with strong suggestion. And it may be oddly difficult to know whether a smell is real or not. Once I revisited the house where I grew up and where my family lived for sixty years. The house had been sold to the British Association of Psychotherapists in 1990, and what used to be our dining room had been turned into an office. When I entered this room on a visit in 1995, I immediately and strongly smelled the kosher red wine which used to be kept in a wooden sideboard next to the dining table and drunk with Kiddush on the Sabbath. Was I just imagining the smell, assisted by these once intensely familiar, beloved surroundings and nearly sixty years of memory and association? Or could a few nanograms of wine have survived all of the repainting and renovation? Smells can be oddly persistent, and I am not sure whether my experience should be called a heightened perception, a hallucination, a memory, or some combination of all these.
My father had an acute sense of smell as a young man, and like all doctors of his generation, he depended on it when seeing patients. He could detect the smell of diabetic urine or of a putrid lung abscess as soon as he entered a patient’s house. A series of sinus infections in middle age blunted his sense of smell, and he could no longer rely on his nose as a diagnostic tool. But he was fortunate that he did not lose his sense of smell entirely, for total loss of the sense of smell—anosmia, which affects perhaps as many as 5 percent of people—causes many problems. People with anosmia cannot smell gas, smoke, or rancid food; they may be beset by social anxiety, not knowing whether they themselves smell of something rank. They cannot enjoy the good smells of the world, either, and they cannot enjoy many of the subtler flavors of food (for most of these depend equally on smell).15
