From the Bottle. Thesaurus.

 Recently it was spring. So I opened the windows in the kitchen, the laundry room, my bedroom, and the room that I call the office. I opened the back door, the door that enters from the driveway, the door to the garage and the garage door its self. And I propped open the storm door with a large rock that I keep on the front porch. It was warm, breezy and I had a slight headache from drinking too much the night before, and thought that the fresh spring air would make me feel better. But I let in two large flies and a thesaurus. Not good.

A thesaurus is odd looking. They are all roughly rectangular in shape, but their width varies with breed. Their eyes are large, dark and have a liquid quality to them. Their nose is very narrow where it divides their eyes, but massively large at the nostrils. And their mouths are equally large. The largeness of their nose and mouth makes it possible for them to breath in continuously while speaking, loudly, in one long steady stream without taking a breath. Their ears, which are located on their back side, or back cover, are also large. But the thing that is most peculiar, and that adds a comic air to them, is their feet. First, because a thesaurus does not have arms, their feet act as their hands, hairy hands. And second, their feet are positioned ninety degrees to their eyes. So when a thesaurus walks, or runs, and they often run, they resemble a small parade float that is constantly trying to see in front of itself as to avoid a collision.

Besides being odd looking a thesaurus is also a troublesome creature. If an old thesaurus gets in your house it may just find a place on your coffee table, or an empty ottoman, and for months it will be quiet not saying a word. But a young thesaurus in your house is a big problem. They are arrogant, outspoken, and hyperactive. They will follow you around the house, getting under your feet while calling out alternative words in response to everything in sight.

The thesaurus in my house on that warm, breezy, lovely spring day, was a very young thesaurus. How do I get rid of it? I thought. My headache from drinking too much the night before pressed harder on the backs of my eyes every time the thing bumped into me and shouted out some word in response to apparently nothing. “Torrid: blazing, fiery, sweltering. Persuade: convince, move, assure, cajole. Vandal: despoiler, looter, hooligan, see PIRATE.” It went on and on like this. I leaned against the kitchen counter and thought, then it came to me. A friend had lent me a few books that he said I had to read, telling me that I would raise my IQ by reading them. I’m all for that I remembered, and started a pot of coffee.

While the coffee was brewing I walked around the house and closed the garage door, the door to the garage, and the door to the driveway. I moved the large rock and closed the storm door and the front door, but I left the back door open. I found my book, The Metaphysical Club by Louis Menand, poured a cup of coffee, and went out to my garden table. I put a cushion on the wrought iron chair and settled in. Thesaurus eyed me suspiciously from the back door, and wouldn’t budge. Even though the thesaurus is an annoying know-it-all, it is still a very smart creature. I sipped my coffee and thought, I need to up the bait. I stopped reading, or pretended to stop reading, and looked quizzically at the creature. Thesaurus stopped bouncing and looked at me. “What! What do you want to know?” It shouted out. I stood up and calmly walked into the house and walked back out with a dictionary. Tripping over its own pages Thesaurus raced out of the house and collided with my chair just as I was sitting down. “I know every thing  Dictionary does,” he said in a whinny adolescent voice as it picked himself up. I sipped my coffee and pretended to read while the thesaurus jumped and bounded around stopping only briefly to peer over my shoulder and exclaim that the book I was reading was really good, but that he would have used a different word for aesthetic. 

When I finished my cup of coffee I stopped and stared for a long moment at the empty cup. Then I slowly put down my book, looked at the thesaurus and said that I would be right back. Careful not to rouse its suspicion I left the book on the table and walked to the house. As soon as I entered I closed and locked the door. In a flash Thesaurus  was fuming and stamping at my back door, and just for a moment I felt bad. Then it was shouting out something about “judicious, improper, and shameful.” I walked back to my kitchen for that cup of coffee. A short time later I heard the voice of Thesaurus through my open kitchen window. He was following two older women who where out walking their two small dogs down the street. Thesaurus had gotten himself tangled in the leashes, and the two women, who were visibly annoyed, tried to simultaneously untangle Thesaurus, while shooing him away. I leaned against the counter, and sipped coffee. The whole scene brought a smile to my face. A moment later the two flies that had been let in earlier, flew into the kitchen. One fly bounced off the screen of my open kitchen window a dozen times before resting. The other fly landed and sat motionless on the counter to my right. He looked at me, I contemplated him, he said nothing.

UMCB 2015

  This was going to be my third trip to the Copper Canyon, my third time running the Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco, and I was more ready then ever. But this year forces fueled by hatred and violence wrote the script, and the race was cancelled. Now I'm back in Guanajuato and am able to reflect on the events of the last weekend.

In 2012 I hiked into the canyon with a large group led by Micah. While stopped to rest in a deep cool creek canyon, Micah told us to put away our cameras, and to not take them out until we got to Urique. Once back on the trail we started to see irrigation lines snaking along the trail, then we passed fields of marijuana being attended by one or two men who waved at us. Then further down the trail we passed a field of opium poppies, a women in the group pulled out her camera to take a picture of the beautiful flowers, and I politely informed her of what she was about to photograph, she put her camera away. This trip was transformative for me. I met the Raramuri and was deeply impressed by their physical beauty and quiet disposition. I met Micah True, who through his sole efforts had been putting on races for years, and paying out prize money from his own meager wages. And all of this was taking place against the back drop of the vast Barranca del Cobre, the Copper Canyon, a place that I've come to love.

When I got home from the race I told anyone who would listen, my story, and told them that they should go themselves. I told them to not be afraid, that it was safe. I returned to the race in 2014 and once again had a great time. I met people from around the world with whom I had wonderful discussions concerning our individual lives and how our lives are entwined in the broader world. Then we all went running together, and at the end of the day multiple cultures from around the world, along with the Raramuri, stood together exhausted, dirty, and sweaty...Kuira Ba. Once again I returned home elevated by the camaraderie, and once again I spread the invitation to join in. Yes this event is held in the middle of cartel central, and yes there are police with large guns even at some of the aid stations, but still I felt safe, I told people.

When my friends and I arrived in Urique on Wednesday afternoon, the town seemed quiet. The next day, Thursday, Dean, Zeke, and I went for a run south of town. It felt great to be there and we talked about how we wanted our race to go. Later after our run my friends and I walked back into town to have lunch, something felt odd, the locals seemed to be nervous, but to be honest I didn't give it much thought. On Friday there was a group walk to Guadalupe Coronado which took about four hours. When we got back to camp we decided to have lunch in town. I told my friends that I would walk up the hill to where Dean and his family were staying to invite them along. When I got there, a women who was frightened came out and asked me if I had heard the gun fire. I told her that I had not, and that I was sure she was mistaken. When I walked into town the atmosphere was stiff, and after lunch as we walked back to our camps Dean and I agreed that something was up. What none of us knew was that earlier that day armed cartel thugs had commandeered a pick-up truck and its driver. Then, in the middle of Urique, in broad day light, they disarmed the local police and kidnapped two of them. The events of the next thirty hours became very bizarre.

Still later Friday my friends and I walked through Urique and crossed a foot bridge to where a camp had been set up on the other side of the river for the Raramuri. In previous years there had been over a hundred Raramuri runners and their families, along with many Mexican nationals, and runners from around the world. When we arrived early in the evening there was fewer than twenty Raramuri, and a handful of foreign runners. By this time rumors of the abductions had started to circulate, but there had been no official confirmation. In fact no person from the race directors to the local officials had been seen for hours. Still later Friday night the documentary film about Caballo Blanco was shown in the plaza just meters away from where earlier in the day three men had been kidnapped. Both race and local officials where there to introduce the film, but no mention was made of the incident.

The next day, Saturday, was the kids race, an event that I was really looking forward to. The children raced through the streets and the mood was joyful and light, and for a short time it seemed that Urique had regained its festival, that the darkness had been lifted, but not quite. Later that day after package pick-up my friends and I sat in plastic chairs directly across from the plaza and that is when I noticed that the long table normally set up for all of the local officials was missing. It was about 1:30 a time when the street, in previous years, was one long party, and the pre-race celebration would be well under way. But instead the mood was somber, and the street was not at all crowded. We walked back to our camp sites.

Shortly after we arrived word came that there would be a mandatory meeting at 3pm, and it was then that we were told that the race had been cancelled. At this point I don't know what Josue, Maria, Flint or Mike knew about the violence, and subsequent murders, but it was obvious that they were all under a great deal of emotional stress. Marie asked us all to join her in a show of solidarity and walk to the plaza where Josue would be announcing the cancellation to the rest of the community. We were all very disappointed to be sure, but this was the right decision. The situation was a cauldron that could have easily gotten uglier, it was time to leave.

I left the meeting and ran up the hill to where Dean, and his family where camping to let him know what was going on. But before I could say anything he said he already knew, not because he had been told, but because he had been listening to a gun battle taking place just a short distance south of town.

Dean and I walked into town to a scene that would, over the next few hours, digress to the point of surreal.

A large group of international runners led by Maria walked into the plaza, many of them wearing their red race t-shirt, and with an arm held high showing the peace sign. We were told that there would be an announcement soon, then blaring music blasted from speakers, followed by a Mariachi band. Some people actually started to dance, and I realized that they probably didn't know what had been happening, but some did, and I was furious. I was not going to party knowing that people had been abducted and probably murdered. I was not going to party while there was a gun battle going on just a short distance away. It was just the wrong response.

Thirty odd minutes later all of the people directly involved with the race gave the announcement. We were told that there had been violence in the area, that they felt it too unsafe to continue, but still no details of the true seriousness of the situation were given. The disbelief in the crowd was palpable.

It is my belief, and only my belief, that at this point Josue and Maria may have wanted to tell everyone of the true nature of the situation, but that the local officials did not want their cash cow to be scared and to then bolt. Before Micah started his race, and the creation of Norawas de Raramuri, there was little support available for the Raramuri, and his race was also a huge financial asset to the town of Urique. So it's no wonder what happened next.

After the announcement my friends and I gathered around a camp fire at the property of a local family who open up their house to folks who are there for the race. Dean his wife, his boys, and my friends Ethan, Anne-Marie, and their son Zeke all live in Mexico, and we all felt that it was time to go. The owner of the property came to our fire and she told us about how bad the violence had become over the last several months. She told us that locals were afraid for their lives, that homes had been taken over by cartel thugs, and that there had been little help from the local government. This information was known to the local government officials who were involved with the race, but they did not share it with the race directors, important information that could have saved us all a lot of grief.

A couple of hours later a man walked over to our fire and told us that the race was back on. For some time we could hear people speaking through the sound system at the plaza, but were unable to make out what they were saying, then thumping music would start again. Zeke and I ran back down to Entra Amigos just in time to see some folks involved with the race heading back into town to find out what was going on. Apparently the locals were ticked off about the decision and had orchestrated what can only be described as a coup. The race they said would be held.

Micah started this race to help a people that he identified with, that he loved and appreciated. But his race also became large enough that local officials wanted a hand in it for their own self promotion. Now after the events that have taken place I cannot imagine how this will turn out. Will local officials prove to Josue, Maria, and the rest of the running community that they can be trusted to report on conditions affecting the safety of those traveling to participate? Or will they simply not bother and stage the race themselves. Many Raramuri, locals, and international runners participated the next day, which told the officials that they don't need the gringos. And what kind of message did it send to the cartels when they can conduct mayhem and yet the race still took place. My hope is that all the principals will unite behind a plan that is true to Micah's message of peace and cooperation. I for one am willing to give it time, let's not compromise the spirit of this event just for the sake of short term monetary gain, or to stoke egos.