The Journal - "Long Distance Runner"
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The Journal - "Long Distance Runner"

Following is the journal of Mike's travel's mailed from Flores.....


Caught in slow motion

in your fall 2 da floor



Depart LA 3:30 p.m. bound to Cancun Mexico.

Meet gorgeous Physics Major Colleen form Eugene, Oregon. Wonderful big, bright green eyes, high cheekbones, shoulder length brown hair & sexy lips. All placed on wide shoulders, perfect C cup breasts, narrow waist, with hips and boots that mesmerize. Curvaceous calves & luscious thighs.

A very smart, well-traveled girl of 26 years young. She is going to Tulum to visit friends (brothers) who own a motel near the Tulum ruins called El Crucero (The Crossroads). Tulum being only twenty minutes south of Cancun, according to Colleen.

I have no agenda, except escape from Amorica’s death grip machine. Sad Colleen isn’t travelling alone, I decide to head to Cancun on my own. We arrive under cloudy skies at approximately 10:00 p.m. I catch a shuttle with other Americans to the "Hotel Strip". Tell driver I want to be near beach. He drives me to a hotel with three high rises, fourteen stories high. A very nice short, squat, Mexican lady greets me with a great big smile and leads me to a room with a view of the ocean at my request.

Holy smokes and what a view! The Gulf of Mexico, 80 degrees at night, cool breeze, palm trees, white sand, and turquoise water, I laugh in disbelief and ecstasy. A wild, wild west snow Bohemian delighting in the joys of Paradise! Single room with fan; thank God ‘cause it’s hot!

Well, time to go in search of beer and women. Catch bus into city. Wild drunks everywhere. Everyone pointing and laughing at lonely red headed prince. Two couples get on bus and can’t stop laughing at me. The one is yelling, "Get out!" "Get out!" and the other dude is making ignorant comments at the top of his lungs. I left my hat at hotel. I retreat off bus at next stop, but now without a little dance to entertain the clowns in the back seat. The clowns are now crying they’re laughing so hard. I flip them the finger as they drive off.

Feeling very nervous being accepted this way into the city. Catch a cab to an all night market place to purchase a hat, cover my enlightened head of hair. Again, everyone is young and drunk and with a full moon out, emotions have burst and I am trying to avoid the tidal wave of crazy drunken testosterone driven numbskulls.

I retreat back to hotel room. Meet a gorgeous blonde French girl in a sexy black dress, who sits with her legs open, as she needs airing out. It drives me crazy. She says she likes American accents. I think I like French girls. But she’s with a group of kids, so I don’t invite her back to my place. Decide just to go to sleep. Cancun is way too wild for me.

In morning I check out, go get breakfast, and flee to bus station as quickly as possible. Southbound to Tulum.

Colleen gave me the name of where she was staying, but I opt for Cabanas on the Beachfront for fear of further poisoning from Americans. Arrive in Tulum in afternoon, can’t see beach, get taxi and instruct him to take me there.

We arrive at Paradise; white sand and jungle brush everywhere. Don Hermando Cabana, the sign is a painting of a perfect beach with cabanas and a fat white dude in shorts and belly hanging out of open shirt smokin’ a fatty. I’m stoked. Although I no longer smoke, I like the company of those that do and still think of herb as a blessing. I personally have just achieved "highness" 24-7 through years of spiritual asceticism and lots of smoke.

The front desk is open aired and sand covered. There are some Euro Fags in front of me bickering over the price of the cabanas (like they don’t have enough money or somethin’) (they’re really trying to get the best deal) They ain’t gonna go anyplace else anyways.

So Senor leads me to my cabana. I am smiling huge, on the verge of laughter, because I am surrounded by Paradise.

I have always wanted to go to a tropical Paradise and I’m finally here. I can’t believe it! Palm trees everywhere, the beach is only 300 yards away, no concrete in sight, and only beautiful powdered white sand. The cabanas are concrete walls with concrete platforms with a mattress for a bed and thatched roofs of palm leaves and some sort of bamboo looking stick as a frame. Just perfect, but I wonder how they hold up in the rain. Later that night I found out.

Once settled in I immediately set out in search of shorts, for I only had one pair, and had to go swimming in Paradise. Walked just a short distance past Tulum ruins to the market place. When I purchased a sombrero, needed more protection from sun and some very cool shorts. Brown cargo shorts with strips of colorful decorative cloth adorning the tops to the side pockets and rear pockets and adorning the bottom of the shorts. Very Mexican looking. Tribal. Very hip. Sold to me by a very cute and short Mayan woman.

Now equipped for a swim, I retreated back to Hernando’s to feast. The eating area is lovely, sand floor, thatched roof, and open aired. I suspected the food to be wonderful. I ordered the tortas con quesoy frijoles. I received, to my delight, between two pieces of French bread, black refried beans, cheese, tomatoes, onions, and avocado with some sort of mayo. Excellente!

My company however, was not so excellente, with two chicks – one from California and the other from Toronto. Both hippies, but just superficial, no soul, trendy, hippy chicks. Especially the one from Toronto. Her meal was yogurt and a muffin. Ridiculous! They were talking about spiritual enlightenment, but I could just smell her bad-natured spirit.

After eating, retreated back to Cabana to read, let stomach settle, and wait for the shadows to get long, before takin’ my white ass down to ocean for a soak.

Very first/last swim in Caribbean Sea EVER!!! Awesome.

I am leery because no one else is swimming, probably because it’s late in the day. Awesome swim, although leery of things unknown swimming in depths. I swim parallel to the shore for a good workout. There is a boat, tied to shore for going out to the reef for scuba diving, and a pelican is roosting on it. Searching for a meal, very hip.

Came back and headed for Tulum ruins to watch the sun set. Ruins are closed at night – no luck. Walk back to Cabana; order a few drinks at the restaurant Cabana Paradise and drink with a cool longhaired German dude whose girlfriend is currently in their Cabana sick.

By the way, Yucatan Peninsula is full of Euro Fags (Europeans to be polite). There is even a group from Israel staying in the Cabana next to mine. Obviously rich as all hell. Was expecting more Americans.

Get cab into town and head to nightclub. Mexican women are very friendly, especially when you buy them drinks. End up taking one back to Cabana, big mistake, no blanket to go down to beach, chick was way too noisy, then upon leaving, demanded ten dolores (US) for cab fare, when it’s only $2. She leaves in disgust and slams door. So much for good Good-byes.

Wake up in morning. Paranoid restarante Don Hernando is out to get me. Leave as quickly as possible. Created bad vibe in night, I tend to do this. It seems to even out my other good characteristics.

Walkin’ down hot sweaty road headed for Tulum ruins, early, before it gets mas calor.

See ahead of me a beauty in a black tanktop, sun hat, and short jean mini skirt revealing "to die for" curvaceous calves and thighs. To my surprise and delight, turns out to be Colleen!

We chat; she’s going swimming at Don Hernando’s. I almost join her, but decline because of bad scene created night before and I wanted to see ruinas before it got mucho cabr. We plan to rendezvous at "The Crossroads" for lunch.

Ruins are super bad ass. They’re situated on a cliff overlooking a turquoise blue Caribbean Sea, right between two structures (didn’t hire guide). On opposite cliff tops lies the most picturesque beach known to yours truly, never in my life, not seen in pictures, have I viewed a beach of more grand splendor. White sand, fifty yards wide with solid rock forming its border and rising up to the structures, blue-turquoise electric Paradise waves crash to the shore, creating a scene of epic proportions.

Arrive at "El Crucero" situated only a half mile from the ruins. The place is nice, open aired bar, thatched roof, 60 X 60 sits out front with nice, clean looking rooms out back and Reggae music boomin’.

Colleen comes up; I’m happy she’s there, I was feeling lonely, unsure of my future and upset about my stupid behavior of night before. Happy she’s American, smart, beautiful, and from Eugene, the Northwest. But at same time untrusting because she’s American and people that own El Crucero are too.

She tells me she’s not hungry so I order some enchiladas, but vibe I’m receiving from, excellent Mexican, English speaking bar keep, is they have "the poison" and they’re gonna use it, probably put some of the local water in my food too, make me zoom, zoom, zoom on "poison" and shit, shit, shit sickness from the water.

I receive, however, the most epic polo fajitas I have ever tasted. Only eat one third though, because of nervous glances from my companions while eating. A chick, social worker from Seattle, joins us. Cool chick, 28, nice bod, short blonde hair. Ask for a doggie bag, and start drinkin’, bus to El Piste – leave ala 2:30 p.m.

Colleen is a rad woman. I can tell we would be good for each other, if my fate was different. But it ain’t, so after a couple or beers, I hug her goodbye, sad and lonely and unsure of what to do, I head to El Piste, near Chichen Itza.

Had to stay in a town called Piste, being an off Piste skier. By the way, got funky bed bug or mosquito bites while staying at Don Hernando’s. Grab taxi from El Crucero, to bus depot, catch bus, meet cool guy named Kevin from North Coast Vancouver Island and his two boys fifteen and eleven. Lee, and hip Mexican Chica from Cuidad De Mexico.

Bus is freezing, stupid Mexicans, make their damned primero class busses pump the air conditioning ‘til the dumb water freezes in its container. I have no idea where to stay, ask Kevin who is also headed to Piste, tells me about a reasonably priced place with air conditioning called The Pyramid Hotel.

We arrive, very hip, cats running around everywhere, with caged tropical birds and a swimming pool out back and inside a rad exhibit of Chichen Itza. Only a ten-minute walk from the ruins. Turns out the owners are American – a lady from Massachusetts and a man from Pennsylvania. Gentleman clues me in on the insider knowledge of the ruins and advises I should go to the night light show at Chichen Itza. He says there’s a whole other city they’re doing an archeological dig, but is closed off to public. He instructs me on how to get to it, and some of the other cool ruins around. The guy is very nice, and the surroundings are good.

I am happy to finally have a room with air conditioning delighting in the joys of a night’s sleep with no sweat. At the sun begins to set, I head down the road to Chichen Itza for a light show. My first feel of the Mexican countryside. Earlier that day, I saw a shirtless, shoeless, longhaired hippie dude walk by. Must be an American, that kissed US culture goodbye and headed south to be near the good energy of Chichen Itza.

Lush almost impenetrable jungle brush borders the road. I arrive and pay my 30 pesos for admission and 25 for a translator device. It is crowded. Two hundred people at least are there. The Grand Pyramid is unbelievable. I laugh in astonishment about where I am and how far I came. A huge smile adorning my face, I scuffle to the back oft the crowd, choosing to stand, rather than sit. The show is very emotional telling many stories, history, and stories of self-sacrifice, to keep the sun from going away.

Realizing it all makes too much sense, feeling lonesome, happy, real, I am brought to the brink of tears many ties. The music, story, and lights present an excellent display. I leave more focused and feeling good.

Wake up with the sun. The birds chirping beautiful foreign songs. Eat breakfast. I seem to bring laughter to strangers, Euros I assume, because of Internet mishap. Mexicans, I can’t figure out why, maybe same thing. Oh year, before eating. I do my yoga, sit-ups, and Tai Chi, to be centered for entering the holy city.

Luckily, upon departing for Chichen Itza again I run into Kevin and his boy Lee and their traveling companion Nara from Mexico City. He tells me I should join them, which I oblige to. So we all get a cab, go there and decide to hire a guide to show us around. A very good choice.

The guide proved to be very knowledgeable. First thing upon entering Chichen Itza, there is the Great Pyramid, so the guide immediately encourages us to climb. I’m very excited for I love to climb. I take pictures of view while climbing the Great Pyramid, but none actually of it, for I don’t want to ruin it for my mother, because she wants to come here herself someday, but I doubt she’ll be able to climb it. So I take pictures of the view for her.

Once on top for a few minutes, I start to hear drumming and rattles shaking from the other side of the Pyramid. I head to the other side to find Nara, with seashell rattles around her ankles, dancing and beating the drum in a rhythmic manner. She seems caught in a trance, and I watch her in delight. She really is a hip Mexican! I snap a couple of pictures; we descend back down to the guide. We are led all over and explained many things. I later learn Nara has many names and was raised Hari Krishna, thus explaining her hipness and the tattoo in the center of her eyes. She walked around the rest of the day with the rattles on.

A chick in her early 40’s ends up joining our tour. Low & behold! She’s from Nugent’s Corner on Mt Baker Highway 542! Didn’t like her attitude, somewhat judgmental and negative, like she already knew everything there was to know, because she was an elementary school, and in summer, college teacher.

We saw a Mexican boy crying loudly while still in Chichen Itza and she exclaimed "Well no wonder he’s crying, they bring him out in this heat like that."

I responded, "Whatever. He’s Mexican and I’m sure he’s used to the heat." I hate people that don’t give other people credit, of course, the parents know what they’re doing, and they have enough class to go to Chichen Itza.

So we all depart, Kevin a little upset at my outburst. Hey, it’s who I am. But happy to meet a schoolteacher from near where he lives. Nara leaves to go back to Mexico City in the morning.

We arrive in Merida and with no inkling of what Merida is like, all I know is it’s a big city, or where the hell to stay. I quickly approach the only other white folk on the bus after they get off. They look and sound like blonde-haired blue-eyed ex-Nazi aristocrats. Though turn out to be Dutch. They’re my age, cute, and have a Lonely Planet travel guide and have a hotel in mind. I tell them my situation and ask if I can join. So we depart the Bus Depot headed for Merida Centro.

The city is all two to three story Spanish style alleyways and you can’t see where the hell you’re going or tell where the hell you’ve been. I’m not impressed. We arrive at the Flamingo Hotel. The Dutch girls bitch about the price, like their Daddies don’t give them tons of money already. I invite them to dinner later, and we depart to our rooms.

We meet up later; the girls want pizza, so we head downtown in search of pizza. Low and behold, there is a university here. I think, maybe this town isn’t so bad after all. We find a place with pizza. The girls give me a bullshit line that in Holland they order personal pizzas, so we each order our own. Upon further conversation they tell me they get American TV in Europe. I realize I am known over there also, they wanted personal pizzas, hoping I would get poisoned or something. We have a couple of beers and the sun begins to set.

We step out of the restaurant and I immediately see a new city. The rushed crowded streets of during the day are now cool temp-wise and filled with young, hip people doing and going this way and that. A huge smile comes over me and I ask the girls if they want to go somewhere else for a drink. But they’re lame. They take their big Dutch asses, fat from too much dairy, to the Internet café, to write e-mail. Probably to add to the web-site about yours truly, jeez, can’t you lame humans mind yer own fuckin’ buziness?? Give a person a little privacy, respect? I know it is returned.

Whatever, the Dutch girls and their large backsides are gone and I am out on the town caught up in the culture. I head to the town square, which is bustling with young, cute Latinas. I walk around soaking up culture, clowne show in part, Mariaichi guitarists putting on show for free, night vendors, hip classy Mexicans, and Euro fags. I dig the surroundings. Euro fags because they’re all rich as hell with huge, expensive nice backpacks (for backpacking) for luggage with beautiful girlfriends and I’m sure no real knowledge of actual backpacking, or need of so much crap!

It starts to rain; I head for cover, can’t find my hotel, and end up meeting a cool American teacher from LA named George. We go out for drinks, but I am suddenly struck with no energy. I decide to head back to hotel for night. We agree to meet next night at 8:30.

End up not meeting him. End up at a salsa club. Live music that is grande. Meet two awesome chicks.

Though this is where it ends.

My story has been told, too bold

You must guess the rest

for this ain’t tha best

in the west

but the rest

is a jest

so don’t jest

sit back


and hope for the best

cause I’m gone to rest

Ya Mon!


Because you snoops already know what went on, don’t you?


Bank records show charges at the Azul Picamerida, then on to Chetumal where he stayed at the Hotel Los Cocos, then on to Belize, where he stayed at the Radisson Fort George. Staff from the Belize Embassy spoke to the clerk who remembered Mike. He was traveling light, very personable, said he was running out of money, and was headed for Tikal in Guatemala. They spoke with the cab driver who drove him from Belize City to the Belize/ Guatemala border where he dropped him off. That is the last human contact we know of that saw Mike. There were two small charges to an Agencia de Viajes in Peten – and then the charges stopped as his bank account was seriously overdrawn. The package of writings was mailed on Thursday, July 24, from Flores, Peten in Guatemala….

        I am an Indian with no tribe
       No land to call my owne
       All I feel
               is a foggy past
       Nothing solid
              only a feeling
       I am an Indian with no tribe
       My skin is pale
              my nose slender
       But my soul is the color
              of our Mother
       And my head radiates truth!
       I am an Indian with no tribe
              Not yet at least
       I can't wait to meet them
       For one day
       I will,
              be an Indian with a tribe
              And a land of my owne
       With never more
              A need to venture from it
       I am an Indian with no tribe