Did I ever tell you the story about my search for Juan Valdez?

It started innocently enough. I had a thought. And yes, based on previous experience, anyone would have the right to be a little suspicious of this. Heck, for safety measures one should be required to be cautious at this point. But, I went ahead and had the thought anyway, heedless of the danger. Just a little question niggling at the back of my brain about the nature of the man who adorned the containers of my favorite beverage. Who was he? Where did he come from? Where does he live now? Is that moustache real? How does he grow Irish creme coffee beans? If nothing comes after 'Z', how do you spell 'zebra'? These are questions that were plaguing me, as I sat and sipped my double tall hazelnut espresso with a dusting of cinnamon.

{sigh}

Where was I? Oh yeah, yeah. Juan.

Anxious to begin my quest, I decided to start with the address given on the label. Addressing things to "Juan Valdez c/o Columbia" did not seem to be in my best interest of obtaining quick results, however. So I tried another address. Here I hit my first obstacle. Repeated attempts at information using various guises and pseudonyms via phone and mail resulted in the same answer. "Uh… Sorry, he doesn't exist." Even claiming to be his long lost sister and speaking in Spanish did nothing to loosen their tongues. That was the first inkling I had to the conspiracy surrounding the mysterious man of mountain grown flavors.

But what possible secret could they be covering up? Why deny the man's very existence when his photo plastered all over obviously proves he does exist? The implications were astounding to my less than nimble mind. Freak accident involving his overburdened pack mule and some stray coffee beans? Some terrible knowledge that cause the 'Powers that Be' to make him disappear and strike his existence from all records? I had to find out. And so began my search......