Saturday, January 26, 2013

GFH3 Run #1,681; 26 Jan 2013

Thirty-four of us (including a host and three hares) got the time right and showed up at 11am in... drum roll, please... flourish of trumpets... make it a kettle drum... GREAT FALLS!  And while we didn't have the sense to start a pool on the number of people who will bang on the Ole Fud's door at 3pm, I'm going to guess three.  And what a hash they missed!  The eagles spent two hours in the not-very snowy woods trying to find pink flour that was melting away with the snow on which it had been dropped, and trying not to crack an ankle as they skidded over wet rocks, wet leaves, and well-packed slush.  But they had a nice bit of sunshine in which to do so, and above-freezing temps, albeit not by much.

The turkeys (and this group is mostly turkeys -- no further comment, please)  were out for over 90 minutes, and the walkers for an hour or more.  The walkers, incidentally, seemed to split up into about a half-dozen splinter groups, and when there are only about eight of you in the first place, that's quite an achievement.

The trail was set by Air Horn, Phoenix Rising and Zipperhead -- each working separately.  So you can understand a) why the trail was relatively lengthy, and b) why the hares weren't sure whether the turkey trail saved runners about a quarter mile or closer to two miles, or something more, less or in between.  Also why there was, perhaps, some sort of an incidente officiele whose details we'd sooner not know...  There was also a great deal of shortcutting, including by our FRB, Valiant.  The eagles you can probably guess, but if you want hints:  Suck, Squeeze, Something... the Not-calm Mechanic... Longa, Schlonga... Difficult Strider...

Valiant explains how, by skillfully not following the trail much at all, he was able to finish the run about 30 minutes before anyone else.
Back in the garage, we had hot soup and bread and cheese and chips and stuff.  You know the expression, "Hunger is the best seasoning"?  Well, it's not true.  Whatever Felicity used in the black-bean soup is the best seasoning.  And the promise of a tour of the trains-and-tracks wing of the Fud estate sharpens the appetite nicely, too.

I read the roll, given the absence of both the Mufti (romantically vacationing on a warm island) and the associate Mufti (undergoing an intensive cheering and smack-talking regimen in preparation for the Big Game).  I have crowned (be-fezzed?) myself the assistant associate Mufti on the spine-chillingly meaningful occasion of my being entrusted with the official roll for the first time ever.  Hip, hip.

Don't I look authoritative?
INDY helped out with the photos; here they are.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

GFH3 Run #1,680; 19 Jan 2013

Happy Birthday, Irene/Mimi/Boom-Boom!

Blue skies and sunshine smiled on Oakton in celebration of Irene's 101st birthday.  You read that right:  101 years old.  Cockpit Ejeculator and Paddle My Candee Ass somehow felt that a hash was the best way to celebrate Grandmother's big day, but didn't want to haul everyone out to Warrenton, so Jill and Norm kindly threw open their doors for about 40 of us.  The runners spent 70 or 80 minutes traversing five miles of Oakton's woodsy trails, and our clever hares threw in a few checks toward the end that brought a strung-out pack back together again, with the FRBs cheerfully pounding back down a nice bit of hill on Miller Heights.  Back into the woods, runners!  And along the streambed of Difficult Run...  I sincerely believe that Spurt tried to check a map on some sort of E.D. (electronic device, for heaven's sake).  There are no rules, but there is such a thing as using your own wit, surely.

The walkers meandered the trails for a bit less than an hour, enjoying gorgeous weather and charming conversation.  So not a lot new there, bar Drill Me Fill Me's handsome white cap.

Everyone made it safely across the run, thankful for the vigilance of fellow hashers.
Back at the house, there was a Festgelage of bratwurst, roasted meats of many kinds, sauerkraut, potato salads, varied mustards and more, more, more.  There are some distinct advantages to having your hash crash a birthday party.  Plenty of beer (St. Pauli Girl, etc.), the ever-popular Black Box wine, a great pot of glugwein of some type, and bottle on bottle of German wine helped wash it all down.  There were also platters of cookies, which was just silly given two gigantic birthday cakes.  However.

Our Mufti having fled to tropical climes with BC3 to celebrate their anniversary (hey!  they celebrated that two weeks ago.  There were flowers, cheers and a kiss.  What is this vacation nonsense?), the Associate Mufti presided with vigor and flair over the roll.  He noted a special occasion with Chugger's birthday, which Chugger claims is his 69th.  One takes leave to doubt.  The hash graciously put forth their usual lousy effort in the traditional birthday chorale, and cheered the subsequent speech with vim.  Oral Advocate also took note of Hasher Flasher's 299th run and threatened the usual exec. comm. session.

Then we got to the good stuff.  With rare grace and elan, the Oral Advocate wished Irene a happy, happy 101st birthday and fourth hash run.  He further advocated for a reasonably in-tune and on-tempo rendition of Happy Birthday, and more or less got it.  The cakes came out, the candles blazed, the birthday girl accepted her cheers with a great string of carnations around her neck.  What a wonderful, charming and patient person.  Here's to 101 more.

The executive committee meeting was about par.  Oral Advocate made many comparisons to constitution-drafting and congressional-dealmaking; various elements debated raunchy vs. nice; the 'inspirations' and votes flew, and in the end I believe some kind of decision happened.  I don't know for sure, as I wandered off to chat with Irene instead.  Much more rewarding.  [UPDATE:  Hasher Flasher was renamed Pink Parts, but upon learning what those are, chose to become Bionic Babe instead.]

Executive Committee members must be hand-fed as they focus on their critical task.

Incidentally, Spurt carefully clipped a recent Washington Post Health & Science article headlined:  "Ancients toasted the dawn of civilization with beer bashes."  Having missed the word 'civilization,' he apparently believes this may be relevant in some wise to hashing.  You can decide for yourself by reading the piece here.

And if you'd like to see some photos of today's hash, try here.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

GFH3 Run #1,679; 12 Jan 2013

Oh, to be in Herndon, now that April's there -- except it's January.  Naetheless, it was shorts and t-shirts weather for many of the 42 or 43 (I helped with the roll) hashers who gathered at Blows in the Hole's to run Mike's first trail as a hare!  (Hand Job and BitH helped.)  What could be more wonderful than running around in blazing sunshine, warm but not too warm, and secure in the knowledge that there is NO POISON IVY anywhere in the area?

Stress-free running.
So run they did, for about five or six miles, making it home in 80 minutes or so after a mostly-paved, incident-free run.  The walkers did not make it to Blazing Straddles's to check on The Girls, but enjoyed the clement climate and low-trafficed neighborhood.  At the On In, copious pasta, garlic toast, beverages of all sorts including the delicious and brilliantly convenient Black Box wine, and a pyramid of cookies.  Many people chose an al fresco luncheon, or en plein air, enjoying the back deck.

Indoors, Thanks for the Mammaries showed photos from his latest trip to an appreciative audience.  Antarctica in November vs. Herndon in January in the middle of a heat wave... Hmmm...  The Mufti called the roll, leading a rollicking serenade of Jenn on her belated birthday.  He also welcomed Kathy to the Great Falls Hash (99 to the cup!), and welcomed Mitch, a very occasional GFHer, back.  Maria questioned the wisdom of bringing an infant hashing ("It's very loud in there.") and Air Horn managed to lift the ginormous resident cat for a bit of stroking and not-quite-baby talk.  (You know you did.)

She was covering her ears so she could enjoy it more.

I took some photos you can see if you click here.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

GFH3 Run #1,678; 5 Jan 2013

Job Blow and Put Away Wet got a big crowd for their Reston hash at Job Blow and Heats it UP's house.  The weather was reasonably clement, with more clouds than sun but a reasonable temperature for January, you know?  Chilly, maybe, but not outright cold.  There were over 40 of us, and everyone got treated unusually well -- except Air Horn and friends, whom Flowerkraut blocked into the driveway.  Honestly.  In addition to the people, I counted Abby, Kylie, Peanut and Kellogg, whom we haven't seen for a while.

Hashing is family-friendly!
Anyway, after convening in the back and side yards whilst Heats it UP prepared a feast indoors, the runners headed away through what looked like the next-door neighbors' back yard.  Nice neighbors.  The one at the end of the cul-de-sac, who lets us use the driveway for entrance and egress to and from the woods trail, is nice, too.  And the one who took a photo but no action against whoever parked in front of his mailbox is likewise kind and generous.  Please don't park in front of people's mailboxes, everyone -- Job Blow's got knocked down at an earlier, non-hash party, and the street is sensitive.

So, while the walkers headed down the kind neighbors' driveway and strolled the woods paths, the runners wended their ways to Put Away Wet's, where they found -- a GLUGWEIN STOP!  Wow.  Meanwhile, I was tippy-toeing through the mud with INDY's camera, yearning for a warm drink.  Anyway, boringly enough, Cums Too Fast finished too fast, though with Blow in the Hole not that far behind him, and well ahead of the rest of the pack, who spent about 90 minutes covering five or six miles.  Incidentally, CTF, any chance you might someday mark a damn check?  Brent, for reasons of his own, was carrying a plastic-foam tomahawk.  Chip Off the Old Dick spent a long time ignoring a hare's arrow to look up and down Soapstone, suspecting an A-to-B trail that did not materialize.

Blow in the Hole, earning her superhero t-shirt.

There were a lot of Restoners out in the woods with their dogs on this relatively nice day, and one of them was accompanied by his brother, visiting from the Wild West (Warrenton & vicinity), where he runs with the Hillbilly Hash.  The hasher is called Thang, or perhaps Richard.  He and brother and the lab and the Pekingese stopped by the On In briefly and chatted with Spurt and others who occasionally join HBH3, and some who don't.  We may see Richard again, as he's planning a move eastwards.

Speaking of that On In:  many types of pasta with different sauces, tasty garlic toast and salad, the remains of the glugwein, and get this:  hot chocolate sauce to top pound cake and fresh fruit.  Unusually good, right?  (There was also a pale sauce that might have been creme anglaise.  I forgot to try it.  Anyone know?)  The house is ideally configured for chasing a six-year old around, which I am always happy to do.  In a few years, I hope to perform the same service for Riley.

He takes a lot of chasing.

And unusual excitement when the Mufti called the roll.  BC3, who rarely even answers, "Here," not only had to admit to being present but also had to come forward -- to be congratulated on 11 years of wedded bliss and presented with an anniversary bouquet.  To appropriate cheers, she bestowed a kiss upon our Mufti, as do we all, metaphorically at least.  Heats it UP reluctantly emerged from the kitchen to accept raucous acclaim from the throng, and Job Blow and Put Away Wet got several cheers as well.  Moaner Lisa is at 958 or thereabouts...

Hip, hip, ON ON!!
No first-timers, but Riley and Mike each hit two.  And further, I made 221 (300 cannot come soon enough), Brent was at 32, and Lust in Space was maybe 332?  I vow to appear next week.  Whooo.  Lezlie, Flowerkraut and others are putting together a Rocky Horror Picture Show outing -- maybe one of the organizers will add details in the comments section.  Phoenix Rising demonstrated a few peri-something stretches.  Anything else?  Put it in the comments, please.  Oh, and be thinking about a name for Joyce, and a new name for Cums Too Fast.

More photos, should you wish to peruse the evidence, are available here.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

GFH3 Run #1,677; 1 Jan 2013

The new year dawned -- but who could tell with all that cloud cover?  Clouds or no, the temperature was fairly friendly, and the breeze light, and while there are no rules, there are a lot of traditions, and one of the best is New Year's Day at Byte Me! and Eat it Raw's.  So a whole bunch of hashers (I counted 45; there may have been a few more) convened in Herndon for the ceremonial cannon-firing.

On on!
The walkers are always happy with a stroll through Frying Pan Park, but the runners had to follow directions.  The trail started in the park, but then steered them through the local culs-de-sac, bringing them home through the back yard in about an hour.  Rrocks Starr, deciding to short cut a bit, was the last in.  All that time in California has apparently disoriented him for east-coast streets.

I heard one runner comment that the trail was "a death march," but I'm pretty sure none of the GF regulars would agree.  Anyway, whatever effort you expended was more than rewarded with the Hangover Hash tradition of Bloody Marys, mimosas, vast quantities of quiche in many flavors, a bagel bar, homemade cookies, and so much more.

The Mufti called roll with BC3 commenting, far in the back, that she marvels every time he takes 'control' of the Hash, as "he's nothing like this usually."  There were loud cheers for Byte Me!, Eat it Raw and their several friends who aid in the preparation of this annual extravaganza.  As well, there was a birthday caterwaul (can't call it a serenade) for Paddle My Candee Ass, who also celebrated 111 runs (whoooo), plus a few shouts of "99 to the cup!" for one or two or three newcomers.  Kent showed up for his second run, and there were all sorts of other good people and stuff but it was a big crowd and I can't see everything.

The Mufti called Goes Down on Trail to the front of the room for a moment of deep solemnity:  his 200th run (or 201st, but you know the Mufti Math).  You may have missed that solemn moment; it passed very quickly.  Then there was a great deal of hilarity over the bullets dodged, which included Pantyhose, because the Oral Advocate admires GDoT's legs, and Twitchy, and something about wenching that may have been supposed to be about wrenches; I am really not sure.  However, the final approved name was The Manic Mechanic, to which TMM drank a toast of mimosa, beer and water with way less grimacing than most people would have provided.

He just never seems manic to me...

Okay, I did something deranged and deleted most of the wonderful photos from the trail and the On In.  I am so sorry.  There are, however, pix of a Herndon backyard full of dinosaurs and other fanciful creatures, plus a few hashers, if you click here.