GFH3 Run #1,707; 17 July 2013

Lezley, stepping up onto the curb outside The Buffalo Wing Factory and Pub in Reston:  "Goodness, it's hot."  Everyone else:  "No, really?!?"

On the good news front, it wasn't nearly so humid as it has been, nor as it will be over the next few days.  So while it was somewhat uncomfortable, and the big tub of bottled water on ice on the sidewalk outside the Factory was decidedly welcome, no one was fainting, nor quite so thoroughly drenched in his or her own fluids as everyone was, for instance, last week at Rrocks Starr's.  And good thing, too, since the On In took place inside the said Factory and Pub, where neatly dressed waiters were serving civilized people, and the intrusion of a crowd as -- ummm -- olfactorally unsatisfactory as the hash at its peak of ripeness would have been intrusive indeed.

Storing solar energy to be expended on the run.

But before making the dinner hour slightly less comfortable for innocent bystanders, our crowd of 31 gathered on the sidewalk to receive instructions from Lori, who chose the location and mapped the run, and Bite Me, who set the course with help from Blow in the Hole and a friend with a much-appreciated GPS.  (For those of you keeping track, this makes four times BitH has hosted, hared or helped in the last seven hashes.  Somebody stop her!)  Lori also had printed instructions for the walkers, which they followed until they got into the woods and couldn't read them clearly anymore.  Mufti:  "We'll go half a mile and then turn around.  Someone keep track of where we go."

The runners did a big, zig-zagging circle in a bit less than an hour, with several young whippersnappers helping to lead the pack in, including BMe's nephew.  Since they are young, they don't yet know to mark the checks.  What Easy Strider and Mini Schlonga's excuses are is unclear.

PBR was available in cans for $2, and there was a $10 pizza special back at the Wing Pub place.  Thirty-one hashers squeezed into two very big tables, and the super wait staff coped admirably.  Mufti was not intimidated by the presence of strangers and two dozen TVs showing different sports channels (and some really gross commercials), and called the roll only very slightly sotto voce.  Paint in the Ass hit 400, and as threatened kept her name, despite such alternative offers as "Problem Child" and "Ass the in Paint," the latter of which would allow her to keep wearing her valued necklace.  Spurt hit 600, so if they got one of those cojoined-twins-separation operations in reverse, they could apply for a satin jacket.  I think.

If you finish an order of the 911 Wings, they put your name on the wall.

In the meantime, they could step outside with the Mufti to his car, and receive their super-duper new 31st anniversary and Mufti Appreciation Day t-shirt, zip-locked bagged for maximum shininess.  Air Horn:  "Who's this Shriner on the back?"

Lori says her mum reads this blog, and looks at the pictures.  Hi, Lori's Mum!  Thanks for reading!