GFH3 Run #1,709; 31 July 2013

If you look to the right on your screen, and maybe scroll down a bit, you'll find a blog 'gadget' captioned "Labels."  Browse through that list of words and phrases, and you'll see the word "sunshine" stands out in great big letters, with the notation "(20)" beside it.  That is because twenty of these posts have included the label "sunshine," to indicate that that weather condition was an element of the hashes described in those twenty posts.  If you squint a bit, a few lines above sunshine, you'll see the word "rain," in tiny letters, with the notation "(4)".  If you had checked before Job Blow and Heats it UP's fabulous hash tonight, that notation would have been "(3)."  But it poured like the dickens, or something a lot wetter than the dickens, in Reston this evening.

Not at first, mind you.  As about forty of us gathered around the Blows's fish pond, where the Mufti was gregariously distributing anniversary t-shirts, the sky was maybe partly cloudy, or overcast if you're pessimistic.  The heat and humidity were doing their thing, and Job Blow was out in the driveway, making sure no one ran over the neighbor's mailbox.  Despite vigorous efforts by our Fearless Leader, a pair of New Balance lost-and-found shoes went unclaimed (Mufti!  Do not drop those in the fish pond!) and after a bit people slowly straggled out front for the brief.  I frankly remember nothing of JB's sapient comments, having been mildly concussed by an over-enthusiastic hasher gesticulating recklessly, but there may have been something about blue chalk and true trail being determined by at least four, not three, ons.

It's a RUNNING club!  Somebody RUN!

"On on!" someone eventually shouted, and a bit more straggling ensued.  Misled by an over-enthusiastic hasher misinterpreting marks recklessly, the pack headed up the street, then turned 'round and came back down, and into the woods trails through the kindly neighbor's yard.  Thank you, kindly neighbor.  Once everyone -- walkers, too -- had gotten well into those woods, the clouds moved in fast and thoroughly.  The walkers and a horde of shortcutters made it back to the house before the skies sundered, but the true trailers (all eight or so of them) got soaked to the bone.  Poor things.  And then no one tried out the new salt-water pool, which looks just gorgeous.  BC3 is putting together a party to sneak over there while JB and HIU are off on their next vacation.

The usual HIU generous feast was laid out on the kitchen buffet, with roast pork and three salads (the tortellini artichoke was my favorite, although the bean-corn-avocado was a very strong contender).  A wide variety of beer was available, as were Black Box and Ch. Ste. Michelle wines.  Dessert was ridiculous, and included super-fresh and juicy cantaloupe, many pastries and two flavors of ice cream.

Imitating the courtship ritual of the blue-footed booby (or double-breasted booby) is a great way to stretch out after a long, soggy run.  Photo is proof I did not hallucinate this, despite my brain injury earlier in the evening.

Mufti's roll was notable for the strength of the replies, except when he got to Zipperhead and Rrock Starr, who didn't make a peep.  Eventually someone realized they were still out on trail, in the dark and the wet, and a search party formed.  A whole bunch of people got cheers for their first runs -- a German, I think, and at least a couple of Americans -- and BC3 is getting awfully close to 500.  Then a huge gust of cheering burst out as our lost sheep returned to the fold, with tales of winding trails and invisible marks and very, very wet t-shirts.

My attempts at photographing the koi were dismal failures, but you can see much of the other stuff in the pictures here.