Greg and Lori sent the runners out into the Herndon woods at the back of the house, at the unconsciensably early hour of 3:06 or thereabouts. They got a good size pack -- about 22? -- and offered them a healthy trail of roughly four miles, with a bit of mud and brambles and a fence enclosing ten or more dogs at someone's house. Easy Strider thinks one dog, maybe two, is fine. But a dozen? The one egg, however, was near that house, and Air Horn found it right where E.S. left it, in the middle of a check that no one ever marked, and carried it back to the On In as his trophy.
|Scrabbling, in the True Hasher fashion.|
Meanwhile, a gaggle of runners decided to stay on the road after muffing a check, instead of scrabbling back into the woods and running along the fence guarding the super-secure Fairfax County water treatment facility. Boo! Shameless shortcutters! They missed some extra mud. Not as much, however, as an entire contingent of runners who seem to have veered off long before Wiehle -- no report from those people, but there they were, on the deck, enjoying the warmth and the cloud cover and the fajitas and a wide selection of wines and beers. Maybe twelve walkers managed to divide themselves into at least three groups taking distinctly different routes; half of them arriving after the runners were all in. A very straggly hash. Whatever happened to that Fist of Discipline the Mufti promised to bring down upon us all?
|Two kinds of tortillas, chicken and beans and veg and cheese and....|
Anyway, the run was great, the weather was decent, and the potential sighting of a blue heron added a pleasant anticipatory tingle to enhance the beauty of springtime in northern Virginia. The food was excellent and plentiful, although it would be interesting to know where the Fist of D. was when early finishers were snarfing up guacamole by the quart.
|Now we get serious.|
Rick (105 runs) got to hear several of the nicknames proposed by his nearest and dearest, including 'Howls for Hooters' and 'Sugar Daddy.' He promised there are stories behind those, but didn't tell them. With a flourish, the Mufti presented the bright red t-shirt emblazoned, 'Climax Investigator.' Nipples offered C.I. the 100-run cup, and he actually swallowed a mouthful of beer-wine-Gatorade punch. It made his mouth look funny.
|Welcome to the Executive Committee!|
It was a great hash. Nipples had prizes for the three hashers involved in discovering the egg: handsome furry ears and a little chocolate bunny. Plus cake, without even a birthday. Check out the pix if you like; thanks to Blow in the Hole and Beef Strokemoff for shutter assistance.