GFH3 Run #1,751; 7 May 2014

The Mufti often threatens “another boring Mufti trail” when he’s getting ready to host, but tonight’s trail was anything but.  Perhaps that’s because BC3 designed it; perhaps because Phoenix Rising added an eagle stub; perhaps because 22 runners of widely varying ages, experience levels and starting times essayed the trail.  Maybe it’s Mufti magic; maybe it’s a bit of each.

Wait a second – 22 runners?  That’s right:  22 runners.  A total of 48 people (plus six dogs) showed up for the first Wednesday run of the 2014 summer season.  This is unprecedented.  Usually the first Wednesday gets a very light turn-out.  It’s as if this was a special occasion or something...

Per PhR and Easy Strider, observing this scene from a '65 Volvo, this is the essence of hashing.

The weather was certainly special; after a rainy mid-day, the evening sky was clear and blue above Reston, the sun was shining brightly as the troops assembled, and everyone wondered if it was too warm for long sleeves, or too cool for short.  Everyone cheered when Rrocks Starr, Christina and Oscar arrived.  The Mufti prayed silence for the brief, credited his sig other with the best parts of the 4-mile true turkey trail, blamed PhR for a difficult and dangerous eagle option, and pointed across the bridge to the first check.  The runners ran.  The walkers got advice for a pleasant loop; Christina and BC3 took the not-that-badly-injured Rrocks Starr between them and carefully guided him on a shorter stroll.

That miniscule little scar will actually look rather dashing in time.  Even the bandage looks a little bit dashing.

After a long-ish stepping-stoned water crossing, most of the runners made it to Route 7, turned sharply left to cut across country briefly, then headed down Reston Avenue to arrive at the turkey/eagle split.  PhR waited there, to mock, bully and plead a decent number of colleagues into taking the eagle trail. I think it was seven or eight eagles, and about the same for turkeys, which leaves us with another seven or eight who were lost or confused or refusing to obey orders and making their own trails.  Fine.  Be that way.  Incidentally, Cocked and Loaded made like an eagle and swears he got less than five miles on his GPS, but it turns out he and his colleagues blew through a couple X’s and didn’t do the backcheck ten.

Eventually everyone made it back, coming into the On In from about four different directions, with Climax Investigator leading the eagles, and young Sam sprinting to the pavilion with a vigor that made some observers (well, this one, anyway) want a little nap, and a shout loud enough to prevent any attempt at napping.  Careful conservation efforts by the Mufti ensured everyone got a sandwich and there was plenty of beer, a few Black Boxes, and lots of cookies.  Gale and Moaner Lisa showed up looking like they might have office-type jobs that keep them working past 5:00 on weekdays.

Perhaps not the essence of hashing, but a respectable effort.

And were glad they did, as this was a roll call you didn’t want to miss.  Why?  Well, Kimball got to lucky 13, Phlashback made 450, Sam turned two and Moaner hit 966 (34 to the satin jacket!).  Finishing up, Our Fearless L. double-checked to be sure he hadn’t missed anyone.  Yeah.  That’s right.  He had.  Staying light on the fanfare at her request, he announced BC3’s 500^th run.  Mufti reminisced about some of her great cooking (remember the pesto soup a few years ago?) and the time she fell and required ten stitches, which he contrasted with Rrocks Starr’s recent and paltry two.  Then we had a quiz:  what do all three BC’s in BC3 stand for?[1]  Turns out, she’s keeping her name and gaining a dangle, plus a bouquet of lovely white roses that Mango only nibbled a little bit.

She gets her very own dangle.  Is this favoritism?

Associate Mufti The Oral Advocate took the stage at that point, and noted that Our F.L. began his Hash career in the same year that the Iron Man started with the Orioles.  However, Cal Ripken, Jr. sat out for good after just 20 years with his team, while our Iron Man keeps going, all the way to 1,500 runs and beyond.  The O.A. got all sentimental, saying how glad he is to have had to chance to choose Mufti as a treasured friend.  And then he gave the poor man a t-shirt with most of our truly lovely persons depicted on it, and a bunch of insults scrawled all over the hem.

Air Horn was perhaps a midge less sentimental, lamenting the lack of a truly independent audit of the Mufti’s run count, with details of A.H.'s own frequent attempts to instigate one (many rude comments from the assemblage), and claiming the package he held contained a solid-gold plaque, imported from Italy especially for this momentous occasion.  It was actually a handsomely-framed[2] photo of the two honorees and their fuzzy puppy.  O.A. requested a song, sung nicely, Ole Fud counted down to “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” and the rendition made the Associate Mufti truly proud.  He also organized the clean-up.

We don't need the Jazz Swinger to sound good.  Or okay, at least.

Thanks to Blow in the Hole for help with pictures, which you can see here.  Radar promises to send the professional-quality photos, but we all know what his promises mean.

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[1] Book Club, Boot Camp and Boat Captain. 

[2] Thanks, Kimball and Beef Strokemoff!