While 14 walkers hung back for special instructions, 30 runners got themselves down the hill to the first check, and a whole bunch of them checked to the right while the rest hung around waiting. Eventually, everyone charged off to the left and found their first arrow, pointing them downhill. Was it Cock in the Crease who complained that starting with a downhill just meant he'd have to climb back up later in the run? Reassurances that this was an all-downhill trail did not seem to help.
|Away we go.|
Then there was some confusion in the middle of the trail. Remember the graffiti treat? Phoenix Rising, working backwards and early, found it before the others, and found a law enforcement officer on the site. The L.E.O. informed him he was trespassing, and after a bit of reasoned discourse, with PhR making some salient points, the L.E.O. offered to write PhR a citation. They both agreed that would not be nearly as much fun as finding a different trail -- which PhR did, eventually bumping up against the main pack and recommending a judicious detour. So Sean and Not-Jennifer (sorry!) were the only two to run the true trail, as they'd gotten far enough behind not to witness the hash careering off onto false trail, and the L.E.O. was gone by the time they arrived at graffiti central. Nipple Knocker has promised a photo of the graffiti (he helped BBoD and Paddle My Candee Ass to set). When he sends it, I'll post it.
|No known explanation for any of this.|
So eventually everyone made it back to the On In, where Norm was grilling bratwurst, PMCA had finished making gravy, and Jill had filled every horizontal surface in the house with food. We're talkin' pork, we're talkin' chicken, we are talking about several potato salads and a crock pot full of mulled wine and cheesy casserole and scalloped potatoes and something like chili. We are talking, ladies and gentlemen, about enough food to feed 90, and sufficient beverages for 150. (In addition to the 48 hashers, there were about 10-15 friends and family, so while doggy bags were available, there were significant inroads made.) At last report, no one had attempted the bottle of Wisconsin cranberry wine.
The Associate Mufti, or Mufti Pro-Tem, played his M.C. role to the hilt, lauding Jill and her myriad helpers for the feast, and demanding an on-key rendition of the happy birthday song. He may actually have blown a kiss to the birthday girl, who looked spry and happy despite all the shouting strangers banging about around her. "I hope they're not drunk," she acknowledged at one point, but expressed delight at seeing, and hearing, the young folk enjoying themselves.
|Here's to 103 more!|
And enjoy themselves they did, as shown here. Thanks to PMCA for additional photos.