Showing posts with label Irene K.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Irene K.. Show all posts

Sunday, March 23, 2014

GFH3 Run #1,744; 22 March 2014



The first hash of spring brought spring-like temperatures and celebratory sunshine pouring across the ponds, lawns and briar patches of Great Falls.  After dusting himself liberally with flour, the heroic Drill Me, Fill Me opened his home to 37 hashers including head chef Irene and co-hare Air Horn.  DMFM to AH:  “I’m covered with flour, and you’re practically clean.  How did that happen?”  AH showed off his beautiful, custom made (of plastic grocery sacks and duct tape) flour bag in explanation.

Mad Dog, leading the pack as per ;-)

The Mufti, returned from tropical climes on Sunday last, just in time for the 900th snowstorm of this winter, expressed appreciation for the weather, concern about the lapse in discipline the GFH3 suffered during his absence, and a promise to re-instill said discipline with an iron fist.  Several people chuckled appreciatively.  When AH and DMFM promised no death march, several people huzzahed appreciatively.  The hares also noted that the marks really were on the left, mostly, and that they had permission for a half-dozen or so forays onto private property.

True trail was just under four miles, with a mix of pavement and dirt footing, and at least a couple of fences to traverse.  Walkers went in different directions, some taking and some ignoring the advice of their kind host.  Easy Strider, back on the DL, and I kindly marked checks that the FRBs forgot, those SOBs.  The pack did get a bit strung out, and several runners seem to have gotten confused at the very end of the trail, heading up Springvale (sadly missing an amusing back-check six) or across the back yards of people who hadn’t necessarily granted permission.

Not content with hashing for a hobby, Paint in the Ass and Easy Strider are taking up taxidermy.  Or something.

No buckshot pursued anyone to the On In, and good thing too as it messes up the flavor of the chicken tikka masala.  A wide selection of beers, fruity-nutty salad and tiramisu made the meal complete.  Most everyone sat outside, which is a midge tricky when the pool is still covered, but worth the tip-toeing on a day like this one.

Mufti called roll without incident.  His own 1,497 has apparently been scrupulously audited already.  Chris expressed regret that her years of hashing in foreign parts still doesn’t get her past two at the GFH3.  She is, however, thrilled by the lower-key and lack of down-downs at our country club.  Nobody put a foot through the pool cover, and everybody checked for ticks.  Right?

If you look at the pictures, you will notice a sequence that begins with Air Horn, seen from the left, with both hands together in front of him.  Sadly, you can’t see the snowball he’s packing between those hands.  The subsequent pictures show him readying to throw, Easy Strider getting ready to catch, then catching, then observing the snowball, then laughing at Mini Schlonga, who is brushing snow off his shoulder, then M.S. setting off to supply himself with his own snowball, then one of Gale leaping up to extract snow from her shirt, then Gale chasing M.S.  Hijinks of this sort aren’t the norm for our usually sophisticated hash, but spring fever takes different people different ways.  Thanks for photos, Irene, Beef Strokemoff and Suck, Squeeze, Bang!

The kind of day that makes some of us wish to stop time.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

GFH3 Run #1,688; 16 March 2013

The hash's finest, 21 or so stalwarts, braved the weather report and the cloud cover and zoomed (I'm Not Dead Yet and I made McLean to P.S. in about 30 minutes) westward, singing, "Paeonian Springs, oh Paeonian Springs/The joy that life brings in Paeonian Springs."  The snowdrops were blooming in their quiet way in north-facing pockets, and the daffodils had burst out in their gaudy excitement in the southern exposures, and the rain held off until the walkers finished their tour.

Honestly, it was pretty warm as we arrived to find Easy Strider stacking logs and finishing off the last of the maple sap.  You may be surprised to learn that this was a great year for sap, and E.S. had to bring in help to collect his brimming buckets as they were filling too fast for him to keep up solo.  So there is syrup a-plenty, waiting to be filtered and decanted.  But first, he had a hash to host, so he gathered the faithful and pointed them to the girder crossing the stream.  After jogging/slipping/crawling up the hill, someone - maybe Radar? - recalled, "He had us go left last time," and so headed right, with most of the pack behind him.  Mini Schlonga and Mitch checked the left-bound trail, and only added a quarter-mile or so to their run by doing so.  Then through a flock of chickens, and a brambly scramble up a steep and thickly-vined hill to route 9, and some fields and more hills as the clouds began to sprinkle lightly upon them, and after about six miles we're home again.  Down the hill, now, in a few great, erosion-inducing, sliding steps, back across the girder and up to the porch where the beer awaits.

Away we go!
And the walkers await, having completed a two-mile circuit just, as noted above, before the drizzle began.  And a rich array of sandwiches await, comprising what the Mufti called, "The most colorful meal we've had in some time."  Irene K. provided the meal, with a little help from Wegman's, and in addition to varieties of sandwiches with fancy flourishes like pesto marinade and artichoke-feta spread, there was an abundance of chef's salad and a plate of juicy, fresh melon and other fruits, plus a generous cooky buffet.  There was Irish and other beer, to complement Mitch's multi-greens sartorial coup de grace, and Black Box cab, and it seemed like pretty much everyone was awfully happy.

At least four shades of green; probably more.

The Mufti called a quick roll with great cheers for Irene and Easy Strider, and subdued excitement as someone - E.S.? - hit 665.  Several of the Great Falls contingent requested early departure for various silly reasons, and so... missed out.  Because the lingerers got a special treat in being invited to sample the first pressing (or boiling or whatever) of syrup, in little paper tasting cups.  It offers rich, deep color with an audacious bouquet and hints of chervil on the after-palate, dissipating into smoky, woodsy tones of tree juice.  Susie the Calico Cat dropped in for a visit, with usual suspects INDY and Air Horn making a great fuss of her.  I've forgotten why Phoenix Rising kissed Easy Strider, but I did take the photo, which you can see, with Indy eating a Spam Oreo and others, right here.

By the time we left, it was downright chilly.