GFH3 Run #1,743; 15 March 2014

Beware the Ides of March, they cautioned J. Caesar back in the day, but the warning doesn’t seem to apply to the GFH3.  Perhaps that’s because for Lezley, there’s no such thing as the Ides; she calls it "two days before St. Patrick’s Day."  So she ladled up a warm and sunny day, silly hats and green beads that caused one Herndon civilian out on trail to guess that we were celebrating a tardy Mardi Gras.  We were, of course, actually celebrating the news that Zipperhead got through serious surgery successfully.

Lezley and Lori were responsible for a five-mile true trail for the runners that included, in the celebratory spirit, ‘real water crossings, not the wimpy Herndon ones.’  That’s a paraphrase, but Lori’s share of the brief certainly included the word ‘wimpy.’  The walkers’ trail is a perennial favorite, permanently marked in blue and white spray-paint arrows.  Word is that the runners’ trail went a considerable distance; evidence suggests that it was quite successful in keeping the pack nicely grouped.  Only Rick got seriously lost; that’s what you get for being FRB at that age.  Sheesh.

The pack, part I, following Rick and Mini Schlonga, both some distance ahead.

Back at Antrim West, there was a feast of corned beef on a platter, regular beef stewed up with spuds and carrots, and a sublime potato-leek soup for those who eschew red meat.  (There’s a pun struggling up through that sentence.)  Also some sausage, possibly to be called bangers just for today, and a huge quantity of Irish beers, including Guinness, which is Good For You, that more than satisfied forty hungry hashers.

The Mufti having decided not to return early from Hawai’i, the Associate Mufti performed his signature 45-minute roll call.  For reasons of his own, he first demanded a shot of whisky, then settled for a nip of Drambuie.  Later, for what can’t possibly be any good reason, Don brought out a full-size, brand new bottle of single-malt Scotch, which the Hash consumed so quickly you’d think they believe they’re worth high-quality hard liquor.

Hash time is happy time!

Despite taking sick leave (is this elective surgery?) Zipperhead got credit for a run, which is unprecedented.  Ole Fud made it to 700 (he was one of our first hashers, but what with traveling the world to save the global economy all those years, he didn’t make it to as many hashes as he would have liked), and I think it was the Oral Advocate himself who hit 750.  Michael attended his first hash but didn’t put himself up for the roll, and Robert made four.  Whoo hoo.  Lori hit 100, and the O.A. declared her, “Nippletism,” but we’ll believe it when the Mufti says it’s true.  Rick hit 99.2 – he’ll make 100 when Double Breasted Boobie is here to see it happen.  Speaking of Mufti, he’s stuck at 1,496.  Whoo hoo.

Here’s what it looked like.  Be sure to keep checking the website; prospective hero Drill Me Fill Me is considering hosting at an empty lot near his home next week.  He’s considering Port-a-Potties, but you might want to stop by the toilets at the Brogue on your way to the meet, just in case. 

Get well and stay well, please.

THIS JUST IN:  Chip Off the Old Dick fills in the details of an October 2013 run that sounds like an unusually excellent good time for all.  Check it out here.

GFH3 Run #1,706; 10 July 2013

Well, it was great while it lasted, but sadly, the Great Falls Hash House Harriers have come to the end of their trail.  With no one willing to host ever again (though July and August are usually the most popular months of the year to host), the GFH3 is no more.  Too bad, really.

Too bad, because clearly some sort of mojo is working for this group.  The clouds gathered tonight, the forecasters warned, the wind picked up and Ole Fud saw a drop of rain.  Yet somehow, that drop's fellow drops did not drop, and Lezley was able to keep everyone mostly out on the back deck, and everyone who risked taking electronic gadgets out on the trail brought those gadgets back dry and functioning.  So let's see if we can't keep this thing going after all...

Having gathered in a Herndon driveway to accept their cucumbers (fresh picked in Easy Strider's garden), commiserate with Oral Advocate over his busted wing (Blazing Straddle:  "Don't fall off bicycles!", apparently advocating for falling off subway platforms, roofs (Lori:  "No, Ole Fud has rights on that one.") or fancy raised kitchen/sunken living room floor/curb thingies), and twirl about in skorts (FIVE hashers wore athletic skorts tonight, following the lead Multiple Lustings, that fashion pioneer, set two or three years ago), the hashers enjoyed a brief brief under threat of ankle-breaking if they didn't stop talking.  Spurt threatened worse if they didn't mark checks, but apparently a few of them didn't hear that part.  Oops.  And then they got going, in fits and starts, to cross OVER the Fairfax County Parkway, circle around a few times, cross UNDER Wiehle, jog over a basketball court, cut a corner of a neighbor's lawn and head for home.

Happy!  Because they know B is N even though, having short-cutted, they did not see the "BN" mark.

The walkers (about 15 of 35 were walkers tonight, and five of 35 were hosts, hares or helpers; Valiant, paraphrasing Our Founder:  "This is becoming a serious walking club.") crossed under Wiehle a couple of times, making their own circles and carrying their pups across the streams or letting them wade, according to personal preference, dog size and color, and carpet cleanliness standards.

Damp and delightful, back at the On In the crowd tucked into burgers, brats and dogs, slaw and spud salad, chips and stuff.  Don wielded the grill tongs as soon as he got back from compassionate leave/emergency airport pick-up run.  For dessert, there was Lori's birthday cake.  Mufti celebrated Bite Me's 901st and Paint in the Ass's 399th (PitA:  "I'm keeping my name.") during a fairly sedate roll call.  Mufti, did you note Austin's #4?

Listening to a GFH3 rendition of "Happy Birthday" is a heavy price to pay for a single slice of cake.

Lori has volunteered to scout and map a Reston trail for next week, and arrange with Wings 'n' Things for a pay-as-you-go On In if someone's available to set her trail.  Please oh please, check out the Score! page and make a mental note that if your name's not on that list, and you haven't had major surgery in the last 6-8 months, you are probably due for a stint as host or helper.  If you can't have/don't want this bedraggled and pungent crew in your own home, borrow a friend's, book a pavilion, find a party room, or look for lightly-patrolled parking lots or houses whose owners are on vacation (ha ha!  That's a JOKE!).

While you're checking out pages, feel free to roll an eyeball over the photos.  The three young ruffians in the final photo are a Nashville-based band and airport-rescue-requirers, in case you were wondering.

GFH3 Run #1,683; 9 Feb 2013

Only two of us made it to Albuquerque for the run on Saturday.  The rest of you missed a great day with a bit of snowstorm, a bit of sandstorm, ferocious wind, desert-like intra-day temperature swings and a decent view or two.  We enjoyed the local sparkler, Gruet, revivifying hot chocolate with chili peppers, and plenty of blue corn and red chili sauce.  Thanks to Lilith for hosting!

A brief break to let the sand settle deeper into our ears, our eyes, our mouths and noses and scalps and fingernails and boots and between our teeth before setting off into the wind tunnel again.

Several Rio Grande crossings made for some excitement.

Setting fire to the roof in hopes of dissipating the early-morning freeze.

INDY, not wearing a swimsuit, as he knew he was lying about high-altitude scuba.

GFH3 Run #1,676; 29 Dec 2012

On the Day That Couldn't Make Up Its Mind, we got a little snow, a little slush, a bit of rain, some wind... and right about 3:00pm we got a clearing in the clouds that revealed beautiful blue skies luminous with golden sunshine.  Ah, lovely -- albeit freezing cold.

Despite the uncertainty in the skies, 25 of us made it to the Algonkian Parkway and Spurt's home, where he and Lezley had spent the early afternoon setting trail with flour, blue flour, chalk and an occasional squirt of spray paint in case everything else melted or washed away.  The Mufti reminded us that there will be a big ole party (plus some irritating exercise-y stuff) at Byte Me! and Eat It Raw's home at 11:00am on New Year's Day.  See you there!

Our heroic hares answer the eternal question, "Where's the second check?"

But first... Spurt pointed to a big floury circle on his driveway, and we're off... in three different directions... which eventually resolved themselves to the correct one.  The walkers wandered pathwards, well-bundled, while the runners slipped and skidded down the slick pavement.  Spurt and Lezley sent them on a compact circle that didn't take much time but required the resolution to slop through woods full of both obvious and carefully-camouflaged puddles and rivulets and minor ponds flooded with ice water.  So everyone made it back in less than an hour, but with sneakers full of slush and semi-frozen toes.

You can see how avoiding the water hazard might be a skosh tricky.

Good thing there was a big pot of turkey chili on the stovetop, waiting for hungry hashers to dish up and decorate with cheese and sour cream and corn bread and salad and vegetable lasagna.  Yum!  There was also good beer in cans -- if someone gets up the nerve to add a comment (just click the "[No] Comments" link below, type away in the box that appears, then choose "Anonymous" from the 'Post As' drop-down menu, and hit "Publish"), you can confirm this and specify the type.  Given my respiratory distress, I'm sticking with water for now.

The magnificent Mufti called the roll, with three hearty cheers for head chef Susan.  No newcomers today; no significant injuries; plenty of witty repartee.  Photos are available for those who like that sort of thing.