GFH3 Run #1,764; 30 July 2014

The last A-to-B I can remember was run number 1,500, in November 2009, when the hounds had to traverse all of the five or six miles between I'm Not Dead Yet's and Queen Cobra's.  For tonight's run, Heater Beater and Rough Cut, after dragging 31 of us out to Leesburg on a weeknight, threatened a reeeeally long A-to-B trail, claimed they were hoping to win the Death March Award, and promised vehicular transport to get everyone back from the On In at B to their cars at A.  Funny thing was, it actually was a decent-length trail:  several GPSes hit five-and-a-half.

Leesburg on a gorgeous night.

But ha ha!  The B was actually only three blocks from the A!  So the 17 runners got a BIG circle around to the east and north of Leesburg proper, and through a cemetery somewhere along the way, and then plunged back into the quaintest little downtown in northern Virginia to jog east along Loudon Street and so to HB and Puss in Boot's new little cottage.  It's a fixer-upper; they plan to rehabilitate it and then rent it out to some lucky single, or couple, or very small family.

A drinking club with problems walking past a bar.

The walkers chose a variety of routes and distances, and found such distractions as a closed model-train store against whose windows a few hashers rubbed their noses, and a bar that temporarily distracted two of the entourage from their vigorous exercise.  Everyone made it to the On In eventually - the runners' pack actually keeping pretty well together - to enjoy a gloriously warm evening on the lawn, watching the sunset dim a pale cerulean sky to mauve, and gradually to black, lit by an improbably slender sliver of moon.  And scarfing down Peruvian chicken while they did so, washed back with Red Hook and Tecate and cabernet sauvignon according to preference.

Perfect party house

The excitement of getting rid of a pair of lost-and-found shoes and two shirts before the run began was not enough for the Mufti, so he welcomed Rrocks Starr back from South America (some geographically-challenged cynic demanded to know whether he'd been exposed to ebola), and made Chip Off the Old Dick unseat himself from his comfortable wall to stand in the middle of the crowd and accept great cheers for achieving 700 runs, and led a round of hip-hip-on-ons when hash heroine Blow in the Hole volunteered to host next week.  Cheers, of course, to the gracious hosts, their attempts at trickery easily forgiven.  When the weather's this great, everything's forgiven.  Photos here if you want them; thanks to Beef Strokemoff for taking a turn with the camera.

GFH3 Run #1,747; 12 April 2014

What a day for a celebration, or a small slew thereof.  The sun has finally returned for good, and something like 55 barbarians broke down the gates at Air Horn’s to help him celebrate his something-or-othereth birthday and the marriage, last fall, of his charming daughter Brogue Bait to the delightful Seth.  BB and Seth attracted a whole bunch of whippersnapper friends and relatives, including the ridiculously whippersnapperish Mallory, who hasn’t yet begun to toddle.  The Mount Vernon H3 sent a half-dozen or so representatives, attracted by the 70-degree temps, the woodlands of Great Falls, and the possibility of champagne.

Do this.  Go these ways.  Marks are on the ground, or somewhere.

AH and Pumpmaster set, and Pumpmaster promised to sweep, carrying home any victims of his youthful exuberance in one arm.  Ah, to be young in the springtime, and a professional gym rat.  AH reminded everyone that cars + hashers = danger, and regretted the intrusion of roads into his trail.  Then everyone ran away, except the walkers.  The walkers stayed for advice on where to walk, and then they all strolled away and began ignoring the advice.

If they are going to make days this beautiful, you might as well run around in them.

About an hour after they set out, the runners emerged from Riverbend Park onto Riverbend Road, and then it was only a hop (up onto the shoulder, to be out of the way of the cars), skip (up and down the pipeline hills) and a jump (over a little creek) until they were back at the On In.  Shortcutters finished first, unless they walked their shortcut, in which case they came in after the sweeper.  AH finished his Peruvian-chicken run a few minutes after the last runners arrived.  Everyone fell to with vigor when the hosts started stirring that delicious green sauce Peruvians serve with their chicken.  After a while, with the first hunger pangs sated, the hosts started popping corks, AH sending them high over, and eventually down into, the crowd.  People grabbed their bubbly, added o.j. as desired, and started toasting.  AH also, in an excess of celebratory spirit, demanded his birthday song, which this reporter found unusually painful.  Thanks to Rick for that. 

Heads up! but only if you're wearing safety goggles.

On behalf of the Hash, the Mufti presented the not-that-newlyweds with a handsome hare to decorate their happy home.  AH made the usual pseudo-speech.  The double-barreled cake (vanilla for birthday; chocolate for marriage) was trimmed with the same china cake-toppers that decorated AH and his late wife’s wedding cake 40-ish years ago.  Sweet.

Mufti started roll-calling.  Paula arrived, damaged but undefeated, at the double-4s; was it Sally at double-3s?  Seth made seven.  Land Ho made it to two hashes in a row, and promised to come back really soon.  She’s taken a j-o-b, so Saturdays may be busy for a while, and she’s working at a marina, so the employee discount may make the paychecks moot.  Ole Fud abandoned us for West Point and lacrosse honors, but Double-Breasted Booby flew in from the west coast just to see her favorite hash.  A bunch of people won cheers for their first hashes, huzzah huzzah and 99 to the.  Next week should see Rick and Lori with their new names finally awarded, and Mufti and BC3 will host on the first Wednesday, which is to say 7 May, at the pavilion.  They will, on that occasion, finally achieve their 1,500^th and 500^th runs, respectively.

There are photos of much of the celebration and some of the sunshine right here.

And they lived happily ever after.

GFH3 Run #1,723; 2 November 2013

Glorious weather, beautiful foliage, and no suspicion that Phoenix Rising had paired up with The Pumpmaster to set the trail combined to induce over 40 hashers to come out to Great Falls today.  (Also about 10,314,612 people to pack onto the Georgetown Pike on their way to Great Falls Park, resulting in a traffic jam extending from the park to the Madeira School, creeping along at about seven mph.)  And, while no formal polling took place, it's not unreasonable to assume everyone enjoyed the event mightily.

Yikes!

Of course, it's entirely reasonable to assume a collective shudder shook the crowd when Chip Off the Old Dick's male parent and Air Horn's male offspring stepped forward to claim credit for engineering the run.  The former is notorious for deciding that he just can't skip this beautiful bit of scenery through here, because people will enjoy it more than enough to make up for the additional 2.7 miles it adds to true trail.  The latter is about 30 and a personal trainer, a profession notorious for believing that people should push themselves just a little bit further.  That's right!  One more!  You can do it!  And how 'bout one more after that!  You can do it!

Well, almost everyone did do it, though Pumpmaster, as sweeper, offered up a nice bit of shortcutting for some of the stragglers.  Gale, seeing confusion in the crowd early in the run (Gale, they are always confused), took off up Beach Mill and finished about 45 minutes ahead of anyone else, and missed several really beautiful bits of scenery.  Those bits of beautiful scenery were enlivened by a thick coating of drying leaves over fair-sized, jagged rocks; bonus yay!  And some of those rocks and leaves were muddy and wet!  And no one returned to the On In via stretcher!

Note challenging footing, skillfully handled.

Note beauty of trail.

I have no idea what the walkers got up to.  I have been away too long and forgotten how to do a Hash blog.  Sorry.  I do know there were a lot of dogs at the event:  Mango, Piper, Espeon, Abby, Kylie, Ralph, some golden-retrieverish pup, maybe more.  The sign on the door to the Horn family hashing suite read, "No dogs," but Air Horn kept inviting them in.  For a cat man, he has a very generous nature.

He's also a generous host, and got in Peruvian chicken for the crowd, with that tasty green sauce, plaintains and some kind of yucca or sweet-potato fries, plus salad and cookies and seven-layer dip and other stuff.  Magnificent, and perfect for the warm-but-starting-to-get-chilly weather and the longish run.

The Mufti called the roll with his usual flair.  Little Ricky Tutu, whom we don't see tutu often (ha ha!), reached number 111 (ooooh) and Moaner Lisa achieved 965.  Somewhat ironically, she advised LRT to "get a life."  Great weather, beautiful trail, good friends, fab food, dogs everywhere and plenty of beer and wine served at appropriate temperatures... how much more of a life does anyone need?

Photos via this link.

GFH3 Run #1,691; 6 April 2013

Was it the beautiful weather -- warm, dry and sunny?  Or the frequent absences of Heater Beater and Suck Squeeze Bang from our hashes, making hearts grow fonder?  Or the thrilling possibilities of acres and acres of unexplored fields and not-quite forests?  Whatever the incitement, about 40 people drove for hours and hours and hours to get to what has got to be the westernmost-edge of Chantilly for today's hash from the Beater-Bang family's business address.  And many, many of us remembered to bring outdoors chairs as requested, which we set up in two or three circles on the back lawn, where we could reap the full benefits of that shining sun.

SSB was off picking up the vittles (with help from Peanut), so HB offered up a hash brief of commendable brevity, assuring the runners that their two crossings of Gum Spring were designed with the safety of hashers first in the priority line.  Then everybody headed south, the walkers determined to stay on just the one side of Gum Spring, thanks.

Warm-up exercise.  That football will later come perilously, and swiftly, close to the refried beans.

The runners got a lovely route that mercifully bypassed the plentiful brambles in the area, but gave everyone an opportunity to squish through a bit of mud and straddle a forgiving and flexible (and elderly) wire fence.  And the runners did a lovely job with the route, with the usual-suspect FRBs getting home before the walkers returned, and the more leisure-minded loping in a long time after that.

Lucky for them there was plenty of Peruvian chicken, rice and beans waiting, plus an actual Peruvian.  Jorge didn't run due to illness, but he did eat and drink and socialize.  The Duck Sucker was all of a doo-dah about the Tecate, though (maybe a little bit because?) it ran out early.  And SSB kindly grabbed the small amount of eggplant parm the initial horde hadn't molested and hid it for the lone vegetarian, still wandering the woods with camera in hand.  Much appreciated, SSB; very much appreciated.

Everyone is thinking, "Oh, it is so warm and nice.  If only this moment could last forever."

Mufti bellowed the roll, revealing Leita's #2, BC3's 490-something, and Joyce's 98th.  There will be a meeting of the executive committee the next time we see Joyce, so get those thinking caps on, exec commers.  Let's see... she's a dentist...  she has a daughter named Tasty Cakes...

About 30 minutes later, Mitch realized he'd missed roll call completely and approached the Mufti with the appropriate humble reverence to request his run -- good thing, too, as it was #33, the double threes, ooooooooh.  And then the sun started to duck in and out of the treeline, and everyone started to get chilly, and in ones and twos and fours, drove away.  See you next week at Greg's!

Pictures?  Sure, I got pictures.