GFH3 Run #1,791; 17 January 2015

Several people commented that this year's Boom Boom Birthday Hash was not nearly as unpleasantly cold as it has been since the tradition began back in 2011, when she was just 99 years young.  Temps being well above freezing, Big Balls on Deck had to include the warning, in his brief, that some of the mud was thawed, and therefore treacherous in different ways than in the still-frozen sections.  He also had to warn about watching out for arrows, in order to ensure avoidance of un-permissioned private property, and offered a special graffiti treat!

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.

GFH3 Run #1,778; 1 November 2014

The day after Hallowe'en; the first day of National Novel Writing Month.  There must be stories...

The story behind my 2014 punkin:  Lubbock.

Creative hash pumpkin of 2013; backstory unknown.

Lubbock + kitty = Happy Hallowe'en!

GFH3 Run #1,768; 27 August 2014

The Return of Bill!  And, for a change of pace, a North Reston trail!  The Bill part is more entertaining, however, so let's explain:  Bill used to hash with GFH3, back in 2006, 2007-ish, but had gotten out of the running habit (work, kids, etc.).  He wanted to get back in shape.  So he decided the way to achieve his fitness goal was to host a hash -- and get someone else to set the trail, so he could run it, so he'd have to start running again so he'd be ready to run his own hash.  All clear?  Anyway, I said I'd be happy to assist, and he started training, with Rasta the lovely vizsla's help, and tonight they ran the hash together, for the first time in six or seven years, so yay.

Bill, Rasta and Bill set up for guests.

They had 17 friends to help them, and so cascaded down the back lawn and into the Reston trails, which took them to the Herndon trails, south and back east again and up the Fairfax County Parkway (turkeys) or the pipeline (eagles, who surely enjoyed the dry-stream crossing), and hence back to the house with four or five miles on the GPS from a 3.85 mile true trail.  The nine or ten walkers had a paved loop of just over one mile, and most exercised the option of extending that a bit with some out-and-back stuff.  It was a nice night for extending:  hot, perhaps, but dry and sunny until the sun set.

No Jamaican feast this time, just good old Chesapeake-Bay shrimp boil, plus a pescatarian variation with Bayou country spices.  We drank sparkling wine (get it?  We'll wait...  Get it?  Bubbles?), Rolling Rock and Red Hook and Black Box and lots of other stuff.  Rolling Rock goes best with a shrimp boil.  There were birthday cookies for Puss in Boot and a birthday cake for me (very surprised; Heater Beater is both devious and duplicitous).

Also, Mini Schlonga returned from his looooong
summer break to celebrate his 199.5th run with GFH3.

The Mufti called the roll, but maybe didn't record the #1s of Bill the Nephew or Megan.  Perhaps they'll join us next week, in Arlington, and we can all shout, "98 to the cup!"  Bill the Host responded to the Mufti Challenge (get ten extra runs if you know your count from years ago) by guessing 25, but he was actually at 27.  The Mufti drew a limp hand across his relieved brow before marking the attendance sheet.  The putative flash (second-grade version) was too busy boiling and baking to take many photos, but there are a very few right here.

Here is the story of how the GFH3 met Bill, who reports the group is a little slower and a little louder than when he was a regular lo those half-dozen or so years gone by:  In the fall of 2005, Blow in the Hole attended her first hash on the recommendation of Thanks for the Mammaries.  She joined us infrequently over the next several months, but on one of those occasions, Zipperhead told her that a hasher ought to host by the time of his or her tenth run.  So, on her tenth run, in summer 2006, she hosted.  She rented the party room at her swim club in Herndon, right near the Reston line and the Runnymede and Sugarland trails, and TftM and I'm Not Dead Yet helped her scout and set trail.

While scouting, they decided they needed a cut-through from the stream trails onto the streets near Fairfax County Parkway, and so rang a doorbell or two.  Bill answered one, and when TftM asked whether he'd mind a few nice people jogging across his lawn on Wednesday evening, Bill said, "Is that a hash?  Why not have them run right through the house instead?"  So the trail went across the stream, up the yard, onto the deck, with a big blob of flour right by the back door.  And the pack went across the stream, slowly into the yard, and then milled about by the deck, asking each other if anyone knew who lived here.  Bill invited them in, and they went, tentatively, in the back door and out the front, where Bill had set up the lawn sprinkler as it was an exceedingly hot night.  And a couple of weeks later he came to the hash as a runner.  Welcome back, and thanks for hosting!

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 #1,746; 5 April 2014

One of the things that makes hashing so much fun is that once or twice a year you get to host, and when you do, you have no idea whether 26 people will show up, like last week in the rain, or 56 people, like this week in the bright sunshine.  Of course if you’re Valiant, and have a reputation for bringing the sun, a birthday to celebrate, and a track record of amusing things like apologetic police intervention happening at your hashes, you probably plan for the higher end of the range.

On on!

Of course, with more people gathered, it’s easier to lose someone, or several someones, and this was a hash of many losses.  Who would have predicted that at the outset?  We had, after all, great weather.   Valiant offered a well-marked trail through beautiful territory, and warned against following the less reliable runners.  There was a promise of cake at the On In.  So the pack took off into an innocent Great Falls spring, and wended its way north and downriver, shoving deer out of the way as needed.  Chip Off the Old Dick was so pleased with the scenery that he took what he thought was a longer route, and wound up way in front.  Missing his friends, he chose one of the many checks to essay what was surely a false trail, and headed back to True when he heard the hounds hallooing.  Most of the pack was keeping together nicely, and emerged from the woods to jog through South Down on the appropriately-named Bliss Lane.  A splinter group of short-cutters rejoined the pack from the east, which seems like it ought to have been a long-cut, and Jeffy Lube, after a late start, came pounding down Springvale at the end.

Almost Bliss

The runners joined the walkers over multiple pans of lasagna and eggplant parmesan, and a wonderfully tangy salad, Black Box wine and a variety of beers.  The clouds massed and the crowd donned jackets and sweatshirts.  Blow in the Hole asked whether anyone had seen New Sandra, and the question spread.  Reports emerged that she’d been seen walking with several others.  As brains and memories sparked and fizzed, Sandra and co. strolled in from their walk.  Heats it UP is almost certainly to blame for the dilatoriness, as she tends to take the expression, “Let’s just go a little farther,” just a little too far.  Job Blow, asked whether he’d been worried that she’d gone missing, attested, “Well, I was just starting to wonder about that.”

The Mufti started the roll, and Suck Squeeze Bang got in the car to go hunt for Heater Beater, another late-starter.  She almost ran him over as he rounded the corner into the driveway.  Mufti was excited by Paul’s double-sixes, his own 1,498.5, three first-timers, the return of Pulls Out Early and Land Ho, Job Blow’s 400^th, Zipperhead’s newly-zippered thoracic cavity and its enhanced capacity, and Valiant’s birthday.  We were all excited by such an eventful roll, though tempered with concern that no one had seen Paula for a really long time.  The cake finished and Job Blow re-named (Cums and Blows, maybe? [no, it's actually Blows and Goes -ed, months later]), search parties organized themselves and headed out in different directions via foot, car and bike.  It was getting really quite chilly when an unfamiliar car pulled in with Paula in the passenger seat, and the searchers were recalled.  Paula had also started late, and on losing her companion decided to turn around and go back before it got any colder.  A wrong turn or two took her way far off trail, with the temperature dropping and no one in sight.  No banjo music, but plenty of other alarming encounters eventually brought her to Bea and Dave in Loudon County, who thrust her into a warm car and drove her down the Pike to us.  Paula resolves never to run alone in Great Falls again.

It does not matter WHEN they put the cake out; you are NOT ALLOWED to eat cake until AFTER the birthday song.

Meet the rescuers in the photos.  Also, Mufti asked me to post the thank-you note Blow in the Hole sent to the GFH3 care-of him; so here it is.  Finally, click here to read about Joyce S.’s daughter’s best friend, Jaime Rowley, killed in March while running in Ashburn.  Her friends and family have raised over $100,000 to help fund her daughters’ educations, and are considering spreading the effort to the families of other runners injured or killed while pursuing their sport.

GFH3 Run #1,742; 8 March 2014

Oh, the soft advent of springtime in Virginia:  the suddenly warm days, the gentle caress of a hesitant sun, the rapid melt of six to ten inches of snow that drenches the earth and turns all of Great Falls into a murky stew of slick red clay, semi-liquid goose poop and little surprise crunchy bits – nuggets of ice crystals, deer droppings, pointed twigs shed by trees eager for new life.  And the opportunity to run through this slop, under blue and golden skies, inspired 47 lonely souls to congregate at Zipperhead and Phlashback’s and start shedding jackets in the warmth.

We sent condolences to Blow in the Hole, whose mother died early in the week.  We tried to figure out how to tell Roi from Rei.  We refrained from talking baby-talk to Nathan, who is quite a big boy now.  We unfortunately missed the bit about whether to count the backcheck, but heard something about ‘an unusual trail,’ and then we watched Rough Cut run out into the street with a large, milling crowd shouting, “On on!” encouragingly from the safety of the driveway.

Ha ha!  Not that way!

Once Rough Cut figured out that the trail didn’t begin to the left, almost everyone tried rushing through the yard and out the back.  That didn’t work either!  Unusual indeed to begin by running up the street to the right, and smack into G.F. Village.  The walkers, having stayed back to get specific instructions for their trail, mingled with the runners at the light, and Dances with Bulls and Zipperhead watched carefully to be sure no one crossed the streams.  Or trails.  In a moment of bold unusualness, they’d set a figure-eight trail.  After five to eight miles of mostly broken-trail running, the pack hit a backcheck three that got them headed for the On In.

A fine example of getting across broken ground with exuberance.

The gorgeous weather made the patio safe for drinking and eating, with a creamy, rich potato soup and three or four kinds of bread as the feature foodstuffs, and a vast array of chips and dips to fill in at the edges.  Sandra, not content with volunteering to help set on just her third outing with the GFH3, also made some tasty bolhos (or something like that – Mozambiquean doughnuts, or beignet if you’re still in a Mardi Gras mindset) liberally coated with flaked coconut.

The Oral Advocate donned his Associate Mufti  persona, which is very loud, and called the roll.  Infrequent visitors Grey Ghost (the former Wombat Willie), Brogue Bait and Hard to Catch got welcomed back, and there were several first-timers and single-digit-run-count types.  Huzzah!  90-something to the cup!  Lori hit 99, with wailing and lamentations, and Zipperhead... had a birthday!  Good thing the Jazz Swinger made one of her guest star appearances to lead the singing.  The Executive Committee met, doubtless with disastrous results (for other people, not for you, dear), and the sun began to set, taking its gladdening warmth with it.  Queen Cobra and Paul hit the road in her namesake convertible before it got too chilly, while Phoenix Rising sat around drinking, philosophically accepting that his drop-top drive home would be miserably cold.

Happy birthday, Zipperhead!  Happy spring, everyone!

Bravo for an excellent walkers’ trail that poached on a lengthy section of the runners’ trail, and bravo for the large crowd of veterans and newbies that enjoyed the day together.  And hooray that no one got run over by a deer, although the pack did frighten a substantial herd.  There are some photos of them, showing us how running is really done, mixed in with all the usual subjects.

GFH3 Run #1,741; 1 March 2014

For her first hash last fall, Paula hosted from a new location for the GFH3, and for her second hash today, she did the same.  See, she moved between hashes, and is now in a luxurious garden-view apartment in west Arlington, where the hills are plentiful and there’s enough parkland to offer up some shiggy, if you know where to look.  And Paula, Mitch and I’m Not Dead Yet knew where to look, so there were rich rewards for the 37 or 38 hashers who decided that the relative warmth offset the overcast skies and met up for a run today.

Hash brief, with background weirdos.

Runners got a five-mile true trail, and walkers got a three-mile – if they chose to accept it, which a few didn’t.  (Three miles is just a skosh farther than some of this crew like to walk.)  Valiant demonstrated the wisdom of a 31-plus year hasher and ran the walkers’ trail.  Judging by the condition of those who ran the runners’ trail, those few miles (Mini Schlonga got about seven on his GPS, but he ran the entire back-check 13) packed a wallop.  Everything undulates in that part of town, so calves and quads and gluts and lungs all get that little extra exercise boost, and by the time they’d jumped off the dam and crossed the stream and gotten all lost and confused around the BC-13, so lost and confused, in fact, that Phoenix Rising wound up running the trail forward, the runners were feeling the workout.  So when they reached a back-check five that sent them up a steep-ish staircase, the cheery smiles were starting to droop a bit – except Easy Strider’s.  He was thrilled to be back on trail regardless of back-checks.  Consensus, though, was that it was a good thing the trail took them more or less straight back to the house from there.

And the good things continued:  the house was full of wonderful smells.  In case you missed it, Paula’s roots are Portuguese, and a business trip to southeastern Massachusetts earlier in the week allowed her to stock up on bacalhau and fava beans.  Many hours in the kitchen (Mitch helped with the cod balls) allowed her to serve up a feast of pasteis, garbanzos with salt cod, stewed beans, and chorizo, with flan and arroz doce (rice pudding) for those who ate up all their beans.  No complaints about the beer, but the wines were truly special today, including a fantastic Portuguese Dao.  Seriously, this is way too good for the hash, but oh how grateful we are.

It's a hash, not a rugby scrum - except when the food comes out.

Mufti shouted the roll one more time before taking off to Hawai’i to rest his throat for a couple of weeks.  Loose Caboose got her birthday serenade.  Mitch hit double 4s; Bionic Babe was triple 3s, someone else was double 7s, and there were some suspect 644s or something, but Our Fearless Leader was almost hyperventilating with the excitement of it all before he finally got around to welcoming four newcomers.  Yay for Beth and Dennis and everyone else.  Double yay if we see you next week.  Sandra came back for #2, and Rick hit 99 with Lori just behind him at 98.  Mini Schlonga is close to 200.  The Executive Committee has some serious thinking to do.

If you like, you can include this story from Rick in that thinking:  “A number of us near the front of the
pack encountered a gentleman walking his dog.  I recognized him as a former Army officer with whom I had served during my career, so I stopped to say hello and briefly explained what this crazy bunch of people were doing as we ran through the woods yelling ‘On-On!’  He was clearly amused, so I invited him to join us.  He pointed towards his small dog and replied ruefully, ‘I can't do that today, but maybe another time.’

“So Great Falls Hashers should not be surprised if one day soon we are joined by General (Retired) Dennis Reimer, Chief of Staff, United States Army, 1995-1999.  As our nation's top Army officer during the conflict in Bosnia and Kosovo, he would certainly have some stories to share with us all.”

I vote Rick contact the general to invite him specifically to the next hash.  And the next one.

Lots of photos despite the poor light conditions; just click here.

GFH3 Run #1,735; 18 January 2014

Worth celebrating, yes?

Brisk, bright, breezy, to the point of being downright freezing, and nonetheless a near-record crowd of almost 50 hashers, plus a whole bunch of friends and family members, showed up in Oakton for Irene/Mimi/Boom Boom’s 102^nd birthday, and the Hash’s 1,735^th run.  This is the third or fourth year of this annual happy birthday tradition, and may it continue for decades to come.

Big Balls on Deck and Paddle My Candee Ass set a 4.7 mile true trail for Grandma’s big day, much of it on the inter-county connector trail that runs right along Jill and Norm’s back yard.  Handy!  BBoD warned the walkers that the dirt paths by the streams were pretty slick (clay/mud/something-not-quite-ice) and recommended the gravel paths in preference.  An officer and a gentleman, he’d marked the quarter-miles on one path so walkers could choose a distance for an out-and-back walk.  Handy!  Hardly anyone complained much about the cold, and the farthest I heard anyone mention running was a bit over six miles.  That said, the pack did get awfully strung out, with Mini Schlonga and Jeffy Lube finishing way, way before Chip Off the Old Dick, Phoenix Rising and Don.

Study the form, future FRB-ers.

There was relatively little trail-talk at the On In, where folks were busy stuffing themselves with the traditional Mimi family German buffet of wursts, sauerkraut, potatoes in many styles and more, all washed down with glugwein, other weins, Double D Double IPA (Air Horn’s pick), bourbon and more.  Then there were all the little Germanic bon-bons (gut guts?) for people unable to wait for cake.

Cake, however, had to wait for Mufti, and he had the long roll to get through.  Flowerkraut celebrated her own anniversary of 700 runs (“Get a life,” the Mufti advised, from the vantage point of 1,492 runs) and did a bit of caroling in her native German, waving a sausage jauntily.  Rick returned to us from the west coast in time to hit 94 runs or thereabouts.  In his eagerness to reach 100, he has recently taken a job in the DC area, accepting a 3,000-mile commuter marriage as the price one pays to make a GFH3 nickname possible.

This 'man' has a nickname, and who wouldn't want to be like him?

And then... and THEN... BBoD slid the big ol’ cake in front of Mimi, with the ‘102’ candles blazing, and the Hash chorale rendered a passable version of ‘Happy Birthday.’  (“Sing it nicely,” the Oral Advocate roared as the cake settled into position.)  Mimi blew out her candles, and everyone cheered and cheered.  The Mufti presented her with a Hash nickname, Boom Boom (that’s her nickname already!  And she’ll tell you you’re naughty if you call her that.  Must get backstory.), and a Mufti Appreciation Day GFH3 t-shirt (“Don’t wear it in public,” the Oral Advocate muttered).  More cheering.  Hip hip on ons.  Etc.  And CAKE!

What to get for the woman who has everything, including
great grandchildren and 102 birthdays?
A portrait of yourself, on technical fiber, of course!

Questions remain, of course.  Who said, “Get your hands off me,” to her beloved, and why?  When will Suck Squeeze Bang run again?  How slow will she be by then?  Why was Flowerkraut groping at Jeffy Lube’s chest?  Who were all those Bavarians, jaunty red feathers in their jaunty green caps?  And the lovely young ladies with blonde braids?  Why was this cake not soaked in hooch, like the amaretto one BBoD brought for PMCA’s birthday in December?  Who puts out a bottle of bourbon at a Hash?  What are we going to name Rick, and then Lori, and SSB, who is rapidly approaching 300 though never rapidly enough for her?

Feel free to look over the photos whilst pondering these mysteries.  Thanks to Mini S. and SSB for camera work.

We all love you, Mimi.  Thanks for putting up with us.