GFH3 Run #1,779; 8 November 2014

In the midst of the new construction, golf courses and townhouse developments of Ashburn there is a farm or two still, and there is a bit of unpaved road with a 19th-century farmhouse that Little Ricky Tutu and his bride (about three years, for those of you who may have missed that development) are renovating.  Kindly, they shared it with the hash today, with Bad Dog assisting on trail.  The 27 hashers foregathered admired the work done and the plans for the future, listened respectfully to promises of a friendly trail for all ages and activity levels, then ran off into the mud of the nearest construction site.

Warm-up jig

Warm-up cheer

They found about five miles -- two and a half for the four walkers -- of mixed pavement and grass; pipeline and W&OD.  Along the way, Climax Investigator came up with several ideas for nicknames:  Rubs One Out for Seth, who was fixing chalk marks along the way; Little Pokey Things for Brogue Bait, who was irked by the sticktights clinging to her extremities; Jack Rabbit, Sticky Palm and Go Long for others for other reasons.  Go Long presumably has something to do with the football that was, per Bite Me (eyes rolling), in constant play throughout the run.

Fleet feet with football

The 19 runners made it back in four clumps (fast, faster, super-fast and shortcutters) and settled down to sausage (LRT:  "Regular or spicy?"), burgers and dogs and trimmings, bedewed by Sam Adams and Sierra Nevada amongst others.  As the crisp and sunny afternoon ceded to a chilly and sunset-y evening, hoods were pulled up and coats pulled on and blankets pulled over the coats and hoods, and the Mufti started shouting.  He was moving along as briskly as the weather through that roll call until he got down into the S's, when he suddenly flinched, bellowed a warning, and announced Spurt has achieved 666.  Then he dug into the B list for Pumpmaster, whilst Air Horn sadly pondered what he had done wrong.  To rear a B-lister:  oh, the ignominy.

During a conversation about Radar's photographic perspective and the plaudits it wins from half our membership, Bite Me confessed, "I can't find most of my costumes."  Non-Radar (sorry, guys) pictures here.  Great hash!

NEXT WEEK:  NOON START in Rock Creek Park.

GFH3 Run #1,756; 11 June 2014

Archival photo courtesy of Radar

GFH3 Run #1,707; 17 July 2013

Lezley, stepping up onto the curb outside The Buffalo Wing Factory and Pub in Reston:  "Goodness, it's hot."  Everyone else:  "No, really?!?"

On the good news front, it wasn't nearly so humid as it has been, nor as it will be over the next few days.  So while it was somewhat uncomfortable, and the big tub of bottled water on ice on the sidewalk outside the Factory was decidedly welcome, no one was fainting, nor quite so thoroughly drenched in his or her own fluids as everyone was, for instance, last week at Rrocks Starr's.  And good thing, too, since the On In took place inside the said Factory and Pub, where neatly dressed waiters were serving civilized people, and the intrusion of a crowd as -- ummm -- olfactorally unsatisfactory as the hash at its peak of ripeness would have been intrusive indeed.

Storing solar energy to be expended on the run.

But before making the dinner hour slightly less comfortable for innocent bystanders, our crowd of 31 gathered on the sidewalk to receive instructions from Lori, who chose the location and mapped the run, and Bite Me, who set the course with help from Blow in the Hole and a friend with a much-appreciated GPS.  (For those of you keeping track, this makes four times BitH has hosted, hared or helped in the last seven hashes.  Somebody stop her!)  Lori also had printed instructions for the walkers, which they followed until they got into the woods and couldn't read them clearly anymore.  Mufti:  "We'll go half a mile and then turn around.  Someone keep track of where we go."

The runners did a big, zig-zagging circle in a bit less than an hour, with several young whippersnappers helping to lead the pack in, including BMe's nephew.  Since they are young, they don't yet know to mark the checks.  What Easy Strider and Mini Schlonga's excuses are is unclear.

PBR was available in cans for $2, and there was a $10 pizza special back at the Wing Pub place.  Thirty-one hashers squeezed into two very big tables, and the super wait staff coped admirably.  Mufti was not intimidated by the presence of strangers and two dozen TVs showing different sports channels (and some really gross commercials), and called the roll only very slightly sotto voce.  Paint in the Ass hit 400, and as threatened kept her name, despite such alternative offers as "Problem Child" and "Ass the in Paint," the latter of which would allow her to keep wearing her valued necklace.  Spurt hit 600, so if they got one of those cojoined-twins-separation operations in reverse, they could apply for a satin jacket.  I think.

If you finish an order of the 911 Wings, they put your name on the wall.

In the meantime, they could step outside with the Mufti to his car, and receive their super-duper new 31st anniversary and Mufti Appreciation Day t-shirt, zip-locked bagged for maximum shininess.  Air Horn:  "Who's this Shriner on the back?"

Lori says her mum reads this blog, and looks at the pictures.  Hi, Lori's Mum!  Thanks for reading!

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 #1,695; 4 May 2013

A beautiful, warm, sunny spring day may not be what some think of as quintessential hash weather, but it makes a great tribute to our founder, Last Call.  So while the 25 of us gathered on the Duck Sucker and Queen Cobra 's tennis court by Scott's Run held heavy hearts, the sorrow was tempered with joy in the 31-year old tradition he granted us, the friends around us, and the chance to dash about in the woods on a beautiful day.  Queen Cobra requested a moment of silence, and then dedicated today's run to Last Call, receiving a heartfelt "ON ON" and much lifting of caps from the group.

In a way, every GFH3 run is dedicated to Last Call, 1936-2013.

And as I understand it, LC was a fan of hilly terrain, so this was a fitting course to dedicate to him.  The walkers got a free pass -- "try to stay out for an hour," was about all QC instructed -- but the runners had a trail that almost immediately sent them off the established path and into bushwhack territory.  Of course, you can't get far in Scott's Run without bumping into some kind of path, so they bounced between the two a bit.  There was a slightly diabolical scramble down a steep hill (rather cliff-like, actually) to a creek crossing.  Air Horn traversed that latter via the most sensible path, upstream a bit to the big, dry rocks, having previous experience of the wetter downstream crossing wherein he caught a bit of water-moss or rock-slime that knocked him on his coccyx.

Do you think the phrase, "Kill the hare" was in anyone's mind at this point?

The Duck Sucker was able to disclaim all responsibility for the trail, as it was entirely QC's setting, but it turns out he knew in advance about the more-than-slightly-diabolical backcheck 18.  Funny how these things work out -- Easy Strider caught that one, as did Dave, coming along a bit later.  Doesn't that suggest that someone neglected to mark the trail?!?

Easy Strider got his, though, as he, Suck Squeeze Bang and Chip Off the Old Dick lost true trail and wound up short-cutting.  No doubt they will tell you they ran just as far as the non-shortcutters, but I believe that if you come to the On In through the woods and you were supposed to come up the driveway, you are a short-cutter.  Admittedly, they didn't save much time, but they were nonetheless seated, with beers and burgers, by the time the others strolled by the Mufti Parking Only sign and in through the front gate.

The burgers were courtesy of Patty, hashing (or cooking for same) for the first time at her sister's.  She does great work, and left QC free to hostess at a very high standard, personally serving people and taking burger/dog counts to be cooked to order.  Later there were brownies, also the result of Patty's efforts, so yay Patty.

Despite the parking place prepared for him, the Mufti did not join us -- was this elective surgery? -- on orders of the Money Bitch, living up to one part of her name.  But Bionic Babe did make it, bringing a get-well card for the Mufti for everyone to sign.  No one else had brought one, figuring that everyone else would.  You know how that works.

Seriously -- was this elective surgery?

Oral Advocate pitched in on roll call, opening with a heavy-heartfelt elegy for Last Call.  If I tell you it contained frequent iterations of the phrase, "fat ass," that makes it sound less sincere and respectful than it was.  He turned the figurative mike over to Ole Fud, who memorialized his friend and fellow West Pointer with eloquence and grace.  More cap tipping and many, many "hip hip ON ON"s rang through the McLean evening.

The roll call also revealed four first timers, so welcome, Patty, Tim, Katey and John.  And it revealed the double 1s and the double 5s, both in Rrock Starr's run count.  Isn't it wonderful to have RS back from the wicked west coast?  Oral Advocate also closed out the fall/winter/early spring season, on behalf of the missing Mufti, and opened the late spring/summer season, which begins on WEDNESDAY at Put Away Wet, Lust in Space and Bobby's.  If I don't make it, someone please chase that kid for me.

You may have to squint a bit and peer in at some of these photos, as there are several where the subjects were well screened by trees or rocks or were up kind of higher than the camera likes.