GFH3 Run #1,749; 26 April 2014

Next spring, try to remember that Sally and Richard have a hot tub, so you should bring your swim suit to their annual GFH3 hash out in Lovettsville.  And mark your calendar for the event, as it is well worth the drive to practically-West Virginia AND practically-Maryland for this event.  Their home is perched on a hillside with sweeping views of a vast field, a sylvan arcadia and some blue-tinted, gently rounded mountains bumping the sky.  All of this easily visible from the hot tub.  Plus... wait, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

And did you notice the Hash flag, marking the right driveway?

Twelve runners, eight walkers, three sitters and two hosts made the drive to farmland for today’s hash, and they were rewarded with glorious blue skies, the puffy kind of clouds that may be cumulus, ideal temperatures and a world in bloom.  Also, a not-too-challenging run of about five miles, mostly on roads, although out in these parts, ‘roads’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘pavement.’  Before they set out, Sally did a lyrical interpretive dance to ensure that the hash marks they’d used mean what this group thinks they mean.  They do.  It’s all okay.  So everyone leapt uphill into the backyard, then downhill into the front yard (ha ha!), got mixed up with the walkers, and made it to the street.

The walkers were ambling Hiddencroft Vineyards-ward!  This was Sally’s recommendation, and not half bad.  The vineyard, a bit over a mile from the house, is owned by two NGA alums and self-taught vintners.  They are doing impressive work with the Chambourcins and Vidal Blancs and Cabernet Francs and Tannats, which we know because 5.5 walkers and a rebellious runner enjoyed the vineyard tasting.  Our kind hostess provided a ride back to the house, in case the walkers couldn’t hold their liquor.

No, seriously -- this is a running club.

The runners were all back by the time the walkers returned, and had made vicious work of a couple substantial cheeses whilst awaiting the schnitzel.  It arrived in due course, to round out the robust potato salad that Richard assures us is the main part of the meal in the Czech Republic.  Salad, baked potatoes and cookies ensured no one went hungry; several boxes of Black Box and a diverse selection of beers that included Guinness and Tecate ensured no one dehydrated.  Peanut, Mango and Kantje provided a bit of entertainment.

The Mufti provided a roll call that revealed the double sixes for Gale, the triple sixes for Easy Strider (whoOOOoo-ooOOooo) and the return of Rrocks Starr, finally bored with all that blazing sunshine and warmth they give him on the west coast.  The Oral Advocate got credit for the meeting for showing up, despite having claimed that sixty-some miles of bicycling and 90-some miles of driving exempted him from the run; Phoenix Rising got no credit for asking Air Horn please to tell the Mufti that he demanded credit on grounds of some feat of athleticism committed elsewheres today.  The fire kept the worst of the gnats away, and the dogs played some more.

Floor show.

Next week:  Saturday at Spurt’s on the 3^rd, and then we switch to Wednesdays on the 7^th, with the Mufti celebrating 1,500 runs and BC3 celebrating 500, at the Reston Pavilion I believe.  In case you need reminding which one is the Mufti, you’ll find him pictured here, along with a few of his dearest.

THIS JUST IN:  From Bad Fred a/k/a Cums Too Fast - he improved his time in this year's Boston Marathon from 3:15:08 last year to 3:09:55 this year.  For those of you asking why he couldn't break three hours, please note that a) breaking 3:10 was a significant achievement, b) he's qualified for Boston 2015, and c) he's preparing for a 12-plus mile swim around Key West that takes place in late June.  Good thing he's a C-lister, right?

GFH3 Run #1,694; 27 April 2013

There's a singer/songwriter/guitarist who lives in or near Charlottesville named Jan Smith, who's well worth looking up if you like folk music.  She's got one song, "Half the Treasure," that includes the lyric, "Virginia's a jewel in the spring/She's too bright and green/For any king's crown."  That was certainly the case in Loudon County today, where the hash convened in Lovettsville at Richard and Sally's for our nearly-last Saturday meet of the 2012-2013 season.  Jewel green, with splashes of white and pink and yellow, and great swathes of golden sunshine pouring down from a brilliant blue sky, and it was almost like living in a king's crown.  That we were very nearly in West Virginia is practically irrelevant.

After all, if we get treated like this, what do we care how far we had to drive?  Plus, bonus points when we fill up with that cheap LoCo gas!  Sure, there may have been mutters of rebellion when people unfolded stiffened joints from vehicles and confronted the uphill slog to the house, but the hospitality awaiting on the deck, and the gorgeous day, soon had peace love and understanding flowing like wine.

So Richard gathered 35 or so runners and walkers, offered assurances that any running across private property was approved, and introduced the phrase, "YBF."  Funny how Bite Me knew what that meant...  Then most everyone jogged or walked back down the hill, and the runners struck out northwards whilst the walkers turned to the south (mostly).  There were marked trails for turkeys, eagles and walkers ("turtles" someone proposed), and one of the walkers noted, "Wow, they really did a lot of work for this."  I just hope they know how much we appreciate that effort.

Meandering through a crown jewel of an afternoon

The runners got a nice bit of shiggy to dampen their toes, and intersected with the walkers at a point where they all seem to have goofed up pretty badly, allowing them to jog past, mill about near, make abortive dashes in different directions around, etc., a very pretty pond and a few more cows.  Aren't cows lovely?  Anyway, they pounded back up yet another hill (what a lot of hills there are in Lovettsville!) whilst the walkers examined the "YBF" and turned 'round.  Funny moment:  a contingent of walkers decided to check out the beginning of the runners' trail, rather than stick to the out-and-back dirt road recommended, and Gale (who'd abandoned the runners'-trail idea after a late start and a bit of being lost) noted that the trail included a rocky stream, a good deal of mud and some nettles.  Go ahead, try to guess what those walkers chose.

In an apparent misunderstanding about just what constitutes a "turkey," the turkey trail totaled about six miles.  The eagles did about seven and a half.  Beautiful day for it.  Per Blow in the Hole, the eagle was a great trail for a really, really, really, really long time, though the vast field near the end was a bit daunting.  She also mentioned she was very pleased to have listened, at least a bit, to Richard's brief, so she knew what the toilet paper meant.

Back at the ranch, there was some sort of schnitzel, if I've got that right, baked potatoes, salad and potato salad, and a lovely purple cabbage dish.  All the trimmings, Black Box wine, Negra Modela and more, apple pie and ice cream, etc. etc.  And plenty of chairs even though almost no one (guilty here) remembered to bring lawn chairs as requested.  And a giant fire circle to help keep away the gnats.  And our brilliant, magnificent Mufti, wristbanded in advance of his surgery, hollering names and numbers, including the double 4s for Irene and 666 for Flowerkraut.  And they are friends!  ooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhh!

The fire circle - maybe eight feet in diameter? - a hostess and a handful of hashers.

Cobra Queen celebrated a birthday, and the hash celebrated with her, and a few people we don't see often enough got their threes and fours and stuff.  And Richard threw open the hot tub, which is cleverly sunk right into the deck, so you can settle in up to your neck and gaze out upon the distant mountains.  Life could be worse, you know?  You can see just how beautiful everything was in these here pix.