GFH3 Run #1,787; 27 December 2014

Rumor has it... there were about 35 people at Nipples and Greg's place in spite of the early start and missing website.  The course was short at about 4¼ true trail for Eagles and 3½ for Turkeys.  Nipples scouted and set, and her trail included some nice woods, several main roads, some shiggy and a history lesson for the Eagles, who cut through the Dranesville Tavern.  Everyone made it in safely with no evidence of falls, mudslides etc.  There were four dogs – Cam, Abby, Kiley and Olaf.  The weather was beautiful, sunny and almost 60 degrees, and everyone was out on the deck with the fire pit lit.  There were breakfast foods including cheese eggs, ham biscuits, sausage balls, fruit salad, and a nice crumb cake (courtesy of Beef Strokemoff).  The Oral Advocate did well as Mufti Pro Tem and we had one 99 to the cup, Tim.

And Packing Pink Heat got renamed Mimosa Mary on the occasion of her 400th run.

Anyone who has photos is welcome to send them.  These are from the archives:

GFH3 Run #1,784; 6 December 2014

Rough Cut Rides to the Rescue!  Hash Hero Does it Again!  Not only did he provide a warm, dry place for 18 hashers to gather, with Easy Strider for the assist he laid a well-marked four-plus mile trail around Leesburg, with enough mud and rock to keep it amusing.  Intermittent downpours made setting amusing for our hosts, until E.S. shook both fists at the firmament and shouted, "Is this the best you've got?!"  Allegedly, they were subject to nothing worse than drizzles after that.  More news from the set:  they had to stop at a grocery store and pick up additional flour.  Imagine those two showing up in your baking goods aisle, soaking wet and squeaking clay across the floor.

Happy birthday to Dr. Pecker, PhD!

Seven runners essayed the course, six forwards and one backward (on purpose), and they mostly seem to have checked almost every false trail, so that Jeffy Lube claimed almost seven miles on his GPS.  Chip Off the Old Dick, exploring the mud with his usual commitment, wound up far behind the others, re-checking the falses and returning late, covered with glitter.  He claims he doesn't know where that came from, either.  One colleague guessed mica in the rocks; another guessed strip clubs just across the state line.

Mud plus rocks!

Over on the walkers' side, they mostly toured Leesburg, with the Mufti and Ole Fud covering over three miles, including several circuits of the train store, and barely beating the runners back.  No one got too terribly wet, though a steady drizzle ensured enthusiasm for dry socks back at the On In.  There was also considerable enthusiasm for the pizza, the Oklahoma/Oklahoma game and the Heineken.

The Mufti was of course enthusiastic over his roll call, congratulating our host on his heroics as well as his 898th run, and the former Drill Me, Fill Me, previously known as Open Wide and Swallow, on his 300th run with its concomitant new name, which is either Dr. Jaws or Jawbreaker, depending on who was shouting the loudest.  Mufti also asked, again and again, "Is anyone desperate to host next week?"  Receiving a reverberant silence in response, he invited everyone to his and BC3's place for brunch.  That's a NOON START on Saturday.

Blow in the Hole helped with the photos; thanks!

GFH3 Run #1,770; 10 September 2014

As you know, Zipperhead takes great pride in discovering some stretch of dirt, no matter how small, through which he has not previously set, for each of his runs.  Thus he claims to have included virgin territory in all but one of 54 runs he has hosted since June 1986.  (And in that one exception, he got a few friends to don quasi-virginal attire and bang tambourines or something.)  In celebration of the six-month anniversary of his four bypasses, tonight's trail continued the streak.  With Dances with Bulls lending her crafty mind as well, the hares achieved about five miles of true trail, with two disorienting loops contained within the larger loop - which Zh believes is also a first.

Zh and DwB ensured their marks were clear and true by driving most of the trail as the runners ran it, and parking by the more confusing of the cross-over points.  Whether they achieved any satisfaction in watching the 20 runners scramble, unscramble and re-scramble themselves [repeat] is not recorded.  Certainly they successfully re-set the marks required to ensure the pack worked through the second loop as successfully as they had the first.  Clever pack!

Sticking together nicely.

Eleven walkers enjoyed a very small part of the runners' trail, and all made it back to the house before dark, while the runners were still thrashing about in the woods, leaping over fallen branches and unscrambling themselves from the briars.  Headlamps and flashlight apps brightened the ever-earlier dusk.  Fortunately, though the evening was humid, the temperature wasn't outlandish, which helps keep a backcheck six entertaining instead of infuriating.

The On In seemed unusually crowded, and 35 people looked more like 50.  Maybe that's because so many of them were crowded around the table, nibbling on brownies while they waited for their turn at Phlashback's paella.  Praise for the wine offset diffidence towards the beer.

The Mufti, finding no double-number runs on his roll call, tried to make something of this being run #1770, but no one took him up on it.  So he looked again, and realized... HE MISSED SOMEONE!  It transpired that Mini Schlonga, having achieved run 199 back in June, and 199.5 in August, and 199.75 last week, had finally tripped the odometer to reach 200.  [Shouts, cheers, jeers]  So Mufti pulled out his fez [cheers, jeers, salaams], admitted that in the two months since the Exec Comm meeting he'd mislaid the list the possible names [sympathetic murmurs], and noted the Honoree's fashion sense, lack of sense regarding distances appropriate to a hash founded on the theory that three miles are plenty [jeers and lots of them], and app collection.  Valiant pointed out the Honoree's slender ankles.  [cries of befuddlement]  The Mufti then shouted the new nickname to the skies:  NIPPLE KNOCKER!  All the blonde women in the crowd demanded an exhibition of the inspiration for such a name, at which N.K. became uncharacteristically modest.

Let the knock-knock jokes commence!

Maybe next week he'll show up shirtless at Drill Me Fill Me's at 6:30. That's right, it's another early start next week. Only one person arrived in time for a 7:00 start this week; see if you can guess whom from the photos here.

Slender, yet strong, fast and flexible.

GFH3 Run #1,761; 9 July 2014

Many of our newer hashers haven't had a chance to get to know the Jazz Swinger well, as she's been MIA (Missing in Artistic Activity, viz: busy singing schedule) a good bit for the last couple of years.  Presumably those folks now have some understanding of why she was once called 'Martha F-ing Stewart.'  Quite the hostess, isn't she?

The Jazz Swinger

And this is her Pearl Necklace face.

Her take on her hash:

"Dick Knoblauch was my hero for sure!  I was ever so grateful.

"It did go beautifully from all reports.  And the weather even cooperated!  Once the thunderstorm went through the temp continued to drop and it was all very pleasant--except for the ticks, briars and PI.  Hey, that's hashing.  Stop your whining, Joe.  No one got lost.

"We [re-]named [Suck Squeeze Bang, who is now] 'Puss in Boot.'"

GFH3 Run #1,748; 19 April 2014

It was an Easter egg hunt... for one little egg.

Greg and Lori sent the runners out into the Herndon woods at the back of the house, at the unconsciensably early hour of 3:06 or thereabouts.  They got a good size pack -- about 22? -- and offered them a healthy trail of roughly four miles, with a bit of mud and brambles and a fence enclosing ten or more dogs at someone's house.  Easy Strider thinks one dog, maybe two, is fine.  But a dozen?  The one egg, however, was near that house, and Air Horn found it right where E.S. left it, in the middle of a check that no one ever marked, and carried it back to the On In as his trophy.

Scrabbling, in the True Hasher fashion.

Meanwhile, a gaggle of runners decided to stay on the road after muffing a check, instead of scrabbling back into the woods and running along the fence guarding the super-secure Fairfax County water treatment facility.  Boo!  Shameless shortcutters!  They missed some extra mud.  Not as much, however, as an entire contingent of runners who seem to have veered off long before Wiehle -- no report from those people, but there they were, on the deck, enjoying the warmth and the cloud cover and the fajitas and a wide selection of wines and beers.  Maybe twelve walkers managed to divide themselves into at least three groups taking distinctly different routes; half of them arriving after the runners were all in.  A very straggly hash.  Whatever happened to that Fist of Discipline the Mufti promised to bring down upon us all?

Two kinds of tortillas, chicken and beans and veg and cheese and....

Anyway, the run was great, the weather was decent, and the potential sighting of a blue heron added a pleasant anticipatory tingle to enhance the beauty of springtime in northern Virginia.  The food was excellent and plentiful, although it would be interesting to know where the Fist of D. was when early finishers were snarfing up guacamole by the quart.

Now we get serious.

Food largely dispatched, and a very happy looking cake on the table, the Mufti broke tradition by presenting new names before calling the roll.  Lori, actually at 103 runs, was up first, and was thrilled to learn that the Executive Committee's original pick of 'Nippletism' had been shortened to 'Nipples.'  Acid-green t-shirt presented, she bravely raised the cup of beer-wine-water to her lips, and had the Mufti snatch it away and dump the contents over the edge of the deck to wither the mulch below.

Rick (105 runs) got to hear several of the nicknames proposed by his nearest and dearest, including 'Howls for Hooters' and 'Sugar Daddy.'  He promised there are stories behind those, but didn't tell them.  With a flourish, the Mufti presented the bright red t-shirt emblazoned, 'Climax Investigator.'  Nipples offered C.I. the 100-run cup, and he actually swallowed a mouthful of beer-wine-Gatorade punch.  It made his mouth look funny.

Welcome to the Executive Committee!

Lots of cheering, hooray hooray, and short speeches, and joy abundant about the land.  Mufti's roll call was pretty exciting, too, with Rachel earning five bonus runs for correctly guessing the number recorded for her on the C List (6, so she's now at 11).  Aaron made it back for number two, and admitted he was unfamiliar with the local strain of poison ivy, having been here only two weeks.  Oh, boy.  Someone watch him carefully.  Chris, Rosemary and Alyssa celebrated #1s, and Randy and Tim both hit #2.  I myself reached 300 runs, and you may now all call me Bubbles, instead of the nickname being exclusive to the Ole Fud.  Probably no one but me will call him Trouble, though.

It was a great hash.  Nipples had prizes for the three hashers involved in discovering the egg:  handsome furry ears and a little chocolate bunny.  Plus cake, without even a birthday.  Check out the pix if you like; thanks to Blow in the Hole and Beef Strokemoff for shutter assistance.

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 #1,743; 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 #1,741; 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.

Whatsitsname

Rick has moved to McLean, to be closer to his new job and his beloved Hash.  That means he's just four or five runs away from getting a nickname.  One can almost hear those Executive Committee brains humming, albeit very, very faintly.

So what do we know about Rick?  Seriously.  What?  Anything?  Anything?

- He's a grandpa.
- He's former military of some kind.
- He works for the National Wildlife Service.
- He lives in a town called Rescue.
- He's a birdwatcher, and there are all kinds of bird names, like 'Woodcock' that can be amusing from certain angles.

- Per his wife, he’s excellent at calling owls, and also at feeding hummingbirds.  Owls hoot, and hummingbirds like sugar.
- He's just started a new job that comes with an exciting, 3,000-mile commute to his home and wife, making him, essentially, bi-coastal.
- His wife is called Double Breasted Booby.
- On hash runs, he's often rather closer to the front of the pack than some people his age might be.  Remember when steroid abuse was called being ‘on the juice’?
- There may have been an incident back home in the high Sierra that involved the local fire department.
- He got married in California, about five years ago, with family and close friends attending, and then came back to Reston and invited the GFH3 and other east-coast friends to a Halloween party, complete with costumes, as a kind of follow-up wedding party.  Did he dress as Dracula, or maybe Frankenstein, with the DBB as bride thereof?

And a week or two after that, Lori will get her first nickname (pacifist, Air Force vet, Deadhead and drug counselor), and Mini Schlonga (Sri Longa, PLEASE!!) and Suck Squeeze Bang (no need to change; that name is perfect) are closing in on re-namings, and the Mufti is very, very close to his 1,500th run.  What?!?!!

GFH3 Run #1,729; 14 December 2013

Zipperhead reminisced, somewhere around mile three, that today's weather was very like that of his first hash, some 28 years ago, or was it more?  Brow furrowed, he set off jogging again, and so we learn no more, for now, of that historic event.  It is not surprising to those who know and love this hash that he would have kept showing up, but for anyone else...  It was sleety and slushy and chilly and rainy and slippery by 3:00pm, though the Mufti and Phoenix Rising set out to set whilst the worst of the weather was still waiting behind the cloud cover.  PhR, of course, would have set an eagle trail and 40 miles of false trail regardless of weather, or the Mufti's protestations.

Rare photo of Hash 1,729 where the camera lens wasn't spotted with freezing-rain drops.

There were about 25 of the true faithful gathered under uncertain skies for the brief, and only five of those were walkers.  The runners ran off toward the lake, and a few moments later, the walkers followed.  And then the rain started again.  PhR got into his van and drove away to skulk near a particularly devious backcheck, where he enjoyed the discomfiture of FRBs Easy Strider (that's right; 50+ and riddled with Lime disease, and he's an FRB) and Jeffy Lube.  As best I can tell, the run was mostly paved, with true trail of about four miles.  It was about three miles in that Zipperhead started his reminiscences referenced above, as the heavens piddled and moped and spat and shoved slushballs down the backs of people's necks.

At the turkey/eagle split, the pack divided about evenly, with the promise of turkey soup luring ten or twelve onto the shorter route.  No eagle soup awaited the tough guys, but Blow in the Hole had lots of fun finishing as Eagle FRB.  Incidentally, Lori deemed that turkey soup 'perfect,' which is unsurprising to those who've had BC3's cooking before, and it was supplemented by fresh-from-the-oven cheese-melts built on pesto and tomato covered garlic toast.  Man, were they good.  And rich.  Really, how the crowd managed to stuff in almost the full platter of sweet breads, brownies and cookies is a mystery.  Black Box wine and Face Plant beer also proved popular.

But nothing is more popular than Mufti's roll call!  And this week's was a doozy, as, for the first time in the history of the hash, he missed someone; to wit:  the man formerly known as Cockpit... oh, why go on?  Anyway, celebrating a 200th with near-misses, the Mufti mentioned Ugly, But... (best name ever!), Massive Surveillance Ball, Grab My Joystick and other nonsense, and then recounted a sordid story of post-Exec Comm skullduggery, and then revealed the new name:  Big Balls on Deck.  Then there was a confusing bit with Flowerkraut objecting, and some lackluster attempt at re-voting, and then we were done.  As BBoD says, "It's a step -- a small step."

Helpful friends offer beveragic assistance.

Bottoms up, as they say in the Navy.  Or maybe they don't.

Peace at last.

Next week:  Hamilton, and worth the trip!  All virgin territory.  And the week after that, 11am at my house for the last time.  Oh, sadness.  This week:  pictures right here.

GFH3 Run #1,722; 26 October 2013

Severely Last's 300th run with GFH3, in a month full of 298th and 300th runs with various hashes for him; discounts at the Old Brogue.  He celebrated by re-claiming the name "Bad Dog."  I am going to swipe the Mufti's notes to try to fill in some blanks.

GFH3 Run #1,715; 11 September 2013

Boring, boring, boring.  That’s pretty much what you get when you try to set a fast trail with reliable artificial light throughout, and that’s pretty much what you need for the last Wednesday Hash of the summer.  The On-In is incrementally less fun, for some people at least, if someone remembers that so-and-so and someone-else were both here at the start but aren’t here at the end, and must be flailing around somewhere in the dark woods without any beer.  Hence, true eagle trail tonight was 3.75 miles of almost all pavement, with large, bright and frequent Ons.

It was a lousy day for setting -- hot and humid with baking sun -- but an okay evening for running and walking -- a little less hot, still very humid, and a bit of color with the sunset.  The pack totaled 25, and took advantage of the two-mile and three-mile splits, with usual suspects going the full distance, which totaled over five miles thanks to the gas station/repair shop parking cars on top of the hash marks.  Sheesh.  Plus, a few of what Phoenix Rising was so kind as to refer to as 'devious' backchecks.

False, but lighted and paved, trail at the start.

Valiant skipped the trail completely, not realizing that it is his voice that resounds in my head as I set, admonishing, "Hares should understand that these little blobs of flour just aren't good enough."  There were some really big blobs on this trail, Valiant, though of course not as big as the impressive catalba tree? or something like that? he found in the local nature preserve.

Most everyone was back before full dark, but the flashlight came out soon after to help improve beer-label viewing.  Supper was a variety of bean-and-rice and chicken-and-rice casseroles, with a few warm cookies and two outlandish chocolate cakes for dessert.  The cakes were courtesy of the Oral Advocate, who discovered them when he stopped for a biking-break at Great Harvest and thought them so good he drove back there to purchase a pair.  A kind contribution to the hash indeed, and even kinder when be-candled in celebration of my birthday last week.  You know, if you sing along with the hash birthday carol ("Happy birthday to me," etc.), it doesn't sound nearly so bad as if you just listen.

Mufti's roll call revealed the double 4s for Gale, and 1144 for Rrocks Starr, #3 for Rachel, and.......  #199 for the Duck Sucker.  There was a meeting of the executive committee, from which a new name for Suck Squeeze Bang arose.  She may be called either Wait, Wait or Just a Minute based on her contributions to this naming session.  The Duck Sucker will definitely be renamed [redacted] at the next meeting of the GFH3.

Welcome home and thanks for the cake!

By the way, this all took place in McLean, where the Veggie Wedgie (what a dumb name) hared and hosted all alone.  I'm still figuring out the fancy new camera.  It looks like it's smarter than I am, but this is the best it could do for pictures.

GFH3 Run #1,711; 14 August 2013

Setting a marvelous example for too many of her confederates, Brenda hosted her first hash tonight, and did so in splendid style.  She booked one of Reston's many pavilions and scheduled a break in the recent heatwave to ensure a warm, dry, sunny evening.  And she got Tasty Cakes to help her set a (less-than-ten-mile) trail -- and finally, she tossed in what may be the state's largest, champion, pig-nut tree for Valiant to discover, and measure with the help of Air Horn.  Yowsa.

No wonder he feels obligated to declare himself "present."

Most people drive to the pavilion Brenda booked via Temporary Road, or by North Shore heading counter-clockwise, and hence had to drive by the intersection of the two where a gigantic, three-way check was clearly visible on the sidewalk.  And yet, the pack chose to begin its run by heading away from that gigantic check.  Most amusing.  They got straightened out, but after that it's unclear how many people actually stuck to the marked trail versus making their own routes.  Valiant and Air Horn traipsed the the golf course, gazing at trees, and the rest of the walkers did something else.

Back at the pavilion, as dusk was falling, there was a feast more than sufficient for about 42 hashers.  Those looked like homemade lasagnas to me, and the olive oil for dipping two kinds of bread was seasoned with many yummy spices, and there was salad and fresh fruit, as well as a bounty of beverages including many, many colors of Mike's Hard whatever-ade.  Plus cookies, and HOMEMADE PUNKIN ROLL that was especially excellent.  Bravo, Brenda.

These people are happy because they know there's still a few slices of pumpkin roll left.

The excitement at roll-call time was palpable, especially for anyone trying to cleave a path through the throng of first-timers.  We also saw more than a few b-listers, including Dr. Pecker, PhD, and Meatless Pussy celebrating her 222nd run (who had 44?  and who had 55?  ooooooooooooh...), and then...

B-lister Roger finally, after twelve or thirteen years, hit run number 100.  The Mufti donned his fez, and Roger approved the dodged-bullet "Plunger Plunger" whilst shuddering at a dozen or so less-clever plays on "Cums Slowly" and worse.  As the tension built, the Mufti shook loose a new t-shirt, paused for effect, then spun it around to reveal the final name choice:  Plunges Honey's Well.  This may be a bit much for anyone who hasn't been around for half-a-dozen years or more, but Goes Down in Spokes used to be called The Plunger, and Roger works for Honeywell.  Get it?

Anyway, it's a fine effort by the Executive Committee, who congratulated themselves while Roger drank from the ceremonial cup/bowl (INDY:  "He can't have the cup.  He'll never come back with it.").  Pictures?  Of course: they're right here.

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 #1,700!!!; 5 June 2013

With all the excitement -- 1,700th run; Mufti with a groin pull, Phlashback's birthday, Heater Beater's birthday, and Dances with Bulls's 500th run -- I am wiped out and must hie myself to bed.  So just a few thoughts:

Zipperhead:  "I can set a perfect trail, and they are so stupid they just have to do something stupid."

"Stupid"ly enjoying the uphill trek from yet another backcheck

Zipperhead:  "I told Dances with Bulls, this is trail-setting 301.  Not 101, not 201 -- 301."

The weather could not get more gorgeous, could it?  Warm, dry, sunny, blue skies and a brief blaze of deep orange sunset.

Yummy Mexican-type food.  Grumblings on the quality of the beer.  None ref: quality of the wine.

Shiny beads to celebrate 1,700th.

Two newcomers?

Dances with Bulls, the former Spanish Fly and Crazy Ass and Como Loco or something like that, flamenco-ing.

Flamenco 101

Platoons of poodles.

Actually quite an impressive trail for the runners, with the leaders changing frequently, and Easy Strider getting a well-deserved backcheck or two, and the pack stringing out and then clumping back up again several times.

Photos here -- I handed off the camera to Radar for a bit, and Irene stepped in for a snap as well.  Thanks!

GFH3 Run #1,693; 20 April 2013

About 35 people gathered at Spurt's in Sterling, amidst sunshine, blue skies, colorful flowers in spring bloom and happy birds trilling their delight.  Strac showed off his knee scar some more, Easy Strider peddled syrup from a saddle bag, and Maggy and Peanut and Cammy and Abby and Kylie bumped noses and chatted a bit.  The group divided up into a dozen or so walkers and four runners.  So who were all those other people, who started out on the runners' trail but wound up back at Spurt's long before the real runners did, without having experienced at least two spider checks, a double-back-check, and a short sprint through a back yard?  You may characterize them however you wish, assuming there are no impressionable children around when you're doing your characterizing.

Yes, it's true -- Spurt, Paddle My Candee Ass and Cockpit Ejeculator committed hours of their day, their considerable brainpower, and a few sacks of flour to creating a devious and inspiring trail, and two-thirds of the pack was too confused, sleepy, ungrateful or some combination thereof actually to follow it.  The discipline in this group is whatever the opposite of inspiring is.

Yes, that's a check.  Spurt is famous for this sort of thing.

The semi-runners also missed out on a small but highly entertaining playground.  I wonder what the photos show about that...

At least they didn't miss the On In, which was chock-a-block with excitement.  There was lasagna with rolls and salad, and wine in a black box, and beer and stuff.  And there was the Mufti calling the roll, and Byte Me carrying out a darned fancy chocolate cake, with a big fat candle, in celebration of Dave's birthday, and a bonus cake that looked like flan or cheesecake or something (too busy hoovering up the chocolate shavings to get a definite read on that), and a terrifying caterwaul that passed for singing, and a birthday boy who doesn't seem to have caught on quite perfectly to the speech-giving protocol (there are no rules), and there was Jess there for her first run, and finally there was the Mufti, double-checking his lists only to discover... (whispering) he made a mistake.

Turns out it was Joyce's 100th run, and the fez came out, and the nicknames considered were, almost without exception, absolutely stupid as could be (Cums with Novocaine?  Really?).  But the final choice was pretty entertaining:  Beef Strokemoff.  That's the kind of thanks you can expect for feeding this group home-cooked gourmet extravaganzas.

YAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!

So Beef S. got her purple t-shirt, poignantly accepted the cup from her own daughter, took one mouthful of the beer-water-wine mix within, and, in tribute to her profession, rinsed briefly and spit the swill over the side of the deck.  Her heartfelt tribute to the joys (?!?) of hashing kept getting interrupted by cheers and shouting, so she quite reasonably gave up.  Probably wishes she'd tried that giving-up thing before she got a purple t-shirt that invites the world to think of her as "Beef Strokemoff."

I did not get a photo of the spitting, but most of the other stuff described is pictured here.

GFH3 Run #1,682; 2 Feb 2013

Again with the Great Falls! -- thanks to Hash Heroes Phoenix Rising and Chip Off the Old Dick.  We convened, as per, in the garage, which this week featured the innards of an entire race car, raised up on a sturdy table.  "Where does the food go?" I very reasonably asked PhR, and he pointed to some rickety card tables set up for the occasion.  A select group gathered slowly, perhaps reluctant to get going given around-freezing temps and rather cloudy skies.  They would, no doubt, have been more eager and appreciative of the weather had they all been woken at 1:00am, badgered from their warm beds by a de-ranged boyfriend, and shoved into a small Honda for a four-hour drive to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to stand around for two hours in a drunken, pot-smoking crowd in single-digit degrees Farenheit weather for the chance to listen, via an inadequate sound system, to a top-hatted someone on a distant stage say something about a woodchuck, and then drive four hours home again.  Love you, sweetie!  But I digress.

Big Wheel and Easy Strider dream of checkered-flag glory.

PhR helpfully explained a few techniques for discerning the differences between snow and flour as part of his hash brief.  Then the runners set out, at 3:15, into the landscaped woods path behind the house, while the walkers headed down the driveway to find their own bliss through the hilly local side streets.  I think there were about 12-15 runners, including sweeper COtOD, and about 8-10 walkers, including Gale and Melisande, who set their own out-and-back via the early part of the runners' trail.  I hopped into a truck with PhR, several bottles of water and a Gatorade, and a sack of pink flour to put the final flourishes on the trail markings.

PhR and COtOD benefit from a bridle path and a couple of helpful neighbors:  a yoga-teacher friend of Susan's who permitted use of her driveway, and the local who sold most of his land for development but retained several acres of perimeter for use by his ATVs and our hash group.  Gosh, do we love sensible and neighborly neighbors.

The pack kept itself together pretty well, with the help of a few strategically-placed backchecks, until near the end, when FRB and first-timer Al (and I, now descended from my truckly perch) got well and truly screwed up despite those 30 pounds of flour, and Easy Strider and Zipperhead caught up to us, and then The (not-very) Manic Mechanic came skipping down a hill, and then they all ran around in several directions whilst I continued my stroll until I encountered a backcheck five at the top of a hill.  After that, I don't know what the trail did as I rather 'zenned' myself to the On In very inefficiently, weeping silently.

T(n-v)MM missed a big pink 'X' (so did PhR and I, when we drove along to be sure it was still there -- caught it on the way back, though) and so ran up a small paved hill, then realized his error, leapt a fence, crossed a rough field, leapt another fence, and caught up with the FRBs within about half a mile, in time for a nice backcheck.

And what did I find back at the garage?  You know what - delicious, hot fried rice and sesame green beans and kung-pao-ish chicken and other yummy things.  Plus -- another half-dozen or so "hashers" who came for the social exercise and skipped all that pedestrian (ha ha) running and such, bringing the total group to about 30.  BC3 reported on an idyllic Caribbean vacation with books and warm ocean and not much else, as one needs nothing else.  A few of the kindlier folks speculated as to where Air Horn, Spurt and Chugger might be, they having gotten themselves well and truly separated from the group and even the sweeper.  They made it back in the middle of the roll call, to loud acclaim and threats of dire reprisals (i.e., no credit for the run) from the Mufti, sparkling with the vigor of a deservedly well-vacationed leader.  The Mufti requested a vote as to who would win the Super Bowl.  I just (typing this part Sunday evening) heard a commentator say that his heart was for the Ravens, but his head believed the 49ers would win, and the GF Hash counted eleven heads to nine hearts.  Those of you putting hands up for the 49ers will all go back to 99 runs the next time I get ahold of that official roll, and Oral Advocate can no doubt think up something worse.

And now it's Monday morning, and I have only this to say:  Neener, neener, neener, boo-boo!

Kiley snoozed amidst the chaos, Abby ate everything dropped on the ground, including a fortune-cookie wrapper (an alert Blazing Straddle actually prevented that last), two first-timers, Al and Judith, won their cheers, and Hasher Flasher celebrated her 300th by choosing (?!) 'Pink Parts' as her new name.  Still the First Lady having left by that time, Pink Parts had no one willing to explain the full implications of the phrase.  [UPDATE:  On learning what pink parts are in StFL's lexicon, PP changed her name to Bionic Babe.]  The party was only enhanced by PhR driving a couple of convertibles into the party space to get them out of the newly-falling snow.

Speaking of StFL, we were graced with the company of six of our 1,000-run runners, as the pictures prove.  Trivia question:  which 1,000-run hasher was missing?  Bonus points if you know which 30-plus-year hasher who hasn't hit 1,000 was missing.

INDY and I are vacationing next weekend.  Radar, if you take photos (or anyone else does), please e-mail them to me and I'll post them early next week.  Anyone who wants can e-mail me meeting commentary and I'll put that up here.  Enjoy the Valentine's Day hash, and do please wear red!

GFH3 Run #1,680; 19 Jan 2013

Happy Birthday, Irene/Mimi/Boom-Boom!

Blue skies and sunshine smiled on Oakton in celebration of Irene's 101st birthday.  You read that right:  101 years old.  Cockpit Ejeculator and Paddle My Candee Ass somehow felt that a hash was the best way to celebrate Grandmother's big day, but didn't want to haul everyone out to Warrenton, so Jill and Norm kindly threw open their doors for about 40 of us.  The runners spent 70 or 80 minutes traversing five miles of Oakton's woodsy trails, and our clever hares threw in a few checks toward the end that brought a strung-out pack back together again, with the FRBs cheerfully pounding back down a nice bit of hill on Miller Heights.  Back into the woods, runners!  And along the streambed of Difficult Run...  I sincerely believe that Spurt tried to check a map on some sort of E.D. (electronic device, for heaven's sake).  There are no rules, but there is such a thing as using your own wit, surely.

The walkers meandered the trails for a bit less than an hour, enjoying gorgeous weather and charming conversation.  So not a lot new there, bar Drill Me Fill Me's handsome white cap.

Everyone made it safely across the run, thankful for the vigilance of fellow hashers.

Back at the house, there was a Festgelage of bratwurst, roasted meats of many kinds, sauerkraut, potato salads, varied mustards and more, more, more.  There are some distinct advantages to having your hash crash a birthday party.  Plenty of beer (St. Pauli Girl, etc.), the ever-popular Black Box wine, a great pot of glugwein of some type, and bottle on bottle of German wine helped wash it all down.  There were also platters of cookies, which was just silly given two gigantic birthday cakes.  However.

Our Mufti having fled to tropical climes with BC3 to celebrate their anniversary (hey!  they celebrated that two weeks ago.  There were flowers, cheers and a kiss.  What is this vacation nonsense?), the Associate Mufti presided with vigor and flair over the roll.  He noted a special occasion with Chugger's birthday, which Chugger claims is his 69th.  One takes leave to doubt.  The hash graciously put forth their usual lousy effort in the traditional birthday chorale, and cheered the subsequent speech with vim.  Oral Advocate also took note of Hasher Flasher's 299th run and threatened the usual exec. comm. session.

Then we got to the good stuff.  With rare grace and elan, the Oral Advocate wished Irene a happy, happy 101st birthday and fourth hash run.  He further advocated for a reasonably in-tune and on-tempo rendition of Happy Birthday, and more or less got it.  The cakes came out, the candles blazed, the birthday girl accepted her cheers with a great string of carnations around her neck.  What a wonderful, charming and patient person.  Here's to 101 more.

The executive committee meeting was about par.  Oral Advocate made many comparisons to constitution-drafting and congressional-dealmaking; various elements debated raunchy vs. nice; the 'inspirations' and votes flew, and in the end I believe some kind of decision happened.  I don't know for sure, as I wandered off to chat with Irene instead.  Much more rewarding.  [UPDATE:  Hasher Flasher was renamed Pink Parts, but upon learning what those are, chose to become Bionic Babe instead.]

Executive Committee members must be hand-fed as they focus on their critical task.

Incidentally, Spurt carefully clipped a recent Washington Post Health & Science article headlined:  "Ancients toasted the dawn of civilization with beer bashes."  Having missed the word 'civilization,' he apparently believes this may be relevant in some wise to hashing.  You can decide for yourself by reading the piece here.

And if you'd like to see some photos of today's hash, try here.