GFH3 Run #1,771; 17 September 2014

Drill Me, Fill Me had the house, the pool and the weather for a great hash, but his surgery schedule got in the way of setting a great trail, so Pickled Peter and Phoenix Rising showed up with their flour bags.  PhR had a route planned, "but Pickled Peter wanted to do something shorter."  And, per PhR, they set PP's route.  Everyone say, "Thank you!"  The fun backcheck nine at the very start of the run was his idea, too!

The last shall be first, except Nipple Knocker, who shall just be first.

There were several permissions required for the route, which wended its way down Springvale, into the woods, over to Utterback, back into the woods, up Buttercup, across a field and back into what one hasher termed, "real shiggy," which required bent-down running, and then up Springvale and home again, almost all 20 of them, well before sunset.  A well-set trail, with a handy built-in shortcut, that kept the main pack nicely bunched.  The 14 walkers enjoyed the warm, sunny evening with a variety of different routes, including a Valiant Tree Walk option.

Everyone enjoyed a buffet of Chinese food, the pack nicely bunched to debate what was pork, what was chicken and what was tofu.  It was all delicious.  Beverages were plentiful, and the pool inviting.  Not inviting enough to overcome the chill of a late summer night, so its waters remained unmolested, but at least one of us was seriously tempted.

Hot or cold, lit or not, everyone loves to sit around a fire.

The Mufti called the roll, welcoming back Amanda and Alex, celebrating the tardy return of Air Horn after an absence (without leave) of two months, and leading the cry for Peter's number one.  (Peter, an experienced global hasher, approved the Great Falls version.)  Mufti somewhat more decorously led a cheer for the very special guests:  DMFM's parents were kind enough to join us.  (We also got a daughter, Young Fud.)  Finally, Our Fearsome Leader raised an imperious hand and declared the spring/summer GFH3 hashing season over, announcing that it had been the best spring/summer hashing season ever.  He invited everyone to join him Saturday at Flowerkraut's at 3:00pm for the opening of the fall/winter hashing season, which he predicted would be the best fall/winter hashing season ever.  We can hope he's right -- but when is he ever wrong?

Photos right here - none yet from Radar, but this one from the Mufti.  Thanks!

"A Colorful Group of Walkers"

GFH3 Run #1,762; 16 July 2014

Happy hashing!

Details garnered at long distance:

Lots of people (like, about 40) showed up to enjoy the fantastic trails of Scott's Run, perfect weather and a refreshing dip in the pool.  Hash hero Cocked and Loaded set an enjoyable run with plenty of woodsy bits.  Hash heroine Queen Cobra called in Papa John and made sure there was salad.  Beverages were varied and plentiful.  Life is good.

And no one wore this many clothes.

THIS JUST IN:  Photos from Radar!

GFH3 Run #1,759; 29 June 2014 - 32nd Anniversary

Mufti may say whatever he likes, but if today doesn't constitute perfect Hash weather, there is even more wrong with this group than we thought.  Blue skies, golden sunshine, low humidity, blissful warmth without a shred of too-hot-ness, and a light breeze to blow the insects elsewhere:  happy anniversary, everyone!

Everything you need for a party.

Approximately 63 hashers gathered at Packing Pink Heat and Pickled Peter's this afternoon to celebrate the beer, exercise and camaraderie arising from John Gurr's Costa Rica trip of May 1982, 32 years ago.  Chairs were unfolded, picnic contributions piled under the tent, blankets spread.  Prodigal returns were celebrated:  welcome back, John and Carol and Mike and Cock in the Crease.  Hashers marshaled themselves around the satin-jacket club and Hand Job volunteered to push the shutter button for the team photo.  In the midst of some serious to-ing and fro-ing and chatter, the Mufti prayed silence for the brief.

And may well still be praying.  Goodness knows, he didn't get much silence.  However, by great good fortune, the 29 runners did get a trail - not a result of good organization, of course, and the fortune augmented just a skosh by Phoenix Rising's OCD-ish complex that compels him to set a trail anytime anyone asks.  In fact, there are probably instances when he's set trail without being asked...

Hurrah!  We found a backcheck!

Anyway, PP hauled in PhR at about noon, and away they went, with only vague ideas as to where they might go.  The final product was on the short side, and deliciously sweet -- mostly.  While the walkers followed PPH's well-marked two-mile trail, the runners bushwacked their way to Springvale, checked lots of falses, made it to the backcheck 12 (on a trail this short, you've got to have a backcheck 12), and then skittered back to the On In through a brief sojourn in virgin territory, courtesy of the fourth neighbor from whom our heroic hares sought a permission.  Up the final hill in time for a generous potluck and a shot at the newly, and beautifully, tiled pool, hip hip ON ON!  The walkers looked curiously well-rested.

There were some seriously tasty salads on offer, and lots of fried chicken in various configurations.  The spaghetti with pesto went surprisingly well with Spanish wine cadged from neighbors, and the senior hashers managed to figure out how to tap the four mini-kegs.  Then Brent upped the ante with a growler of homemade raspberry wheat beer.  He should do that more often.

Lunch!

It was a great party, and it only got better when the Mufti started shouting.  First he shouted the roll:  11 for Melisande, 33 for Phyllis, and didn't someone have 44?  Mini Schlonga had 199, and there will be a meeting of the Executive Committee.  But first the Mufti had to wax nostalgic, putting on his thinking-fez in order to reminisce about the previous year, handing awards around for especial achievements.

If falling down and whacking one's head is an especial achievement, there is even more wrong... whoops.  Tabled.  But Blow in the Hole and Rrocks Starr did win generously-sized bandages to prepare them for the next time.  (Mufti kindly applied the bandages to their foreheads; BitH had to switch hers to the back of her head, as that's where she aims.  Or something.)  Drill Me, Fill Me got a sheaf of hand-written permission slips in honor of his March trail, which involved about a half-dozen permissions from neighbors.  You can read the text of Mufti's document in the photos here.  Consensus was that he should share them with Valiant.

The Cracked Head, or Conked Noggin, Award goes to...

But Valiant had his own award coming, and was soon waving a sprig of lovely maple leaves in appreciation of the excellence of the educational tree walks he frequently leads for his fellow hashers.  Bad Dog got a necklace signifying his possibly-OCD'ish commitment to hashing, with six big 'beads' for the six big anniversaries he celebrated in a single week last fall, including his 300th GFH3 run.  Climax Investigator earned a brand new glider that will enable him to commute between his California home and the hash at no cost and without the damaging carbon footprint of his current system.  The Mufti himself earned the coveted Velvet Glove award for inflicting the iron fist of discipline upon the hash, albeit with limited success.

He then declared the 2013-2014 season 'The Year of the Chef,' bringing forward seven of our most culinarily-talented colleagues.  Remember Paula's Portuguese feast?  How about Lezley's Irish extravaganza?  Brent's home-brewed, Air Horn's Peruvian chicken, PPH's Thanksgiving brunch, Bite Me's New Year's brunch, and Chip Off the Old Dick and Maria's every groaning (over-)board.  Someone (you may guess who) will get the Chef of the Year award the next time Mufti sees her, possibly in South Reston, maybe in the rain... COtOD and I earned fireworks-y looking things for foolishly frequent hash heroics.

Papa John ought to have been in this group.

Mufti meant to take a moment to remember Bea 'To Bea or Not to Bea' Ross and Jim 'It's Too Long' Westlake, both lost to us in the last year.  You were probably thinking of them anyway, but if your current activity is conducive to a brief memorial now, you may remember them both smiling.  They were both great smilers.

Then we had the administrative awards:  Ménage à Trois and the Oral Advocate were missing, but Radar and PhR and PPH and PP and I got a choice of crackers or chocolates (like that's a choice?!) in appreciation of photo-taking, frequent setting, anniversary hosting and blogging.

Celebrations over, the Mufti made his sad, serious face, and announced the runners-up for the Dread Death March award.  Second runner-up was the July run from R.S.'s house, which he co-set with PhR, BitH and Dances with Bulls.  First runner-up was the September run from Ole Fud's, in which he and Strac and PhR accidentally mislaid a check, causing the pack to run a really long time in the absolutely wrong direction, wondering why there was no flour anywhere.  And the 'winner' of the 2014 Death March award was (da da da da da da da da da):  Phoenix Rising, for his 4 June hash in which inclement weather and an ambitious trail conspired to make a record three search parties necessary to get everyone back to the beer.  Could happen to anyone, really.

The thing is, he did send out search parties.  There's no rule that anyone has to search for anyone.  Plus, he told everyone to turkey.  And the first search was only because of the rain.  It's not like a hare can control the rain.

And yay, hooray, hip hip ON ON to the GFH3.  Here's to another 32 years, etc. etc.  Best to end on a high note, so no mention of that whole Executive Committee meeting thing.  Thanks to Mufti, PPH and PP for organization and set-up, to PhR for emergency trail-setting and trash disposal, and to Cocked and Loaded and Queen Cobra for the wine, and Brent for the beer.  And whoever brought the spaghetti with pesto.  Also the pool looks gorgeous and feels even better.  Plus whoever's operating the weather these days, and the kids and wives who joined us and just make the whole thing that much more festive, and all the dogs who behaved so well and Suck Squeeze Bang for taking a turn with the camera.  And more.

Out in the rest of the world, Thanks for the Mammaries was celebrating GFH3's 32nd atop Denali, and Cums Too Fast got so excited he swam all the way around Key West, 12 miles of chop in about eight hours.

Cutest baby award goes to...

GFH3 Run #1,757; 18 June 2014

Thanks, Ole Fud!

GFH3 Run #1,754; 28 May 2014

Radar's plea for assistance did not go unheeded, and he spent the afternoon with his buddy Valiant, throwing enough flour on the streets, trees and mailboxes of Great Falls to survive the threatened thunderstorms that didn't actually manifest.  So the 42 hashers who made their way to the garage this evening were doubly delighted:  the trail was enthusiastically well marked, and the weather was warm and reasonably sunny, if a touch humid.

Runners

The 26 runners got an under-five mile true trail, and mostly managed to complete it by dark.  The 5-K contingent made appropriate shortcuts.  Walkers, just 11 of them, got a pleasant, and well-marked, loop along Thimbleberry.  The well-bandaged Beef Strokemoff and Kimball did a little checking up on the local real-estate market, while Tastycakes rested up back at the On In.  She was fresh from nine miles in the Blue Ridge, helping Dad and Brother prepare for their attempt on Denali in a week and a half.

Miles, kilometers - there are no rules.

Arriving back at the garage, the hash found chips and guacamole as well as wine, beer and water.  Of course, just behind that there's...  THE POOL!  Radar's solar array had brought the water to a pleasant 84 degrees, which was enough to tempt a handful of swimmers, a few feet-sticker-inners, and one cannonball that only splashed a few electronic devices and a couple handfuls of chips.  Somewhere in the middle of all this, Radar started bringing out his barbequed chicken, crispy on the outside and juicy in the middle like it's supposed to be.

This is eerily similar to a picture from about one year ago...

The Mufti being absent without leave, the Associate Mufti shouted the roll, barely heard over the roar of the three mini waterfalls in the pool.  There were four newcomers; welcome Sean, Donna, Will and Will's father-in-law who is not named Justin.  Walks on Water made a special appearance, as did Heats it UP and Jeffy Lube, whom we don't usually see on Wednesdays.  Mini Schlonga was back after too long an absence (work, work, work, plus dehydration severe enough to warrant a couple visits to the E.R.).  They're all in the pictures.

GFH3 Run #1,714; 4 September 2013

Most of tonight's 31 hashers made it to the Duck Sucker's by 6:30, though traffic was certainly a bit icky.  But oh such a good thing they did, as those woods -- and co-hares Dances with Bulls and Zipperhead made the most of the woods, and even more of the river -- get darned dark once the sun starts thinking about setting.  Despite a challenging inlet/waterfall crossing, however, everyone (except maybe Severely Last, but his consistency in living up to his name is scarcely news) made it back to the house before losing the light entirely.

Now, about that water crossing:  apparently there was a turkey/eagle split, and turkeys got water while eagles got rocks.  However, I think everyone except Chip Off the Old Dick made it to the promontory near the waterfall where a big rock on one side of the inlet bore two large floury arrows pointing toward a big rock on the other side of the inlet, which bore two large floury arrows pointing toward dry ground.  Pickled Peter barely hesitated before wading in to water that ran almost waist-high.  Easy Strider and INDY turned around and headed back into the woods, emerging on the rocky crags, or craggy rocks, just in front of the waterfall and stepping carefully across to scrabble up onto a ledge where two folks we don't know were embracing.  The embracers scrabbled down and walked purposefully away, and the rest of the pack split about evenly between dry and wet crossing.

Bravo!

And where were the walkers?  No clue -- they had a recommended trail leading to the waterfall, but other than Chris and Gale, it's unclear whether anyone made it there.  Fortunately, anywhere you ramble in Scott's Run is bound to be lovely and at least mildly challenging.

Challenges accepted earned their reward at the On In, where fancy sandwiches imported from Georgetown were waiting, garnished with excellent kalamata olives.  Zipperhead apparently chose the beverages:  several connoisseurs rated the beer as 'swill;' no complaints noted ref: the wine.  There may be a theme emerging...

SSB took this one; that's why it's so artistic.

There was probably dessert and there were certainly chips, but I got caught up in roll-calling and water-volleyballing and neglected to investigate.  For the third time this lifetime, the Mufti entrusted me with the official roll, and so far I haven't left it in a flood zone or anything.  The responsibility fell to the assistant associate Mufti this week as the Mufti is vacationing in Duck or someplace like that, whilst the associate Mufti has decamped, with three tubs of Vaseline and a large box of bandages in assorted sizes, to the land of his ancestors (viz: Italy).  Nothing terribly exciting in the roll, though Rachel returned for run #2 and a stellar performance in the volleyball court ('in' not 'on' as the court is in the swimming pool).

And the weather was perfect.  Thanks to Suck Squeeze Bang (19 runs to a new name!) and Blow in the Hole for photos, which you can see here.

GFH3 Run #1,709; 31 July 2013

If you look to the right on your screen, and maybe scroll down a bit, you'll find a blog 'gadget' captioned "Labels."  Browse through that list of words and phrases, and you'll see the word "sunshine" stands out in great big letters, with the notation "(20)" beside it.  That is because twenty of these posts have included the label "sunshine," to indicate that that weather condition was an element of the hashes described in those twenty posts.  If you squint a bit, a few lines above sunshine, you'll see the word "rain," in tiny letters, with the notation "(4)".  If you had checked before Job Blow and Heats it UP's fabulous hash tonight, that notation would have been "(3)."  But it poured like the dickens, or something a lot wetter than the dickens, in Reston this evening.

Not at first, mind you.  As about forty of us gathered around the Blows's fish pond, where the Mufti was gregariously distributing anniversary t-shirts, the sky was maybe partly cloudy, or overcast if you're pessimistic.  The heat and humidity were doing their thing, and Job Blow was out in the driveway, making sure no one ran over the neighbor's mailbox.  Despite vigorous efforts by our Fearless Leader, a pair of New Balance lost-and-found shoes went unclaimed (Mufti!  Do not drop those in the fish pond!) and after a bit people slowly straggled out front for the brief.  I frankly remember nothing of JB's sapient comments, having been mildly concussed by an over-enthusiastic hasher gesticulating recklessly, but there may have been something about blue chalk and true trail being determined by at least four, not three, ons.

It's a RUNNING club!  Somebody RUN!

"On on!" someone eventually shouted, and a bit more straggling ensued.  Misled by an over-enthusiastic hasher misinterpreting marks recklessly, the pack headed up the street, then turned 'round and came back down, and into the woods trails through the kindly neighbor's yard.  Thank you, kindly neighbor.  Once everyone -- walkers, too -- had gotten well into those woods, the clouds moved in fast and thoroughly.  The walkers and a horde of shortcutters made it back to the house before the skies sundered, but the true trailers (all eight or so of them) got soaked to the bone.  Poor things.  And then no one tried out the new salt-water pool, which looks just gorgeous.  BC3 is putting together a party to sneak over there while JB and HIU are off on their next vacation.

The usual HIU generous feast was laid out on the kitchen buffet, with roast pork and three salads (the tortellini artichoke was my favorite, although the bean-corn-avocado was a very strong contender).  A wide variety of beer was available, as were Black Box and Ch. Ste. Michelle wines.  Dessert was ridiculous, and included super-fresh and juicy cantaloupe, many pastries and two flavors of ice cream.

Imitating the courtship ritual of the blue-footed booby (or double-breasted booby) is a great way to stretch out after a long, soggy run.  Photo is proof I did not hallucinate this, despite my brain injury earlier in the evening.

Mufti's roll was notable for the strength of the replies, except when he got to Zipperhead and Rrock Starr, who didn't make a peep.  Eventually someone realized they were still out on trail, in the dark and the wet, and a search party formed.  A whole bunch of people got cheers for their first runs -- a German, I think, and at least a couple of Americans -- and BC3 is getting awfully close to 500.  Then a huge gust of cheering burst out as our lost sheep returned to the fold, with tales of winding trails and invisible marks and very, very wet t-shirts.

My attempts at photographing the koi were dismal failures, but you can see much of the other stuff in the pictures here.

GFH3 Run #1,702; 16 June 2013 - 31st Anniversary and Mufti Appreciation Day!!!

Yes, of course:  EVERY day is Mufti Appreciation Day.  But NOT every day is the 31st anniversary of the GFH3, so this one's maybe a bit special.

As per, the hash gathered in the early afternoon at a gracious Great Falls estate replete with swimming pool and spreading lawn.  Packing Pink Heat and Pickled Peter's place also affords views of a swan pool, which is just the sort of elegant embellishment our group warrants.  Before taking off through the woods to get sweaty, muddy and bloody, the group convened to have its photo taken, with absolutely everyone looking his or her very best in every shot.  You probably realize how rare that is in a group picture.  Thanks to Hand Job for the actual shooting.

Dahling, you look MAHvelous!  (especially Mollie's tummy)

Then it's away, down the hill, into the tall grass, under the trees, over the stream, up, down, over, under, around and back, in less than an hour (nice hares!), to leap the stream again, emerge from the trees, thresh the tall grass, and race back up the hill to where all the picnicking awaits, and several small children await various daddies who will take them in the pool (nice daddies!).  The walkers kept mostly to the streets, enjoying the light drizzle from overcast skies that came as such a pleasant change after Friday and Saturday's clear skies, light humidity and perfect temps.

Here is a useful strategy for enjoying a Hash potluck:  find Paddle My Candee Ass.  Ask her what she brought.  Go find those things and load your plate with them.  Since not everyone could get corn on the cob (not after I'd been through it, heh heh), it's a good thing that To Bea or Not to Bea made nine pounds of southern-style barbecued spareribs.  You know what would be a good thing for you to put in the comments?  Your favorite dishes from the potluck.  That would be a good thing for you to put in the comments.  For instance, "There was some delicious mac and cheese with crunchy bits on top."  Unless, of course, you got to the mac and cheese after I did, in which case you missed the crunchy-top-bits.  Heh heh.  Also, thanks to whoever brought the fizz and oj.  Mimosas are just the thing for picnics.

Mimosas in the tub on the far right.

Of course, the bestest most part of the anniversary run is the Mufti's annual awards ceremony.  He makes up new ones every year, and the 2013 edition included mother-and-child whisks for Beef Strokemoff and Tasty Cakes' high culinary standards, a rubber chicken-like item for Greg and Lori's backchecks-only trail, a keep-off sign and super-soaker for Suck Squeeze Bang and Heater Beater to help cope with testy neighbors (don't tell them, but Phlashback and Zipperhead have the same awards waiting when they return from dads' day or graduation or whatever they're doing), a map for Land Ho and Cums Up Slowly to help them get home with a bit less effort next time, and Band-Aids(r) for all 17 (or however many) of our lucky crew came through injury, illness and other bodily damage in the last year.  Then the usual suspects got their annual thanks (very high end chocolate bars, mostly) for things like Money Bitch-ing, Associate Mufti-ing, blogging (that's right, they pay me for this in candy), roll-call maintaining, t-shirt ordering and anniversary-hash hosting.  Yay for everyone.  In all the excitement, the Mufti forgot (this is the first time he's ever forgotten anything, isn't it?) to offer the Death March award to some misbegotten, undeserving fink.  You know he'll get to it, though.  Oh, yes -- he won't go without assigning the Death March appropriately.

Magic future boo-boo preventers for everyone!  (A few more people could have gotten in on this award, btw.)

On a more solemn note, the recently-widowed Mary joined us to accept a photo (thanks, Radar) of our founder and her husband, Last Call.  Mary made a few kind remarks about the joy the hash had brought Last Call, and the psychiatrists' bills it had saved many of its members (from the peanut gallery:  "All that money went to orthopedic surgeons instead.").  Mufti also asked that we remember Alan Marlette, who died earlier this year.

Much less solemnly, Ole Fud stepped up to the non-existent mic to lead revised versions of popular folk tunes, including Mary Gurr and Gwen Dargis's version of "Camptown Races."  Valiant recalled Last Call's attempts at live setting, which chronically ended in early capture of the hare, even when he deployed his two young sons to begin the "live" set early and get all those irritating false trails laid well before the hounds were loosed.  One understands our founder had a stubborn streak, but eventually he gave up, and the pre-set trail became the GFH3 standard.

Ole Fud moved on to a munificent tribute to the man he plans to establish as Grand Mufti of Great Falls ("If elected, I shall not serve," the Mufti promised).  The grateful multitude brought forward gifts of plenty:  a portrait surrounded by expressions of affection and respect, a digital photo frame stuffed with 30 recent photos of hash activity (and less-recent ones when Duck Sucker gets a crack at Radar's .nef format), the Mufti Appreciation Book and a gift certificate for the Auberge, which Blazing Straddle believes will be sufficient to cover an enjoyable dinner for three, thank you very much.  Finally, Bionic Babe unveiled the 31st Anniversary Shirt, with a wonderful illustration by her talented younger offspring.  You do not want to go without one of these shirts.  Contact Bionic Babe ASAP to order.

You, too, can have a handsome Mufti Appreciation Day t-shirt.

If you click here, you can see photos of all the people and all the dogs but Mango, who had to go home early for a nap.  A photo of all the kids gathered together would be lovely, but the gathering process would not, so, no -- no group kid shot.  Thanks to Hand Job, Queen Cobra, Suck Squeeze Bang and Greg for help with pix.

GFH3 Run #1,699; 29 May 2013

Neither so hot nor so humid as the forecasters predicted -- though certainly a bit of both -- and everyone seems to have figured out that we're on Wednesdays now, so maybe forty hashers convened in Great Falls, gathering around Radar's pool before heading straight into the woods to scare the deer.  Seriously, deer were leaping every which way as the shouting pack heeled and hauled and crashed about in the underbrush.

The trail featured two turkey/eagle splits, leading some to boast of being "double eagles," surely not a concept much in use in this group.  Co-hares Radar and Phoenix Rising heaped praise upon co-hare Tasty Cakes for setting all the backchecks.  The runners suggested heaping something else, but you just can't pay attention to the runners once they reach a certain sweatiness level.  Valiant offered the walkers an eagle walk, alert to the most magnificent arboreal specimens and reminiscing on threats he has received whilst cycling around and about the village.

Only the very sportiest water stop will do for the GFH3.

Hey, I just realized we had two complete sets of Joneses this evening.  How often does that happen?  How happy we are when it does!

We also had chicken barbecued by our host that garnered rave reviews, salad and fancy guacamole.  You may not have seen the fancy guacamole; BC3 and Bite Me did not exactly make sure of that, but they both seem to enjoy guacamole.  Also, tons of Gatorade given the whole heat/humidity combo.  Plus... A SWIMMING POOL!  Walks on Water swam in same instead, along with a handful of friends, all cheerfully ducking the squirt gun fight going on overhead as Lust in Space taught three little boys how not to behave at a grown-up party.

The Mufti shouted the roll call, from the patio and the diaphragm to be sure of people on the deck hearing, and people in the pool area hearing, which they all more-or-less did.  Although, from the pool, with frequent forays to the underwater part, it was hard to tell if anything more exciting than Greg's #50 occurred.  Let me know if it did, please.

Just to be clear, this is a grown-up.

You know what tonight was, right?  Check the headline if you're not sure...   that's right, run number one thousand six hundred ninety-nine.  Oh, my.

I am really having a lot of trouble getting pix in the woods once the sun has even begun to set.  Perhaps we can all think of them as artistic, rather than blurry.  See what you think here.

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.