GFH3 Run #1,778; 1 November 2014

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

The story behind my 2014 punkin:  Lubbock.

Creative hash pumpkin of 2013; backstory unknown.

Lubbock + kitty = Happy Hallowe'en!

GFH3 Run #1,758; 25 June 2014

By unanimous acclaim, it was a great trail.  Rrocks Starr, Air Horn and Dances with Bulls set it, and part of its greatness was relative briefness.  Concerned by the threat of intermittent downpours, they kept it short; with the resources of Riverbend Road at their disposal, they made it scenic.  Incidentally, Phoenix Rising asserts that setting with R.S. and A.H. is an invaluable life lesson for every young hasher, and encourages the experience.  Apparently, the two of them carefully analyze placement of each hash mark, with consideration as to moisture content of the ground, relative adhesiveness of bark vs. leaves vs. etc., prevailing winds, forecasted weather conditions, solar flares and numerous other criteria.  DwB confirms that it's not a fast process, but it is educational.

Creek crossings help make a trail great.

So our gang of 26 assembled inside the new dog fencing, where Oscar and Mango promptly tuckered each other out with some rough-and-tumble, then rested a bit, then roughed and tumbled some more, repeat all evening.  About 15 people, including identical-twin whippersnapper Zane, essayed the runners' trail, and only three of them short-cutted.  The walkers spent some time mesmerized by the Falls and, a bit lower down, the kayakers who brave them.  This evening, the watercraft included a paddleboard.  Mufti and Ole Fud witnessed the paddleboarder actually get to his feet and balance briefly in the rapids.  Cool!  I saw him later, coming out of the water with his board balanced on his head.  Versatile!  And not a young man either.  In fact, on the shady side of middle-aged, at least.  New hobby, everyone!

Waterfalls are also good.

Creeks crossed, authority unmolested, the pack reassembled at the R.S.'s, where Christina and Mrs. Costco had laid out a feast of pulled pork and chicken, plus veggie patties and heaps of salad.  Ole Fud anted up the wine, and PhR put 1.7 miles on his GPS going up and downstairs between the beer and the food.  Spurt got his sweets, and Suck Squeeze Bang (foot in a boot; boot in a bag) and Blow in the Hole fought over who loves Oscar more, while R.S. and Christina hovered, having overheard dognapping plans.

Put down the puppy, ladies.  Put him down, and step away.

When the raindrops started to splatter, the food moved indoors, with about half the pack.  When the Mufti moved indoors, he inspired a general migration, and called roll to a full house - or at least full living room.  SSB, who really hates that name, hit 297 and began puzzling over the replacement name.  Zane and Chris celebrated #1s, and just for fun the Mufti made everyone shout for John's #3.  The speed and accuracy with which the group calculated, "97 to the CUP!" was heartening.  Photos here; thanks SSB for help!

SUNDAY!  SUNDAY!  SUNDAY!  Anniversary Hash at P.P.P. and P.P.'s!  Group photo before the run!  Don't miss it!

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 #1,745; 29 March 2014

“Perfect Hash weather,” the Mufti congratulated hares and hosts before the brief began.  Perfect, indeed – or at least it may have been in San Diego, maybe, or one of those Mediterranean islands like Capri.  Perhaps Phuket, in Thailand, is experiencing an idyllic spring, but in Oakton this afternoon, we had a firm, steady rain and not quite enough Fahrenheits to make it feel friendly.  On the plus side, these conditions weed out the fair-weather hashers, leaving us with a close-knit, élite group of 26 to brave the elements in our various ways.

Big Balls on Deck briefed the team, explaining that the rain had probably washed away most of the Xs and many of the Ons, so, y’know, good luck.  He also advised that credit for any good parts of the trail go to Paddle My Candee Ass and Mini Schlonga, while complaints regarding less-good parts be directed to him.  It’s easier to be gracious like that when you’re 6’5”, don’t you think?

Haaashing in the rain; I'm haaashing in the rain; what a glooooorious feeeling
[jazz hands, everybody!] I'M HAAAAAPPY AGAIN!

So ten runners slid down the wet clay hillside to the trail, while 11 walkers split up into at least four contingents.  One of those contingents was BC3, who made it as far as the car, which she then drove to Target, claiming later that she had the most challenging route of the day.  The runners will take leave to disagree; their four-mile true trail included plenty of mud and at least one stream that hadn’t been there in the morning.  Dances with Bulls went in mid-way up the calf; rumor has it that Air Horn wound up practically swimming the thing.  They were further slowed down by scores of trees that were generating fluffy white foam at their bases, which looked confusingly like flour – although the actual flour was mostly shades of yellow-brown by the time the hashers found it.  Nonetheless, not much more than an hour after the brief, the Davis deck was thick with successful and now semi-dressed hashers changing into dry things.

So happy he did not have to hash on Sunday, when today's rain ceded to giant chunks of frozen slush.

Once re-dressed, they headed indoors to where Jill, Norm and PMCA had ensured several groaning boards of pulled pork, beans, chicken slices, four salads? or five?, and a multi-veggie casserole, plus chips and dips and cheese on every surface and brownies somewhere.  Many, many bottles and one Black Box of wine and a beer selection that included a growler and Warrenton’s finest Bust Head English Pale Ale enabled everyone to wash down as much food as they could stuff into themselves.

Mufti announced his own 1,497^th run, and his dear wife’s 497^th.  Coincidence?  Hmmm...  But if he stays home for the next 20 years, she can catch him up.  Boom Boom reached five, Phoenix Rising 700, and Irene the double-6s (600 to the Number of the Beast!).  Dave, who volunteered a portion of his lawn for Drill Me Fill Me’s trail last week, chose this as his first hash (99 to the cup!) and he and his brand-new sneakers got thoroughly baptized.

After threatening "another boring Mufti run" Our F.L. helped host this one instead by bringing dessert around the room.

For a visual lesson in stream-jumping form, check out the photographs here.  (That first one, of BBoD – he is making a funny face on purpose.  Never mind why.)  For a sunshiny beautiful hash, keep your fingers crossed and your aura shiny, and join us at Valiant’s next week.

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 #1,694; 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.

GFH3 Run #1,674; 15 Dec 2012

Saturday's weather was simply gorgeous; sunshine and high 50s.  Cums Too Fast hosted for the second time in his 194 runs, from his luxury apartment's festively-decorated entertainment center in Rosslyn.  The perils of the big city proved too much for many of our intrepid hashers, but a high-quality group of 19 gathered.  Attendees included three new members, whose Hash experience encompasses Senegal, Nepal and Botswana.  We do hope to see Lila, Kent and James again some day.  The veterans the Mufti, Air Horne, Zipperhead and special guest star Rrocks Starr all joined us.

Bad Fred ran the speedy types out to Ballston and then sent them home on the Metro -- even providing Metro cards for everyone.  While the FRBs waited 20 minutes for the train, Zipperhead and Phoenix Rising made it to the platform with about 15 seconds to spare.  Apparently, no one jogged in place during the wait.  Meanwhile, the walkers set off past Iwo Jima and covered the substantial distance to the Tomb of the Unknowns and back.

CTF offers up Metro tix.

Once returned, the gang enjoyed Dos Equis, Black Box wines and a choice of pork and broccoli or black bean and veg hot pot over rice.  Hasher Flasher and Cums Too Fast shared a mutually-belated birthday cake, and the neophyte James initiated a conversation about fetishes and literature.  I will never understand this group (and prefer not to).

Everyone was terribly saddened that Lori, Greg and Leslie gave up the search for the top-secret location of the meet.  And I apologize for INDY and my forgetting the camera.  I had to rely on the phone for photos, so the graininess quotient is far above our usual standard.  Oh, how we all miss the professionalism and eye for fleeting beauty of our official hash flash.  Radar, where art thou?

Best synchronized speech ever offered.

Thanks for all the help cleaning up, Strider et al!  The fuzzy photos are on view here.