Curtis Fong came begging to us, wondering when somebody was finally going to let him set a hash. It wasn't his fault it rained. I think it was his fault it was long, even when Roy had very nearly packmarked everything perfectly. But we're not going to have anymore of those long runs that frighten away wimps, are we? I know none of you read these things, so I guess I'll just have to spread the word verbally.

Actually, I loved the run (until I called in and then went half a mile past the bar). It started downtown, west village to be precise, all right, I'll go look it up in my book - on Christopher Street and the first check was already a bit of a problem: I found it and did a loop back which passed Basil's house at least a neighbourhood away, only to find that Roy had not yet marked the check. I went passed some little Piggy or something gay bar with a posse of criminal lookalikes outside - that's how I knew I passed it twice. Anyway it was a valiant effort, all made up for, as promised by the unfindable new bar, with a name enough to scare anyone away, but insides that were great. Who ever heard of going to icy Antarctica for an ON IN. How are you supposed to get back? And I thought the penguin outfits were special for New Year's and Hobards. Being around the corner from a formerly frequented Spring St. Bar did not make it visible from across Hudson. No matter. In Village Idiot tradition, the place provided shots, and a very magnanimous joint master had me downdown mine - Does one ever not downdown a shot? Hey Curtis, you gotta come back & run more. We'll get Roy to set a run, and you can set the pack marks. The little bit in SOHO you thought was so good will do fine.

Don't ever turn down a volunteer.