I was so excited to get to the hash, I ran to the start from another subway station. Ok, I was late and hadn't been able to run for several days because of a sore Achilles. I'd saved myself for the hash and, as I met up with the pack, I realized I was not the only one who had. In fact, it was quite a virginal hash. Four virgins, who made the group look almost substantial, were receiving instruction from our virgin hare, Christine. Where was Paul, professor of trail engineering, who was supposed to be co-hare? I think Christine (and the pack) would have appreciated advice that was more than spiritual on the trail. Step one of setting a run: don't choose a co-hare who, in trying to compensate for deserting you for a business trip, begs a veteran hasher to be easy on you. It only makes matters worse.
And so, we got it coming and going: at the entrance to the park, where I lost the trail, and after quickly exiting the park, where a check had us all stumped for about 20 minutes. The virgins were unusually enthusiastic: they actually checked and called on-on (or something close enough) for the rest of us! We ran down through Park Slope and over the beautiful Gowanus Canal into Carroll Gardens. The check at Carroll Park seemed to be another long one, so I set off on a checking excursion, finding nothing, but refusing to run back the same way. I ran into Keith, which might have been very encouraging to a newcomer, but as the rest of us know that usually means that you're nowhere near the rest of the pack. He continued south, but since I wanted to find the trail more than I wanted to gamble for a shortcut, I ran up another street. Finally, I ended up back at the check and found some measly scratches of pack marks leading to the trail.
As dusk approached, I found myself alone and running back through a lovely district of truck bays, warehouses, utilities and groups of men drinking on otherwise deserted streets. I probably overdid the running thing at that point in my determination to reach civilization before it either got dark or someone attacked me (these things tend to be envisioned at the same moment). Happily, a huge arrow beckoned me to relative safety across 4th Avenue. Then nothing. In any direction. I wasn't even looking for the real trail by then--but where was the pack mark? Christine complained of lugging 15 pounds of flour, but it still wasn't enough. The final step of setting the trail is to delegate the coloring in to the pack by making sure everyone has chalk. That way some of the wrath of those in the back is diverted to those in the front, and those of us struggling to get in before dawn can at least hold out hope that someone remembers we're back there somewhere. I could now feel the wrath of Achilles and refused to go back to pace up and down 4th Avenue. Pierre had said at the start that he saw marks leading north on 7th Avenue, so I started walking slowly uphill hoping to bump into something. I found myself in front of The Gate--but of course that would have been too easy. So I marched, silently chanting a mantra to remind myself of my vow not to run the moment I felt something in my injured leg. Before I knew it I was a block from my apartment, and--bless my heart!--I actually had my keys with me! After picking up my mail and messages, calling the hotline and freshening up, I was in a much-improved mood for hobbling to the on-in.
Despite the excesses at the previous Brooklyn hash that caused him to forswear drinking, Devo joined us again from the city. Meredith, one of the virgins, didn't drink or eat, but we let her stay since she plays pool. I didn't have to drink my down-down alone, though, because the other lost souls, Peter and Pierre (who'd already given me false information about the trail) had run at least a few miles off trail, ending up near BAM). Christine was given only two down-downs for her valiant but flawed effort. When interrogated about the recurring problem of the marks mysteriously switching to the other side of the street in the middle of a block, she replied that she was trying to make the trail tricky! Another case of an overeager virgin being misled.
In a rare instance of hash unity, we unanimously decide to blame everything on Paul. Cheers!
**********************************************************************
Op Ed
I figured I'd better show up at this run because I remembered that Jerry Nelson was setting it, and I knew no one would show up for his run because he's on the longest string of lousy runs set by a Hare on this side of the Atlantic. I called the Hotline one last time just to make sure of the start, and hung up as soon as I heard Grand Army Plaza. No point listening any further when you already know who the Hare is. Poor Jerry, he means well but he wouldn't know a good trail from cat litter.
I got to the start a little early, well before the On Sec but after the Hare, Jerry. "Hey, Jerry, got the trail already set? Must be a short one."
"No, this is Paul's run. Mine's next Wednesday. 'Course, Paul claimed some business emergency in Albany, and ditched the Virgin Hare, Christine."
My knees went weak. "Virgin Hare? Just never set a Brooklyn run, huh?"
"No, a real virgin. Never even set the table, let alone a run, before tonight."
"We're fucked."
"Yeah, I kind of figured the same thing."
I am delighted to report we were wrong. Way wrong. Seems Christine has a real talent, hitherto unsuspected, for devious turns, checks picking up in unsuspected directions, and marking a trail quite legibly. Her first check had us panting through Prospect Park. After all, where else would a Virgin Hare go from a check at park's edge but through the park? Wrong again, as the trail went west, away from the park. The Carroll Gardens check was another tricky one. I personally went 270 degrees before bumping into the On Sec. She stayed with me for, oh, maybe a block before she got cold feet and went back in the direction of the "On, On" cries. Too bad; it was a good short cut.
Speaking of the On Sec, Christine's political acumen was demonstrated by her setting the trail directly in front of the On Sec's apartment. Personally, I think she called the On Sec before the run to square the whole thing away in advance.
So the run I was on had a devious trail which kept the pack together pretty well, had lots of loops and subtlety, finished at a good bar, and kept everyone happy. An object lesson, I suggest, for Jerry Nelson.
Keith Kanaga
| www.hashhouseharriers.com | aol alternate site | e mail to webdom@hashnyc.com |
|---|