Hashers as a group are not known for deep contemplation. A hasher taking a different Point of View (PoV) usually means the bar is out of Guinness and the hasher must choose between unknown microbrews. Still somewhere in between the moments of devil may care and pure pack mentality hashing can lead to moments of existential enlightenment. Well maybe enlightenment. Would you believe shedding a little light? Cause it is dark outside? And someone brought a flashlight? Well the October Full Moon hash was one of these epistemological PoV moments. As one of the great American philosophers might have said, "Boy, I say, boy, hash with me boy."
The evening began quietly as hashers gathered at the fountain in City Hall Park. Now for those of you who want to give Rudy credit for making the New York City a better place, I will give you this; City Hall Park is much nicer than it was under the previous administration. But then, it is all a matter of perspective. Pat was pointing out the gentleman on a scooter wearing a bowtie. Personally, I like to point out the fences, the ones designed for crowd control. Fortunately, crowd control was not required as the hares (Pat and Sarah) arrived just as the pack was getting anxious about hitting the trail. Night was upon us, (not a PoV issue), but we needed hares to start.
Ah, yes, the hares. Pat Flannagan and Sarah Fifield. Perspective again. A seasoned hasher might be concerned that between them, the two hares had set a total of one run. This hasher was concerned when two days earlier he received an urgent email requesting suggestions for possible on-ins in downtown for Friday. After making a few suggestions, I quickly checked my calendar for possible alternative social events. No joy. Well maybe it won't FUBAR. Uh, huh. (Pollyanna PoV.) Right. I put a flashlight into my hashbag (Murphy's Law PoV).
"Two nothin's make nothin', that's math son..."
So yes, the hares were running late. But they found the start and Sarah gave instructions to the newbies. With classroom chalk. Thank the hash gods that Peter had recently warned us of the evils of using blue classroom chalk on a night run. Oops. Well… almost. He got part of that. Still there was Sarah with a box of white classroom chalk. I returned to my hashbag, grabbed some hash chalk that was left over from some run or another and grabbed the flashlight. Artificial aids for altering perspectives had become a requirement. (Pessimist PoV.)
"You're way off, I say, you're way off this time son."
The air was cool and the full moon was out as the hares finally started us off in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge. First check at the top of the stairs on the pedestrian ramp. "No way newbie hares are going to take us to Brooklyn", I shout and head down the stair in search of trail. From a few people's PoV, this wasn't so obvious as Pat, Cree and George enjoyed running over the bridge while mesmerized by the sight of the moon.
Meanwhile back at my PoV, I find three quick marks, shout that we are on and go looking for the next mark. Nada. The pack catches up and follows some spray paint for a while. (I refuse to comment on a hashpack PoV.) Alice swears that there is no trail along the south edge of the bridge. Of course not Alice, that is a check there. Not trail. (I think I should also avoid commenting on an Alice PoV.)
"Who's responsible, I say, who's responsible for this unwarranted attack on my person?"
So off we hash through the narrow alleyways known as streets in downtown Manhattan passing beneath the shadow of One Police Plaza and stop to check at the first of many that we will visit this night of Robert Moses' contribution to urban renewal know from a colloquial PoV as a Housing Project. At this point I check in a wrong direction and become separated from the pack. Though I know that some of the pack is just ahead from the comments coming from the friendly folks hanging out on the streets as I run by. (I could write a dissertation on the multiple PoV's in the preceding sentence.) After some passing dialogue with a few of the "yoots" (Hollywood PoV), I turn to run backwards for a moment looking for hashers behind me (a fartlick PoV) just as an egg goes flying across my bow. Additional dialogue is exchanged. I choose a dignified PoV and do not break stride.
"It sure, I say, it sure is quiet around here. You can hear a caterpillar sneaking across a moss bed in tennis shoes. Sneakers that is..."
I soon catch up with Dianne, who asks if we can run together. (A woman running alone in the dark in NYC PoV.) After a few more sidewalk exchanges, we pass behind the New York Post and the neighborhood suddenly becomes as dead as, a post that is. After a feint to the East River and back for another of Moses' relics we head across the FDR and head up East River Park. And up and up and up. Now, as a Montana boy, I can appreciate a quiet evening in the park. Specially while running with an attractive woman with a full moon lighting the way. Funny how a few years living in New York City can change one's PoV. Man it was quiet in that park. And it is amazing how dark it can get under a full moon.
"What kept you, I say, what kept you son? I can't hold my breath forever. I am not a fish. I need air. My lungs crave air. You gotta think of things like that boy."
Finally, we pop back over the FDR at Houston Street and begin our return journey south. Through the Lower East Side, then the Bowery, Chinatown, Little Italy, Soho, Chinatown and finally back down towards City Hall. To the Blarney Star, a grand total of two blocks from the start where a few hashers where standing outside taking the evening air. (As Rick, of the oh my leg hurts I can't run PoV pointed out since he got roped into carrying the bags over.) One of them (whose anonymity shall be protected - male bonding PoV), during the course of the cool down period, looked wistfully down Murry St and commented that we should have an On-In at New York Dolls (male PoV). Not everyone standing out there got it - innocent PoV.
"What's going on, I say, what's going on here? Don't stand there with your beak open, say something."
Eventually, the crowd of hashers pile into the back of this nice downtown pub. The regulars are trying to eat and watch the Yankees play the Mariners in Seattle with all us sweaty folk standing around drinking beer and looking for our hashbags. Eventually they move up to the bar. Fried food starts to be handed out from the kitchen. Scot, the shadow Full Moon mis-management, gets up and does some down-downs. Now if I had done this write-up two weeks ago when I first meant to, I'd probably recall some of those toasts. The only one that still clings to a brain cell was when Scot called Pat up for running across the Brooklyn Bridge and in a masterful stroke of RA-ness made George do the down-down for abandoning Pat in East River Park, the yes chivalry is dead PoV. I think Scot gave himself one as trail master for assigning two newbie hares. (Mismanagement PoV.) And Sarah kept saying, but it was only seven miles (newbie hare PoV).
Hours go by. Hash cash runs out. Pat keeps commenting on how quiet the run was. The hares sneak out, one by one. The Yankees beat the Mariners (chauvinist PoV). Someone leaves his or her pants in a booth in the back. Everyone else leaves. Fluffy, Crazy Bob, Rick and I stumble out of the bar into the early morning darkness (no I don't have to be anywhere in the morning PoV).
"Fortunately, I keep my feathers numbered for moments like this."
Fluffy and Bob disappear into the night. Rick and I start walking north. Rick disappears in search of a bathroom and a route to the east. I continue north. Hmmm... "Self", I say, "I say, self. What I need is a clean, well lighted diner" (existential PoV). "Like that one over there." Ah, French toast. Eggs. Happy stomach. Contentment. This write-up can end and all is right with the world, at least from this point of view.