It was the best of times…it was the worst of times… A great opening to a novel if you've got something to say. But what if nothing - truly nothing worth commenting on - has happened?

There was a run (standard). It was rainy and somewhat chilly (normal). The trail was marked in flour (common practice, unless you're Cree). The On-In was at Dive Bar (traditional). No one knocked over unsuspecting tourists, ran into trees or otherwise did any damage worthy of humiliating laughter. No one got loud and raucous at the On-In, danced on any bars or called any unsuspecting movie stars by the wrong name. I mean really, people! Journalists need MATERIAL!

Well, maybe I am forgetting a few things.

Having stuck my neck out in agreeing to do this write-up, I found myself regretting every emailed word as I looked out the window on Sunday morning. Actually, my fear began earlier - the night before when I was awakened by two cats leaping on my bed, claws extended, when a loud thunderclap sounded overhead. Aside from feeling certain that my neighbor's vicious dog (no, I'm not referring to Red) had finally clawed through the walls separating our apartments, I began to realize that my participation in anything other than pack activities (namely running, eating and drinking) with the Hash was jinxed. The last two times I helped to set a trail, the weather was either cold and drizzly, or fucking cold and pouring buckets. This did not bode well.

Nonetheless, I turned up at the start at 96th and CPW to find the hares (Steve Brett and Dave Croft) carefully placing runners' bags in a stack, quite obviously so that they could easily transport them to the On-In AS IS THEIR DUTY. As I dropped my bag in the pile I looked around at the crowd and suddenly became aware that thanks to my write-up responsibilities, this run was going to be more of a networking event than a party-I didn't recognize half of the faces. Ah well, good practice for the old job search skills.

We headed into the park…

While I'm completely incapable of giving a Dave-Long-blow-by-blow (I advise you to leave that phrase alone) of the twists and turns of the trail, some things were decidedly screwy. I struck out at my usual deliberately slow pace, allowing enough time for the FRBs to do all the nasty check work. You could see right away it would be easy…plenty of marks. Or rather, way too many marks. In a matter of minutes the entire pack had spread throughout the northwest section of the park, following what seemed to be at least 3 different trails. A satellite shot of the flour would have looked more like Rorschach test than a plan.

At one point, I was behind clusters of runners including Michele, Marie and Junior (looking morosely alone despite the others). The trail led the M&M team uphill which I wasn't about to brave, so after a few moments looking around, I found another trail more to my liking along a flat path around a pond.

Later, after I circled (literally) through a garden and out and back in the east side, a segment of the pack was running along the cut-through road. At this point, you could hear "On-On!" being called from multiple directions, all the while following your own personal little flour trail. I, of course, was convinced I was on the shortest route home, which must have been true as I was passed by Hardy, Long and other ricky-racer-types at least 3 times.

…and 20 minutes later we were back where we started.

Now, it isn't terribly strange to cut back across your original starting point in a Hash, but as I arrived at 96/CPW, I saw a bizarre thing: hares, standing at the start/finish, doling out bags to runners and directing them to the On-In. But even more bizarre in my opinion: runners were actually taking the hares up on it!

Crofty blamed it on "an extraordinarily well-set trail". Steve said it was because he had to spend so much time fending off dogs threatening to piss on the bags that he couldn't get them gathered into the back of a taxi. Either way, it was clear to me that someone should be punished for forcing me to carry my own bag.

Upon reaching the Dive Bar (the walk took longer than the trail), I settled in for a few hours of get-ta-know-yer-fellow-Hasher, initially by sitting on a bench and hoping they would come to me. When it became clear that these people did not realize exactly how important I was, I wandered over to introduce myself to Yoshi (returnee from SF), John (a 2nd or 3rd-timer with NYC who apparently works as a stunt-double for Pete Sampras), and Reese's Pieces, (returning again from Orange County). An entertaining bunch!

Thanks to the short, and rather uneventful trail, the down-downs lacked much in the way of the usual mockery, though it was surprising to see DBB defeat Aussie Sarah for the rabbit ears in a popular vote - I know that Sarah is more popular on at least two fronts (sorry Dave), and it shocked me that most of the guys on the Hash didn't jump immediately to the playboy bunny imagery. Maybe we're all getting a bit too old for this…

Other downers included: Alison the Virgin; Christy (first time seen out in public with Junior in many months); visitors Yoshi and Reese's Pieces; Sarah III, Yoshi and Fluffy for new shoes; Yoshi again for AOTW for returning and wearing new shoes (see how desperate we were?).

After a couple of tacos (some complaints, but I thought they were good) and a glass or two of beer, I felt I'd done my share of mingling and headed home. I apparently missed an exciting moment when the bartendress, Martha, raced out of the bar to stop a robbery. Actually, they only heard about the robbery much later - most Hashers were too pissed off that there was no one behind the bar to serve beer.

But then, that too would be standard-issue Hashing behaviour! On-on!