NYCH3 Run# 829 Hares: Rick Chann & Michele Thompson Start: 72^nd & CPW On-In: Bear Bar, Broadway & 73rd Scribe: Dave Long

The Winter Wednesday hash must be the hashing equivalent of hunt saboteurs. Twice in a row they have managed to start their runs either at, or very close to, the following Sunday’s run, albeit unwittingly. Fortunately, this hadn’t caused a problem the last time, but this time it caused problems for not only the pack but the hares as well, of which more later. Thank goodness the Summer Sunday will be returning soon – at least they always hash way out in the sticks, where even a Baldwin trail is unlikely to encroach on a city trail.

The hashing gods (no, not you Roy) had decided to give us a break, and it was a glorious Sunday, the warmest day for a while. Get those tank tops on! Thanks to a broken photocopier in Staples, I had to reenact “Run Lola Run” and made it to the start just as the pack was setting off into the park. A short jog to the first check outside Tavern On The Green, where we were to remain for some time. John L. and myself called on but soon realized we had goofed, unfortunately most of the pack had followed us and seemed a bit pissed off – DBB muttering some comments about retards, wouldn’t have happened in my day, etc. In situations like this I have learnt that it’s best to just disappear and do some more checking instead of hanging around to face the wrath of the mob (or “Lynch” mob in this case, ha ha).

The hares, Rick and Michele, had used that pinky coloured chalk which would look very pretty were it not for the fact that it is almost invisible, causing plenty of wrong turns in the early going. The marathon first check was finally solved heading east towards that statue of General Wotsisface or somebody who died valiantly defending life, liberty and the right to eat donuts only to get shat on by pigeons. Another check here was solved somewhat quicker and we worked our way over to summer stage, currently no more than a large piece of matting on the ground. Breaks in the trail kept everyone guessing, but eventually we found our way across the road on Cat Hill (no mean feat either, considering the amount of traffic).

It was at this point, as we entered the Ramble, that the real fun started. The next check was on a rock in the middle of some woods, and pretty soon it looked a bit like one of those news items where people are scouring undergrowth searching for the remains of some missing kid. On was called falsely a few times, some people were probably following the real trail, some people were probably following Wednesday’s trail, but nobody seemed to be able to escape the Ramble. Eventually, I had a sighting of the elusive Lesser Spotted John Burke who appeared to know where he was going, and so followed. I lost him but found trail anyway, by a fluke, and carried on. Rick later told me that he had actually had to wash marks off of trees, having sighted a Dave Godbold flour dob in the adjacent tree. Not sure of the method used in “washing” the trees, but knowing Rick, I have an idea...let’s hope Michele wasn’t getting in on the act as well.

Fortunately, it was one of those days when you don’t care how lost you are on trail, or even if you’re running the wrong trail, you just enjoy cavorting around the park. So, any grief the hares might have got for the trail was pretty muted. We basked in the sun for a while and watched Micky Mouth and Ed arrive from completely the wrong direction before retiring into the dark lair of country & western music that is The Bear Bar. Roy and Crofty were well pleased that everyone paid such rapt attention to their circle, until we broke it to them later that the real reason was a lady removing her clothes on the TV behind them. Scot was awarded the asshole of the week when it was revealed that he actually keeps a count of how many hashes he has run (this was #69, snigger). I would have thought geek of the week was more appropriate, however. There was one virgin, Bert (that’s Bert Withaneenotayu if you please!), who gamely drank from his shiny new shoes. Some beer throwing ensued when Rick and Michele were called up, forcing Rick to change his pants after Lesley had doused his backside while mooning her. Joyce resurfaced after a winter’s absence, presumably on an advance hare raising mission for the NASS.

Everyone got in some practice for the summer runs by crowding into half the available bar space, or maybe it was just a hasher’s natural fear of being too far from the nearest pitcher. Mind you, Michele was later complaining that we weren’t drinking fast enough, the first time I’ve heard that on a hash. DBB meanwhile complained about a basketball playoff game being screened in preference to a “crucial” Met game – after all, only 3,562 games to go in the regular season, things are getting tense! The diehard few remained and drank while the jukebox droned on with cheerful country ballads of love thwarted by hashing, like the old Hank Williams hit “She Sent Me Down A False Trail And Buggered Off To The On In” etc. It’s enough to make you cry in your beer.

On out.