When I saw that the start for David Byron-Brown's run was to be in Roosevelt Island, complete with linked instructions to the Metropolitan Transportation Authority's web site for instructions on how to make it to the start given all the track work, diverted and non-running trains and such, I knew it could only mean one thing…Mercury was going into Retrograde. I know, I know, superstitious hullaballow, right? But read on…

"When the Earth experiences a Mercury retrograde period (usually lasting 2 to 3 weeks, generally three times a year), many individuals experience mental confusion over the order of detail in planning and negotiations, specific time deadlines are sometimes missed (particularly in editorial, writing and creative industries) and things 'go wrong' with small items of machinery (notably in cars, computers and communications/delivery equipment or systems)"

Low and behold, DB2 set himself up bigtime, as Mercury was set to go into Retrograde on February 4th and sure enough, the only train running to Roosevelt Island was a redirected F train. There was talk from the MTA and DB2 that we could also take the Q, but with the Q not running on weekends, as noted above, details in planning were definitely confused.

Once making it to the start, with a small pack of almost-late stragglers including Kerry, John and Aleks, we quickly threw our gear into the hash mobile and were off on trail. The first check which was less than 200 yards into the start was a doozy, but understanding that Mercury was working its magic, I hung back and let the others do the work. Other checks were equally difficult on the island and we ran around more than anyone's fair share of this god-forsaken rock wedged between Manhattan and Queens.

Finally, at our last check before hitting the bridge between the Island and the island that is home to Queens, Sarah from Down Under remarked, after seeing a confusing, gigantic loopy arrow turning the pack around, that we had had enough "ass-ing about the island," and it was time to move on. (No problems in communication there, Sarah!)

Crossing the bridge, another hasher noted graffiti on a road sign which just said, "hash" and talk turned to the Mercurial confusion over whether we were talking drugs or the sport of beer drinkers here. From that point on, it was a painful trail -- urban sprawl to say the least and my slow-paced ass dragging as of late. Think broken glass strewn across abandoned streets with warehouses and small packs of kids asking if we were cops. "Sure," I said. "FBI, actually." As I made my way to the home stretch, I passed a virgin and asked her how her run had been. No sooner did she'll open her mouth to tell me that she was having a great time, then the aforementioned Sarah took her down in great style, leaving her sprawled out and crying on the ground (Another retrograde mishap, I'd say.)

At the on-in, the group generally had no problem about bitching and moaning about being in Queens, the almost too-long trail and the low temperature of the bar. Still and all, we had a great deal of beer flowing and the pizza was fantastic and we even mustered up the courage to communicate fairly decently with visitors (and virgins) from Kenya, Barbados and the Barnes/London hash.

Down-downs were given…to our hares and visitors as well as our downed-virgin, who decided that the best way to punish the rest of the hash for her accident was to try making phone calls on her cell while ignoring us. (Mercury on our side, she had an inexplicable problem getting through.) In the end, Sarah made us proud for earning the AOTW Award for her tripping incident and drank the equivilant of a pitcher of the light stuff out of a new plunger - one with an inner suction thing (gross, but very impressive).

As the evening came to an end, we had a hard time running out of hash cash, but did our best and I vowed (for the n-teenth time) to try to never go to Queens again, except to get to an airport or to celebrate Crofty's 40th birthday. On-out.