Some time ago, we experienced a hash that managed to encompass the seven cardinal virtues. Surely, a jaw dropping feat in its time. But miraculously, that hash was upstaged by Cree, George and Cole, who went for the seven deadly sins in one fell swoop. Which may, in fact, be a good thing, as Dubya has just instituted National Prayer Day, and I, for one, don't want to be unprepared in case there is a quiz.

We ventured down to snowy, icy, slushy City Hall Park for the start, only to find it empty and without a start mark. I took shelter in a Starbucks until a few minutes after three, when enough people had gathered to provide sufficient windbreak. Not that anything could have prevented hypothermia from setting in during the ensuing twenty-five minutes until the hares got around to showing up. Such was their sloth that visitor Jesse started doing pull-ups on a nearby tree to stave off certain death. At last, Cree arrived to tell us that he had set the trail in flour, red chalk, and coffee grounds. Uh oh. When they finally set us off south, we all pretty much hobbled the first few blocks before the blood started flowing again. Moving slowly probably wasn't such a bad idea, because if we were moving more quickly, we probably never would have found trail.

As it was, we managed to follow the trail for about three blocks, not counting the portion that cut through a subway entrance. Based on a set of footprints in the snow, someone guessed that trail went through a particularly dicey stretch behind Stuyvesant High, then over a fence, and down some very treacherous steps. Then we pretty much lost it permanently in front of the Travelers building, despite a fairly large pack checking in every possible direction. Melting snow erased any red chalk, flour was undistinguishable from snow, and coffee grounds look an awful lot like dogshit, a substance which was quite abundant in the neighborhood. Obviously, the locals seem to feel that snow covers up a lack of scruples nicely. Someone ran west, called on, then came back. Someone ran north, called on, then came back. Groupthink eventually propelled the pack in a northeasterly direction, then scattered everyone around to find dogshit and salt piles. At one point, I found a false mark, then shortly thereafter found Ed heading in the opposite direction. He'd found an arrow, but no check. Meanwhile, it was just getting colder, and we were starting to eye runners on the West Side Promenade with envy. Barring actual exercise, our only other alternative seemed to be calling the hotline. Ed, however, knew where the on-in was because he had showed up so late, and we headed southeast to Jeremy's with the entire pack in tow. Or almost the entire pack.

After we all dried off, changed, (changing being a rather difficult task for women these days, as Lipstick Lesley and Sarah from Downunder battle it out in the bathroom-avarice stakes) and thawed, we noticed that Peter wasn't with us. Lesley pointed out that he takes great pride in his trailfinding skills, and would stay out until he followed the whole bloody thing. He was matched in hubris by Cree, who despite being a virgin hare, felt he was plenty smart enough to set a trail in the snow without calling a committee member for an effective solution.

Now on to the vengeance portion of the day. At 5:15, with no sign of Peter, it fell to me to administer the sacred rites of the hash sacrifices, better known as down-downs. First, the three hares drank for their "trail", which would probably have been awful even if Cree hadn't decided to set it in white flour against white snow and dogshit. [Ed note: an e-mail went out a few days later via hash mail list, notifying all and sundry that the trail was safe and sound in Cree's backpack, in the form of several untouched bags of flour. There goes Cree's claim to setting any trail at all.] Then, they drank again for planning a six mile trail in terrible conditions. Next, Wet n' Sticky was punished for having psychic powers, which was the only possible way he was able to run the whole trail. Ishan got one for falling in a hole, then marking it. (No good deed goes unpunished!) A crew of visitors came forward, and Liz stayed for having a 40th birthday, and carrying a slice of birthday cake on trail in her backpack. Jesse almost got away with one down-down, but mercy was revoked for his pull-ups at the start when he threw his beer behind him and then whined about it. Gretchen got busted for feigning illness by hiding her booze in a cup of tea. Ed earned the rabbit ears for arriving at the bar first, and then holding the door so that an unsuspecting visitor would get first in. I gave myself a down-down for mowing down an innocent civilian. Finally, the hares shared AOTW honors for managing to lose their joint master.

Down downs dispensed with, we got down to a serious display of gluttony thanks to Jeremy's extensive, and very cheap, menu of burgers, fries, mozzarella sticks, nachos, and wings. I think Ed actually achieved a state of rapture. Once everyone had stuffed themselves beyond the point of comprehensible speech, in stumbled Peter, followed by Dumb Dick and Jody. DD and Jody came out of a six month hibernation in an upper east side love nest just in time to run the worst trail of the year, after running all the way down from 77th Street. Oops. Technically, they could have called the hotline, but it had been greedily and selfishly used by a group of hashers vacationing in Barbados for the weekend. They were immediately awarded down-downs for taking nearly three hours to run the trail.

As to the seventh sin, lust, if you don't need to use your imagination here, your night was a lot more interesting than mine. On out.