NYCH3 Run# 830 Hares: Dave Hardy, John Burke, Bill Janeway, Doug Guiley Start: 125^th & Broadway On-In: Broadway Dive, Broadway & 102nd Scribe: Dave Long

Before any of the older hashers look at this and think that they have just gone through a timewarp and been magically transported back to about 1986, let me assure you that despite the rogues gallery of old fart hares for this run, it was still the year 2000. “Hard Man” will of course need no introduction, having cornered the market on FRBing and committee baiting; however, recent weeks have indeed seen the resurrection of one of his old sidekicks, John “Dog’s Bollocks” Burke, as a hasher. As for the other two, let’s just say that they have managed to hare some of the most notorious death marches since the New York City hash was founded, which are still occasionally whispered about when the children have gone to bed. Doug was actually banished to San Francisco for his crimes, while Bill came in for more severe punishment by being granted a wife and kids. With this kind of dubious track record, the sudden fifty degree leap in temperature seemed like it couldn’t have come at a worse time. I fully expected to run almost a half marathon on this trail, which would have got us as far as the inevitable chicken/eagle/albatross split if we were lucky.

Not, then, the sort of trail you’d want to run with your bag, but this was how I started out. However, this time I started so late that I lucked out and bumped into Steve B. and Trisha as I headed towards Grant’s Tomb. Aha, just as I thought – the first check had been so devilishly difficult that the pack had been stuck there for half an hour trying to solve it. I fumbled vainly in my pocket for a quarter, but enjoyed myself nonetheless. It turned out I was wrong anyway, the trail had done some kind of a weird loop around on itself and so I would actually manage to short cut. Following the trail down some steps, we came across Burke and Janeway, grinning demonically at their handiwork. This at least gave me the chance to hand off my bag to John and get a Knick update as well (they came second).

Having gone down, we of course went back up the first of several flights of steps which had been cruelly thrown into the trail. This led back up to Riverside Drive and the entrance to Riverbank Park. Hmm…perhaps a lap of the track as a giant check? Not as it turned out, in fact we avoided the park altogether and headed east through City College. By this time people were already starting to wilt, myself included, and some had given up running altogether and were kind of doing that “desert stagger” while crying out for water. One of those days when you wouldn’t mind getting sprayed by a water pistol, hose or water bomb; we did actually bump into some kids with water bombs, but unfortunately they weren’t as sharp with their throwing as they were with their mouths.

At the check outside Morningside Park, I’m afraid exhaustion and sunstroke finally took their toll on your humble scribe, as I started following an imaginary on-trail which took me all the way over to Riverside Park via Columbia. Much like sighting an oasis in the desert, only to discover it was all a mirage when you get there, so it was with trail marks. After a jog through the park and having seen neither marks nor hashers, I decided to cut my losses and headed back over to Broadway and the on-in, stopping off for a much needed Gatorade on the way.

The Broadway Dive, in contrast to our other beloved “Dive”, has not been used before as an on-in, at least not in recent memory. It’s not actually as divey as the name suggests, but it is a little cozy shall we say. Hash tip of the week: Do NOT use this as a summer Wednesday on-in! Proceedings almost got off to a bad start when we were threatened with ejection if any more men used the ladies room – start contrast to the previous week’s on-in where men and women are seemingly encouraged to not only use, but also share the same toilets! Our veteran hares had managed to screw up the timing of everything and so the pizza arrived way early, delaying the down-downs while everyone fought valiantly to control the slabs of dripping, oozing gunk masquerading as pizza. I still find it hard to believe that New York claims to have the best pizza – I dread to think what it must be like in other towns. I stuck to nibbling on the plentiful bowls of goldfish scattered around.

Appetites sated, it was time for the ritual public humiliations to begin. The hares, of course, plus an extra one for Mr. Guiley who now classifies as a visitor. This was our ghostly hares’ last act before disappearing back into the mists of time – see you in another ten years boys. Fortunately, they left the rest of the beer money behind. Speaking of visitors, we had a few over from France, and since the Bollocks crew had discovered that not everyone in France is an asshole, they were made welcome. Other noteworthy visitors included “Baby” Jan Roysing, former NY hasher now back in his native Norway, and a Phillippines-based Aussie by the name of Later Ron, who apparently had stumbled across the on-in by accident (as I frequently do myself). Ron is over in the US trying to get a book published about the Pacific War and how the Japs were thwarted by the mighty Australian navy (with a little help from the Yanks). Jan, meanwhile, got possibly the first “old shoes” down-down, for apparently wearing a very vintage pair of Nike running shoes which he may well have stolen from the Design Museum. Of course, you have to be a real geek to even spot this in the first place, right Peter?

We had an interesting newcomer, James (or “Jamie” to the ladies) who has just moved here from Colorado. He claims to be an undercover cop – not any more, I suppose. James was later seen at the bar with Timmy, hitting on a couple of women, but he was sensibly staying quiet and letting Timmy do all the talking. Melissa then decided that it was time to get jiggy with it and proceeded to do a passable impression of TLC, ably assisted by Christine and James. Not much of a dancer myself, I had to resort to the dreaded Nutty Boy dance to Madness’ “Night Boat to Cairo”, which is not so much a dance as a cross between running on the spot, cossack dancing and having an epileptic fit. Having started to endanger the remaining punters in the bar, it was definitely time to quit while I was ahead. Later Ron was living up to his name and still hanging out, as was Timmy, installed at the bar and refusing to budge. It only remained to wake Jerry, who was soundly asleep on the 103^rd St. platform, and wait for the hangover to kick in.

On out.

P.S. A final word as we come to the last hash of another year (or is it the first hash of a new year? Whatever.). Another exciting year of the hashing sublime, the hashing ridiculous and the hashing downright bizarre (O.K., I lied about the sublime). For a sheer work of fucked-up art, what could match the Elaine ‘n’ Pat “Seinfeld” run last summer? We’ve had the Crofty run which “only turned left” (not the way I ran it, it didn’t!), Hawaiian shirt and Tarzan runs in forty degree weather, Toga runs, Ugly Tie runs, HALT runs, and of course the Red Dress run. We’ve survived West Nile mosquitoes, Governor Pataki’s warped neo-prohibitionist mind, and two bogus “armageddons” (some even survived the Seinfeld run).

Off the trails, we’ve had two hash marriages - Donkey Dong Troise ‘n’ Petra ‘n’ Jimmy ‘n’ Diane getting hitched, and two more on the way – Mike ‘n’ Kerry ‘n’ John ‘n’ Aleks. Now you know it’s been a bizarre year when people agree to marry the likes of Troise and Murphy! The usual glut of newcomers have come and gone, but some have stuck around – Mickey Mouth, Cree, Tiger’s Woody, John ‘n’ Debbie, Melissa to name a few.

Since this is my last contribution as the regular hash scribe, I’d just like to say thanks to everyone for being the fine collection of bizarre, fucked-up individuals that you are, and thereby giving me plenty of writing material every week. Thanks also to those people who expressed their appreciation of these weekly offerings and made me feel like I wasn’t just providing fifty napkins each week. More grovelly thanks to everyone else who contributed and gave me some weeks off. Last but not least, thanks to DBB for his invaluable, if anally retentive, grammatical corrections (but Dave, it’s the fucking colloquial usage innit...)

On (over and) out.