Nothing like the first Wednesday run of the year. Years past have always seen
new joint masters setting their first official trail, loads of returning fair
weather hashers, uncountable hordes of virgins. And this first Wednesday run
was…. nothing like a first Wednesday run of the year. We had one new joint master,
Dave Long, and one broken-in JM, Peter. We had pretty much the same old regulars
that we saw all winter. And virgins? One. The visitors that showed up had to
be reassured that normally we have mobs of runners on a Wednesday night. Hardman
actually looked happy. A few of the more predatory bachelors had to be convinced
that it wasn't Dave's fault that tonight was the exception. Or maybe it was
Dave's fault.
As a wise, two-term member of the committee, I can tell you that I have absolutely
no idea how joint masters are chosen. Nor do I know what happens during the
undoubtedly solemn swearing-in procedure, except that I am fairly certain that
it involves biting the head off of a live chicken. But, I would imagine that
past transgressions in the trailsetting department are dealt with in a sort
of COMSTAT fashion, with every previous joint master grilling the nominee relentlessly,
all to ensure the future safety of the pack. If so, Dave's tribunal must have
caused everyone to take a week off of work to get through his rap sheet. Whatever
the case may be, the tribunal probably makes it clear that trails set by joint
masters should be of reasonable length; in new and interesting areas; challenging
enough to slow down the FRBs but not so difficult that one needs a quarter;
well marked; and ending in a superlative bar. Right? RIGHT?
Or at least not totally wrong. A smallish pack gathered at Liberty and Broadway
for the blessing of the chalk. Peter and Dave dispatched us quickly east (except
for me, who hung around to get the on-in location, due to a hip injury), and…
that is the last detail of the trail I seem to be able to recall. Maybe it was
the blinding pain I endured after staggering through all six miles of trail,
which made dizzying loops through Chinatown and NoLiTa. Or it could be because
I am writing this a full week after running the trail. Or maybe my allergies
are affecting my cognitive processes. In any event, the trail WAS long, and
it did go around and around quite a bit through underhashed and overtouristed
areas of the city, with some green-circle level checks thrown in here and there.
Even knowing the location of the on-in was really no help in shortcutting, as
the trail stretched out over such a confusing variety of neighborhoods, and
besides, I'd never been to the downtown Raccoon Lodge before. Not only did I
wind up running the whole trail, my attempt to shortcut added on a good half
mile after I got lost. That's what I get for trying to emulate Christine.
The Raccoon Lodge wasn't overly crowded with regulars, just a few married guys
who seem to prowl dives asking single women if they "wanna hang out… or you
know…", at least two of whom had approached one of our lot on another occasion
at the Old Town Bar. The one bartender managed to keep pace with gasps for beer
and water, despite an absence of pitchers, so no one resorted to fistfights
to get a drink. A bit of pool playing and gossiping later, Peter and Dave gathered
us at the back for down-downs. Or that is what it looked like, it was somewhat
hard to hear them over the Rolling Stones blaring from the jukebox at concert
level. According to Peter's notes, he and Dave each downed a beer for their
inaugural trail. Peter managed to get his girlfriend to put on bunny ears without
getting slapped in the process by accusing her of being first in. Visitors Sosumi,
Pussy Pilot, Brussels Sprouts, and Fists of Fury chugged in unison. The sole
virgin of the evening, Nancy, managed to drink her first down-down beer faster
than Ewa does after years of practice. Sosumi and an unnamed accomplice got
busted for putting down false pack marks. Katherine and Matt were called up
for new shoes, but only Katherine drank from the offending sneaker, proving
once and for all that the women of the hash are far better men than Matt might
ever hope to be. Jennifer did one for smoking on trail. And finally, AOTW went
to the outgoing AOTY, Hardman, for being a miserable bastard in general.
The night lurched forward in predictable fashion, with more pool playing, beer
drinking, gossiping, speculating about the marital status of visitors, and kicking
of sleeping dogs. Not too exciting for a Wednesday, but maybe it was fear of
Elaine's upcoming trail that scared everyone away…to be continued. On out.