NYCH3

Date: Wednesday, May 31, 2000

Hare: Devo

Start: Wall Street on the 4,5

On-In: Blarney Pub

Scribe: Christine

It was the start of the totally-unapproved, completely unsanctioned, Devo as the hare of the “Live Hare Wall Street” run. Only a few actually dressed up in a tie and business suit, which may say something for the trend towards casual business attire, but I suspect it has more to do with the hashers’ increasing lack of willingness to dress up for every damn run that comes along.

Some of the NYCH3 runners were restless given the “live hare” twist. This is a real local rarity and Rick, Mike B and some other quick and nimble folk were stretching their limbs in hopes of catching the hare and having the honor to “de-pants” him. Yet, giving Devo a full nine-minute head start was a bad idea, because given the lack of trail marks he was probably already at the On-In by that time. But pay no mind, because this was a run which included a menagerie of characters – including a hare, a tortoise, lost sheep and more ….

To record all the events of the pack on the run will be a real challenge, since I lost everyone right at the first check. Running west and north around City Hall, I saw nothing but Rick (a Rascally Rabbit if ever I saw one) looking for the trail, and spotted David Byron Brown (a well-known and loved, albeit “snail” of a hasher), who seemed headed over the Brooklyn Bridge back to his home borough. By the time I got back to the first check, everyone was gone, but I eventually I made it on the trail over to the World Financial Center, where I got really, really lost without a clue (Count: one lost ewe). I went searching up north, looking to find the trail going up the West Side Highway, then went all the way to the south end of Battery Park City. At one point, some guys in a pickup truck yelled some comments at me (the three little pigs), only to be followed up by (I later learned), Ed Lynch (a howling coyote), who told me to “Keep It Movin’ Hon’.”

Alone, sad and confused, I went back to my last check, where alas I found Scot and Pat (two other lost sheep with bad trail karma), and knew I was toast. We kept trying to find trail, but with aggressive cleaning crews all around, as well as security guards ever on the look-out for the casually tossed cupful of Anthrax, we suspected that any marks were long gone by now. As we aimlessly wandered in hopes of finding the trail, there appeared a runner with a back pack high-tailing it around the corner of one of the buildings in the WTC.

“Are YYYYYOOOOUUUUUU????,” We cried. No response.

Again, “ARRREEEE YOUUUUUUUU????” Then he stopped dead in his tracks and turned. It was Crofty, who had gotten a 50-minute late start on the run (making him either the tortoise or the Mad Hatter, “I’m late, I’m late….”), and thus proving to just what kind of horrible trouble we were in. After another 20 or so minutes of searching, we finally found the trail after crossing back over the West Side Highway and it was a pretty short run to the On-In. When I got there, I inquired about whether we should send out the troops for DBB, but apparently even he made to Brooklyn and back to the On-In before us (Did this snail turn into Escar-GO??). While I was glad to be safely back in the company of my fellow hashers. (Hooray!! Back with the herd!!), co-on-sec Heather and I still couldn’t help overhearing comments which included: "I have nothing to say about this trail." "I got fucking lost." "What trail?" and "This is the best run of the year, right?" (Devo).

Arriving just in time for Down-Downs, they were given out to Devo as hare (The Hare); visitor Dave from Wisconsin; the Nanny on her return to NYC; best-dressed awards to Pat and Peter the Brit; Mike “Slo2Blo” Andonov, for his usual naivety; Rick, for wanting to “GET DEVO” as badly as he did and failing; as well as “newcomer” Marta, for taking nearly two years to join the NYC Hash since moving here from and hashing in Atlanta. Finally, Devo won the Asshole of the Week award for infractions that included not thinking his “live hare” concept through enough to have a co-hare to at least handle the bags; his renegade ways in promoting his theme-run without committee approval; as well as blatantly stealing the Wall Street Rat Race concept from our friends(?) at the New York Road Runners Club. (Bad, hare. Bad, bad, evil hare. Or maybe we should just call him the Black Sheep of the “family.”)

We were fed burgers and fries, but getting food jeopardized our ability to get any beer, as our bartender kept trying to help out in the kitchen. Then, Jill added to the confusion when she asked him what kind of wine was he pouring? While several of us placed bets on the anticipated answer being “We don’t,” “We serve Gallo, Gallo or Gallo,” or “We serve Red or White,” The bartender got us all by answering “I don’t know. I don’t work here.” We all drank heartily to his response.

It later became apparent that Guiliani had lost his grip on the city (or has he just lost his grip altogether??) when a young child tried to sell us candy in the bar at 9:30 at night. (What happened to child labor laws and city curfews??) Then DBB & Lesley tried to teach this first-generation German-American the language of my ancestors (a real British comedy team, they are), while Rudy, Steve and Junior cornered the good beer (three more little pigs...). Finally, my Brooklyn neighbor convinced me to leave an On-In fashionably EARLY for a change, and headed out with at least fifteen hashers left in the bar.