New York City H3 Writeup, October 17, 1999 - Run No. 796

Suddenly the Bronx is flavour of the month it seems, and not just because the Yankees are back in the World Series. By my reckoning this is the third hash up here in about a month, which in Bronx hash terms counts as a glut. Even more strangely, one of the few known Bronx natives on the hash, Timmy, has failed to put in an appearance at any of them. The common thread here is the apparent fondness of the three hares for this part of the world, and also, one suspects, a fondness for small packs and cheap bars, for which you can't really blame them. I must admit though that having schlepped to Staten Island at some ungodly hour to run a half marathon that morning, another 4-line schlep in the opposite direction to Woodlawn in the afternoon did not exactly appeal. However, having arranged to accompany Marie to the start, it felt a little antisocial to leave her to the mercy of the 4-train demons and hobgoblins or, God forbid, other hashers. Obviously this didn't bother Mike M. very much, since he failed to appear at the designated meeting place and probably decided to take a siesta after his morning run instead (lazy fuck).

Arriving on time at the start for the first time ever, we were greeted by a smallish looking group including some unfamiliar faces. Paul and Vince were engaged in conversation with a girl wearing a London hash T-shirt but who turned out to be a German from Stamford, by the name of Uta. Meanwhile I chatted with another newbie, Melissa (I think), who has seemingly hashed everywhere you'd want to hash and a few places you wouldn't too. I was fairly amused when she asked me whether there would be a "walking trail". Spotting my quizzical look, she explained to me that some hashes have an extra (presumably shorter) trail for people who don't run, to which my response was something like "ha! this is the New York hash, if you can't run a five-minute mile, then forget it". The Bronx mosquito mafia had apparently had a tip-off that we would be here, and unfortunately outnumbered the pack about three to one. Hash top tip of the week: apparently, mosquitoes can't operate in temperatures below 49 degrees, so to rid your apartment of them, fool them by buying a thermometer and fixing it at 45 degrees. But I digress. Some late arrivals at the start included the Byron-Brown clan; Alison to drive the hashmobile, Dave to run the trail, Daisy to jump all over everyone; and Devo, Idaho Sue and Mike B. who were fresh, if that is the right word, from their adventure challenge race that morning. Devo was caked in dirt, while Sue looked amazingly clean, which she attributed to having fallen in Long Island Sound during the race. Feeling too shagged from the race to run, they decided to do the trail on their bikes.

Meanwhile, we mere mortal pedestrian types jogged off in the general direction of the trail. For those that haven't partaken of its charms, Van Cortlandt park is great hashing territory. We were soon fighting our way through the undergrowth and enjoying the scenery of the woods. A trail in these parts invariably touches on the golf course and this was no exception; one extremely long false check took us along the cart path and past some bemused looking golfers. Hopefully all the shouting didn't cause too many slices and hooks off the tee. Annoyingly, the on-trail at this check was actually parallel to the false, but behind a ten-foot high wire fence. Remembering Slow To Blow's bloody arm after his attempts at scaling a similar fence, I decided to take the long way round. Soon after came the promised chicken-eagle split, and I was joined by Joyce and Joy on the chicken while Marie, impervious to her half marathon, took on the eagle. Obviously I haven't quite had a skinful of baseball yet, as I felt compelled to stop off on trail and watch some of an amateur game in progress, while the rest of the pack sped by in a blur. Finally the trail left the park and headed over to Broadway and the on-in.

We had visited The Station Tavern earlier in the summer, and it's a great venue in fair weather due to its enormous beer garden. Good job too, what with all those bikes to park. There had obviously been a lot of late arrivals, since the pack appeared to have roughly doubled since the start. The only downside here is the limited choice of beers, Bud or canned Guinness, but then I suppose we are spoiled these days in Manhattan with its gazilllions of beers to choose from. Life is simpler in the Bronx. Mike B. was quite perturbed to discover a lump of metal in his can of Guinness, and was just about to go and complain when Sue explained that this was in fact normal, and was the black dye container which gives Guinness its distinctive colour. As usual when in town and hashing, Viagra Vince was given the M.C.'s job, and was his usual shy and retiring self. A plethora of down-downs were dished out including a belated one for outgoing WROTYer Elaine, one for the spandex bike crew, and probably the most bizarre of all, one for Rick and Michele who gave us a demonstration of their new formation belly-rolling act. Of course, Rick has never been shy about revealing his body parts in public, but Michele on the other hand is normally quite modest about these things, so this was indeed quite a revelation. For their next trick, they will no doubt be trying the "synchronized condom sniff", which does not in fact involve revealing any body parts at all. Oh yeah, there was something else about Christine doing a down-down on her knees, I can't remember why apart from just Vince indulging his fantasies again.

A sudden downpour gave a good excuse to retire inside and annoy the locals. DBB was already in there, entranced by the Met game, and was joined by the rest of the hash baseball junkies, while the less antisocial/could care less about baseball crowd engaged in philosophical conversation about belly-rolling and whether Rudy would approve, and other interesting topics. There was no sign of the hash cash running out, or of the game ending, so this was probably just as well. Inning 15 came around long after I had abandoned plans for an early night, by which time even DBB had given up; fortunately, Robin Ventura decided that he, too, had had enough and sent a ball over the fence and the remaining few home drunk but (Michele apart) happy. Turn your sets off there, as Warner Wolf would say.

On out.