There is a fairly famous Bugs Bunny cartoon in which an ice-skating penguin--or as Bugs says, pen-GU-in--from the Ice Frolics, misses the tour bus to its next performance, and in trying to chase it down, falls into Bugs' rabbit hole. After initial reticence, Bugs agrees to take the unfortunate bird back to its home, which as we know for all penguins, is at the South Pole. After narrowly escaping a number of harrowing--for cartoon characters, at least--situations, Bugs and the penguin arrive at the South Pole (which is, of course, marked by an actual pole). As Bugs is leaving, satisfied with a good deed well done, the penguin begins to cry--ice cubes, because it's cold at the South Pole. When Bugs inquires as to the problem, the penguin produces a handbill advertising that he is the world's only Hoboken-born penguin. At this point, realizing that, in order to keep his promise, he must return with the penguin to New Jersey, Bugs utters those now famous words: "Ho-BO-ken. . . . .Ooooooooh, I'm dyyyyyyy-in'."
For the first Sunday hash of the season, many must've had the same reaction as the aforementioned "scwewy wabbit," with the start of the run at the PATH station in Hoboken. At the last Wednesday run, several nights earlier, Bo had expressed surprise that we would begin Sunday runs within days of ending the Wednesday season--as if we have enough going on in our lives to merit a week and a half between NYCH3 runs. Those who stayed away missed a very good day. As has become tradition, the hare for this run was Dave Hardy, our own final arbiter of all that is proper and seemly, if such adjectives can be used in reference to the hash. He was assisted, perhaps not so ably, by Steve Brett, whose responsibilities it seems, as he lives in the area, were to merely get out of bed and stroll around his neighborhood. Being uncertain as to how often the PATH trains run, I left home early, and arrived at the start at about 2:15. I immediately repaired to a bar across the street, and tried to nurse a pint for the hour before the run started. Meanwhile, about 20 or so hearty souls arrived at the start, awaiting instructions on their upcoming scenic tour of greater Hoboken. Dave arrived, finally, and gave his directions with characteristic succinctness: trail marked in flour, an arrow looks like an arrow, falses are marked and an F looks like an F, chicken-eagle split, off you go. We headed east towards the waterfront.
Not being familiar with the wilds of Hoboken, I am not certain where it was that we went. I merely did the best I could to follow Roy, Basil, Geoff and Dave Long. There were some wonderful vistas of Manhattan as we ran north, to the first check. We continued north along River Road and up some stairs to a campus of some sort--very well kept. The trail then appeared to head generally west, through some fairly nice neighborhoods and small parks where there were inevitable checks, and into some less desirable neighborhoods, and further west to some railroad tracks and the chicken-eagle split. I was later told that everyone took the eagle trail, which, in this case, was not a major detour. We went up a fairly steep embankment into the woods, to Paterson Plank Road, then about a quarter mile or so down Paterson Plank, and back down the embankment, to another check. As is often the case , we found some interesting indigenous life in the woods, enjoying their Sunday by engaging in various leisure pastimes involving alcohol, drugs, sex and the like, while being thoroughly baffled, albeit entertained, by the sight of a motley band of runners interrupting their reverie. By this time, I had lost sight of the front-runners, and was joined by Paul as we checked what appeared to be south along the railroad tracks. After a few hundred yards, we found one of Dave's F's, which did, indeed, look like an F. The neighborhood didn't look so great, and Paul suggested we go back towards the check where we luckily stumbled onto the trail. We continued through still another neighborhood, coming to the ultimate check a few minutes later, at still another small park. As we were about to begin circling, Geoff appeared from the right (a reference to the direction whence he came, not his politics), and set a pack mark. We were in the bar within minutes. I was of the impression that we were, by this time, a good distance from the starting point, but was informed that Dave and Steve had set the trail in something of a circle, such that we were only a few blocks from the train back to Manhattan. In addition, the front-runners were in at between 40-45 minutes, and just about everyone was in under an hour. A job well done by the hares, and extremely rare, based on the experience of our recent runs.
Cryan's Exchange turned out to be an excellent choice of on-in locale, as well. We had a very nice area in the back, and the hares had negotiated an open bar until 7pm. There was a fine choice of beers which, happily, included Guinness and Bass. As far as food goes, the spaghetti and meatballs, salad, and garlic bread were surprisingly good. About the only thing missing were the Joint Masters. An hour or so before I left my apartment, JM Croft had called, informing me that he would be absent. I'm not sure if JM Unger was in town or traveling on business, but she, also, was not in evidence. As such, for the second time since my aborted coup this summer, and properly penitent, I reluctantly assumed the mantle of leadership, and conducted the down-downs. First were the hares, followed by two virgins, Lucy and Michelle. It turns out that Lucy does not drink beer, so Squire Baldwin proved himself to be the hash's only gentleman, and chugged the beer while she guzzled water. Next came Sung Hee (standing by her man, as such) a civilian, though dressed in running clothes. As we were about to wrap up the down-downs, Laird came in, and was compelled to drink as last-in. Not wanting him to drink alone, I made up punishments for Basil and Dave Long for offenses committed in San Francisco the previous weekend. Then, someone noticed Laird's new shoes. He drank this one alone.
As the afternoon faded into early evening, most had staked a claim at one of the several tables in our area--they even had place settings. I preferred to remain mobile, watching the Giants, and going back to the bar every ten minutes (Basil and I were determined to exhaust the bar's supply of Guinness). Around 6pm a group of us headed back to the city. As we walked to the PATH station we were treated to the sight of the setting sun shining off the World Trade Center towers. Amazing sight. A fitting end to a fine day of hashing.