Due to a major renovation to the educational facilities on Fort Belvoir, Cheney School is being expanded. The fields we so recently frolicked across are now a big fat mess of construction equipment, survey stakes, and mud. Normally, MVH3 would relish this sort of thing, except that the contractor enclosed this little patch of heaven-on-earth with chain-link fencing. Appropriately, I expressed my dissatisfaction by urinating through the fence. While I'm on this topic, do the rest of you bring urine bags that you conceal under your shorts? Or do you abstain from all liquid for 24 hours so that you won't have to pee? Just what the fuck is WRONG with you people?
A slew of first-timers attended Poop Deck's chalk talk, while those familiar with this particular area relished the prospect of a shiggy run. The hares made note of two styles of checks that meant the same thing-- they clearly differentiated the checks that were pre-laid from those laid live on trail. This ain't Memorex, folks, we only want it LIVE! If you want to prelay, there are plenty of hashes that will welcome you (or would welcome you, but they're generally too snotty to actually welcome you). Hares Rut Ro and Burnt Sox started out on time, Burnt Sox laying a nominal BT ten yards from the initial check, and then heading in Rut Ro's direction toward the schoolhouse.
The rest of us dodged cars in the parking lot driven by wankers-- so you know there were some close calls. Folks had to find out for themselves that there wasn't any more room for more cars in our petite venue (Hairy Buddha did wedge himself in though), and they ended up parking in the main lot just down the road. Poop Deck's intention was to get the hares to drink up front for Inadequate Parking, but nobody had any beer. But they got to drink later for this heinous offense against the hash.
Pretty soon we were dancing the Father Abraham boogie, and Pit Stop (the Hashit) even joined in. Thus, I declare a tradition born: the Hashit's primary function will now be to help invigorate the Father A, and if (s)he doesn't, Woe be unto the Hashit, may (s)he carry it another week, accompanied by much Wailing, and Gnashing of Teeth!
Frankly, I was surprised that Pit Stop didn't have the hashit strapped to Old Yeller's back, since it was HIS dick that earned her the hashit last week! Either Pit Stop is mellowing in her old age, or Nick is getting too much action on Friday night...
Eventually the pack fanned out around the school, and Blank Check hit true trail On Into the woods parallel to Beulah Rd. Seems he was following Rut Ro's scent like a bloodhound; anyway, he was sure running fast, as in R*CING, and drooling too. Along about this time, I could hear the hoarse mooing of Bullwinkle close behind me, towing Yes Dear for all he was worth. Hell, I could run 4 minute miles if I had that beast dragging me the whole way! Next thing I knew, there was Bullwinkle, wallowing in a muddy stream! Through the forest primeval we went, eventually emerging onto a lovely dirt road with mud ruts about every ten yards.
Some folks must have had a hard start this morning, because many hashers passed Head Master & me along this section of trail. Mud Buns related that she took a shortcut that turned out to be a longcut.' If you could avoid the puddles, the road was soft and quite passable, and you could keep dry. After the better part of a mile, we hit the check that made the idea of staying dry sort of a funny (or should that be mucky') joke. I suppose the best thing you can say about the bog check was that at least true trail was on the other side! We learned later that some of the newbies would not or could not venture through this morass, and thus they wandered about aimlessly for over an hour, totally lost. Why weren't they briefed on our trails?!? If you see stuff you don't like, run for it because you'll probably find trail.
The same sort of road was waiting for us on the other side, dirt and mud and rutted, and then it came out on a paved road that looked vaguely familiar-- like the part of North Post near Hayfield High that we've run in the past. Anyway, a short jog into the woods, and we reached the water check, otherwise known as the Court of Dreams-- if you build it, they will cum!' There was a nasty mattress and pillow near this water check (I had to hope this was a mere coincidence).
Mud Buns made a masterful shortcut out from the water stop. Hearing whistles off in the distance, she cut straight through the brush and found trail after about a minute. The thundering herd behind her cut across likewise, and then we were flying down a wooded path, with the only obstructions the occasional fallen tree. Came out onto Pole Rd, and promptly got hung up on a check in the vicinity of John McNaughton Little League field. McNaughton field is the site where Steamer whiffed mightily throughout the summer following sixth grade-- in fact, those of you who felt a gentle breeze in the area might be interested to know that that breeze was the remnant of my last at-bat (I won't tell you how many years ago). I showed my disdain for this field by urinating through the chain link fence, wreaking my vengeance for the second time this day...
Anyway, trail led down underneath Pole Rd, whereupon Your Humble Scribe followed Quick Drawers into the shiggy. [Note: if you ever find Quick Drawers on trail, he must be having a really bad day; find true trail and STAY ON IT.] Five minutes later, I heard calls of On On, but by then it was too late. I came out of the shiggy behind row houses, and followed this row to see where trail came out. It never did come out, and I sadly turned a corner to find myself on the wrong side of a large marsh. Hashers on the true side of this marsh were bemusedly searching for trail, until as I got halfway across the marsh, they took off for the sound of a whistle. I guess this was my longcut this day. Eventually I worked my way through briars, thistle, nettle, and Lord knows what else to the creek that separated me from true trail. A brief dip brought me to the other bank, and I hit trail almost immediately. We zigged around this area of townhouses and condos for a bit, and then we were On In.
The Circle
No Annies this fine day, hard to believe but true. Does anyone remember this happening before?
Virgins- included Laura Kearns, Kathleen Kearns, Karen Reid, Camel Jumper, and Kermit. Visitors were Ingrid Geyer and Straddle My Beam (though it sounded like Straddle My Beav'). Many of the first-timers were lost, lost, lost. They were sighted by Burnt Sox, who helped them find their loved ones:
Namings- No Shit, Einstein! was renamed because of his annoying (or amusing, depending on how you take it) propensity to tell returning checkers that they are NOT on trail. An apt naming, Mount Vernon!
The Hoosegow
The Violators were more numerous than their well-behaved counterparts this day:
- Inadequate Parking, No Chalk, Pre-Laying: The Hares
- Late Sign In: Boob, Hawaiian Puke, Yes Dear
- Wearing a R*ce Number at the Hash: Hairy Buddha
- Running Into a Fence: Byte Lightning
- Whining: Quick Drawers
- Mooning a Cop: Briar Buns
- Environmental: Wankers Aweigh, Steamer
The Hashit
Pit Stop was too busy helping to sweep up her sister and a few other unfortunate lambs, took her eyes off the hashit, and poof! it was suddenly missing. So she did a virtual down-down with a virtual hashit, and since nobody would even go NEAR the hashit when it reappeared, it shall remain in her capable hands (hopefully that's the only part it will come into contact with) for another week.
My Work Here Is Done