'If you pre-lay it, they will (still) come..."
It was a hale and hearty host of hashers that gathered in the frosty sunshine near Greenridge Baptist Church. This was cold and dry weather, so both hats and gloves were in evident abundance. Hareball was even sporting his trademark Cat In The Hat hat, while bouncing around with the worst case of hare high I've seen in quite some time. Slick Slit wasn't exactly helping him shake off the effects of his excitement, she just got him even more worked up! Pretty soon, they were bouncing around all over the parking lot, growing ever more agitated. Slick announced that '...we used 50 pounds of flour on this trail!' Gosh, and that was just during their pre-lay! I'd estimate seeing a total of five pounds on trail, which means whoever stole the beer cooler probably also stole the other 45 pounds of flour?!?
Lick It Off, Baby! solicited hashers for deposits on the upcoming sweatsuit order. The pack was unusually timely for such a remote start, but no one got lost finding us, and except for I-270 road construction there wasn't much of an excuse to be late. Still, the hares drank for not getting the directions to the scribe in time (future hares-- my phone and e-mail appears on the front of the trash every fucking week). Poop Deck administered the rubber chicken down down to Hareball, and they were off.
Hashers continued to pour in for the start, and we formed quite a large circle once the Father A got underway, led by Poop Deck. The hashit was not in attendance, so we shouted 'Byte's a ho!' in his absence.
We walked in the direction that we saw the hares leave, and there was residual snow from Thursday in areas the sun failed to reach. Where there wasn't snow, the grass was wet, so having dry shoes was definitely a good idea.
Past some really cool farm implements, and we arrived at the first check.
Why do hashers invariably exhaust the most difficult trails leading from a check first? It is to wonder! One contributing reason is that sometimes the hares use magic White House flour, the kind that only shows up if you use White House markings. This magic flour also confused the pack, which stumbled around for a solid five minutes before finding trail (you guessed it) in the easy, paved direction.
Frustrated but undaunted, the pack followed flour into brush, streams, and mud. Plenty of mud to be had this day; there was general cursing by the pack each time we encountered another open field. Oh, didn't I mention fields?
After negotiating a muddy-banked stream, the pack was into its first of many open fields. The first wasn't too bad, the earth being relatively firm. By the second field, everybody was toting an extra five pounds of mud on each shoe. After the third field, it was like wearing cement shoes! In between fields we got a break when trail led through really wet soggy mud, where the heavy stuff tended to slough off your feet and you actually came out with LESS mud than when you got into it. The key here, newbies, is to flit like a waterbug-- stay on top of the mud, water (or sewage), and sprint so fast that you never break the surface. Just watch the Scribe on trail some time, and if you're lucky (or rich & generous) I'll give you a demonstration. Roto Router and Hard Drive witnessed me use this advanced technique down at Ft Eustis a couple of weeks ago. Be forewarned, this method is not for the faint of heart!
One of the newbies got around to bitching about the directions on trail. I won't name names (hell, I'm no good with names any more-- we've got hashers coming up on their 15th anniversary, and I can't remember ever SEEING them before), but let's just clear something up once and for all: if you FOUND the start, the directions couldn't have been all that bad. It's considered bad hashiquette to bitch about something that doesn't matter any more. Instead, bitch about something else you can't control, like the trail! Anyway, this harriette indicated that when she came off I-270, 'Father Hurley went the other way.' Who is this Father Hurley, and is he a real father, or is that his hash name? Could he be any relation to Father Abraham??? Why did he 'go the other way?' These questions gave me plenty to think about this day.
Hard Drive and I were minding our own business, when (insert scream here) S'not, a late sign-in, caught up with us. He was dressed in an outrageous red running suit because he didn't want to be mistaken for a deer!
We crossed uncounted fields this day, some with the remnants of beans, of corn, and of potatoes. We passed down a hillside toward an orchard, while the owner approached in his pickup truck. Imagine my surprise when he DIDN'T emerge with a shotgun! Based on our recent luck, that is. Up through his orchard led the trail, and at the top of a hill the pack got a nice vista of the FRBs. The FRBs were in the middle of being frustrated by a check at the bottom of this hill, wandering about aimlessly in search of trail. Trail led up toward a farmhouse and a barn, and upon closer inspection, a bonfire. Yes, we were On In!
The Circle
Turns out the hares got done so early, they were able to scope out the pack from this Eagle's Nest, as the rest of us slogged through the surrounding fields. I am sure they enjoyed themselves, since they had on hand a keg of Blue Ridge Amber Lager (a fine ale, worthy of an encore appearance by any hares wishing to make the effort); not to mention an ample container of mulled wine! The pack hungrily devoured a very large orange container of beef stew, rolls, and chips. This was an MVH3 On In at its finest. The only rain to fall on the hares' parade was the loss of our new cooler, together with about 3 cases of beer check beer, and the remaining 45 pounds of trail flour. It just goes to show that you can't win 'em all...
Bullwinkle and Scoop's (unnamed) canine went at it pretty good, while Beezer innocently watched the fur fly. I suggest we either: 1) start giving these dogs beer to mellow them out; or 2) start organizing bets on the action. After things settled down, we started the circle with:
The Hares: Slick, Hareball
Anniversaries: Missing Link (375), Bavarian Bush (185), Steamer (85), S'Not (75), Wide Open (45), and Karen Reid (5).
Virgins: Brian West (brought by Hawaiian Puke)
Visitors: Terry Robinson and Grave Robber
Returners: Layover, Mike Kearney, Flying Burrito, S'Not
Namings: Mike 'Drinks on Me, Bud' Kearney, Owner of the Old Brogue, and Karen 'Scoop' Reid, who works for NAVSEA's Newspaper and whose dog crapped on trail more than once
Violations:
Late Sign in: S'Not
Syntax Error: the hares
Letting "I Want It Now" apply her On-On sticker upside down to say 'No-No' Because She Doesn't Run: Dr Strangelove
Talking With Her Mouth Full: Rutro
Announcements: The deadline for sweats is the day that you are reading this. Get your orders in!!! So say the habs...