New Amsterdam Summer Sunday H3 Run #12, September 14, 1997
Hare: Curtis Fong
Start: Borough Hall, Brooklyn. On On: Waterfront Tavern, Atlantic Ave. Scribe: Little John Glanville
A modest crowd of about 15 hashers, mostly regulars, had already assembled at the start point by the time I arrived with Ariane and Petra. With typical European eccentricity, we’d managed to take three trains to get from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn before finding that we could have got there more easily, and on time, with one. European Monetary Union? We can’t even agree on that train to catch!
Curtis explained the trail, including a strange new marking of ‘B5’ which was to mean a backcheck going back five marks. I’m always wary of hares who introduce new rules, especially when, like Curtis, they go on to suggest that they’ve been setting the run since Friday evening. We almost believed him.
Off we went, fifteen energy-packed athletes, a perfect picture of youth and enthusiasm. That lasted all of twenty yards, by which time we’d failed to find the first mark, and slouched into a more apathetic mode for a few minutes while we sent Roy off to look for the trail. It was soon enough found, and the pack raced off once more, only to blindly blunder into a false trail. This was the start of a partial fragmentation, which split us up until a particularly difficult check in the park where people gathered at the top of the hill for a few moments before disappearing once again in entirely different directions.
By the time I returned to the check, everyone had gone, but fortunately Alice was still in view, so I knew that the front runners could be no more than a mile or two ahead. Plodding on, I struggled to follow Snakebite’s blue chalk marks (whoever invented low visibility blue chalk wasn’t a hasher) and eventually reached the beer stop by a Korean War memorial.
The beer was certainly welcome, and the return of the once-regular NASS hash cookies made the occasion complete. Complete, that is, except for the inseparable ChrisAndPetra, who had disappeared some time ago, and there was much speculation as to where they might be. On the other hand, there was no speculation whatsoever about what they were doing, since it was clear to us all that they must be having sex somewhere.
The keener runners were soon getting bored waiting, and Steve went off to look for the trail on his own, leaving others to run around in small circles so as to be able to hash without venturing too far from the beer bucket and cookie jar. Having given Steve enough time to find the next false trail, we headed off in the ominous direction of the Brooklyn Bridge, and sure enough we were soon pounding up to the first of its towers. At this point we were delighted to see Steve running back, having found the ‘B5’ check on the other side of the bridge, and so avoided having to go over the bridge ourselves for another tiresome false trail opportunity.
After that, the trail looped around for the inevitable scamper along the boardwalk, and then through the streets to the inaptly named Waterfront Tavern. This bar had just moved to new premises across the street from the old one, and I can only assume that it was once on the waterfront, and has moved inland by a series of small relocations over the years. At this rate, it will be approaching Kennedy Airport in about 300 years time.
Curtis had used all his skill and charm (?) to get a good deal with the bar, and had daringly broken with tradition by providing sandwiches in place of the almost inevitable pizza. In an attempt to get us drunk as quickly as possible, he bought pitchers of Brooklyner Weise, supplemented with Boddingtons to keep the Brits quiet.
ChrisAndPetra turned up eventually, with smiles on their faces. They must have got a down-down for this. Alice certainly got a down-down for not being last in, perhaps for the first time ever, and Curtis had two for being both a hare and a NASS virgin. Jerry had a down-down for wearing his vest the wrong way round, though quite why he should think that people would enjoy looking at his nipples is quite beyond me.
All too soon the beer and food were gone, and we had to stagger home. At this point Petra’s attempt to get Chris out of the bar for a romantic evening failed dismally because Chris was still sober enough to remember that he is an all-American male, and was thus duty bound to stay and watch baseball instead.
Another fine NASS run, and only one more this year – don’t miss the season’s flying finale on September 28!