NYCH3: Sunday, October 23, 2005
Start: Lexington and 77th
On-In: 1020 Bar
Hares: The Hermiller Bros.
Guest Scribe: Wet Connection
Ah, fall hashing in New York City. The thought of it conjures up images of crisp air, brilliant foliage, daylight trails and warm, cozy on-ins where the sweet smell of sweat from exercise and beer imbibed the night before combine to make you just want to hug your nearest drinking buddy and say, Cant you just feel the love?
I certainly could. And with the thought of the summer hordes having disappeared for good (or so we hoped), temperatures that leave you without that urgent desire to get on a dry pair of undies at the on-in, and best of all — Chad and Drew (aka Chip n Dale) at the helm — there was even the promise of hot bodies as hares, and a duo that at least seem capable of not setting too long or screwed up a trail.
With a start on the East Side, Chad sent us off for a trail which promised lots of shiggy and was to be about 5 miles of fun. Off we went and headed west and south and west again towards Central Park. From there things got interesting and as promised, shiggy abounded in ways that were rather impressive, given the amount of roadways and paved walkways in the park. There was a lot of off-road r*nning, the usual dead stop at the fountain thats NOT Bethesda fountain, but is just west of it (Ill find out what it is someday), then up through the rambles, onto the bridal path and out along some more dirt (not to mention lots and lots of horse poop!) to the north part of the Museum of Natural History. It was here where we got buggered up.
It started out that we were the usual pack, where some FRBs take the lead and look for trail. Then after a while, as bit of chill set in, we all seemed to get in the act. YankIT to Booty Call, Deanna to Master Card, Bruce, Heather, Hilary, Mary and on and on, no one seemed to pick up on the three marks that were right after another straight north on CPW. When we finally picked up trail, hopping up over the stone wall back into the park, and then r*nning up a hill to a clearing, FMIG came around the bend and whacked someone ahead of me in a big ball of sweat, and thats when we knew things were getting serious. Apparently too serious for FMIG.
As the trail went into the north part of Central Park, off we went through under a bridge and along a creek. It was then that I came upon the scene of woe, which included a rather wounded-looking FMIG, surrounded by hashers helping him hobble forward. It seems on one of the last of his training r*ns for the NYC Marathon, he tripped over a branch (or bad karma) and took a tumble that could be heard by hashers from miles around. It was a pretty quick shot for the rest of us to the on-in, but FMIG arrived with assistance from Kyle and others, hopefully by cab. We slapped on heaps of ice, did the RICE-thing, and then someone passed him some heavy sedatives and a beer to wash it down with and the normal on-in activities followed.
During down-downs, the hares were called up in their usual manner, followed by not 1, not 2, not 3, not 4, but FIVE female virgins. Will any of them every return? Well see. From the quality of their down-down ability, Id bet not, but thats what happens when we relentlessly promote ourselves over the radar in pubs like Time Out (oops, old fart syndrome seems to have just slipped out for a moment).
Other notable down-downs, Loretta and Tim, who were spotted making out on trail, a hair of the dog down-down to Drew for being too hung-over to set trail, and of course FMIG as AOTW (I believe) for his ultimate smash-down award and quite possibly screwing himself up enough to have to take a pass on this years Marathon. I believe there was a new shoes award (but forgot who it went to) and a final goodbye, or at least a so-long for a stint, went to Booty Call, a hasher who weve all grown endeared to over his past year or so of hashing. From Asshole of the Year to a fond farewell to a guy whos always ready to assist with a pre-lube or an on-in, BCs come a long way, baby.
Our on-in, 1020 Bar, got high marks in my book. The bartender was not only a sweetheart, but great at his job, deftly handling us 40 or so hashers single-handedly with nary a grunt or groan.
FMIG finally pulled it together to head home, or to the hospital with Ken, who would then also walk his dog (talk about real heros), then a few of us West Siders headed off before things got too ugly (although the potential was most definitely there for late night shenanigans.)
The deal lasted for what seemed like forever, and if there was anything to complain about, it had to be the gargantuan pizza slices as if thats something to complain about. Good job, hash hotties. On out. WC