Passport in hand once again, I set out last Saturday with Bavarian Bush for the distant Marshall, VA, for hash #640. Either Friday's PM rush hour was still in progress, or we were going to have a HUGE pack for this hash because there were a lot of cars going west at a slow rate. We literally inched our way west on Interstate 66 until, for no apparent reason, traffic just resumed its maniacal tempo, kind of like an MVH3 pack when someone actually solves a Wankers Aweigh check.

Despite the heavy traffic, we did not see any ON ON foot stickers until after we had made our second post-interstate turn out in the country and fell into a convoy behind Spread Sheets and Urine View. Confident that we could simply follow them to the start and would not have to actually think again until the return trip to DC, we put away our directions. Bless the hares for alerting us in their directions to the little yellow sign at our final turn, otherwise we would have missed it like Spread Sheets and Urine View.

The recovering Stained Sheetz made the final turn behind us, so he had to eat some dust as we bounced along the dirt road up to the Fresta Valley Christian School. Milk Money had set up shop and already had a big wad of cash in her tiny fist. I failed to notice that we had not supplied the pack with chalk, a slip that would haunt me later. I did have one extra piece of chalk in my pocket, which I passed along to Poop Deck, since I figured he would short cut and thus had more to offer.

Dual Air Bags was feeding food she had found on the ground to her son, Just Alec. Alright, she was feeding him apples from a nearby apple tree, following the example set by Cork Screwed, who included in the critique of his apple "You can hardly even taste the worm". DAB was also in the company of her dog Just Charlie, who, from all appearances, is a full-blooded Couch Potato.

Harddrive was again wielding his new hare tool, price tag still attached. You, too, can own a hare tool, available at The Container Store for $.99, plus tax. What has hashing come to? (To what has hashing come?)

Due to the aforementioned traffic mess, and the fact that religious advisor Hawaiian Puke was stuck in it, the hares did not leave until 10:15, and the pack did not FA and start walking until almost 10:30. This also afforded time for Spread Sheets and Urine View to find their way back. The hares had left instructions not to blow our whistles near the horses, and that there were several private property crossings, but "we have permissions from all the landowners." Unfortunately, that permission was not communicated to the landowners’ dogs, but more on that later.

We started walking in front of the school, and toward a playground, where we found our first check. There was considerable scrambling among the runners and polite debate among the walkers before the pack settled on straight ahead. I returned to the check to mark it, then waddled as fast as I could to catch up with the pack.

I finally saw the gang as I crested a hill and joined Cheap Slut across a big patch of wet weeds, which gave us the opportunity to compared memories of the soggy Army 10-Mile r*n a couple of weeks earlier. I whined about running the last four miles with only nine toenails, and he complained about finishing with two less nipples than he started with. Next year I must remember to loan him one of my running bras, because I've been running for twenty years and have yet to lose a nipple.

Someone must have left the gate open, because when we came to the highway we had to wait for a string of cars to pass before we could cross, and I fell further behind. The next check was not marked either, but further down the highway we saw a few runners disappear into the woods. Hands Solo, Just Sid, Just Laurie and I followed suit, and followed flour, at least for a little while. At some point during the trail Just Sid lost his compass. Now here's a guy who hasn't been hashing long enough to get a hash name but he's seen enough hashing that he knows to arm himself with a trail tool. Next he must work on keeping the trail tool for the duration of the trail. There's a hash name somewhere in this for him.

We finally had to admit that we hadn't seen flour for awhile and began to backtrack. We met back up with Lick It Off, Baby, Spread Sheets, and Do Me Next Week, who joined us in the search for the missed turn. LIO,B found it, and once again we were back on trail. There was not a soul in sight, but there was lots of flour, and then a check. We followed the direction with the most footprints, also known as "the shiggy direction", until we came out on a paved road marked only by flour and muddy shoe prints. By this time it was just Hands Solo and me jogging along, and who do we catch up with but the effing walkers, whose shoes are still dry. Then the hares and Milk Money ran us off the road as they blew by us to set up the water/beer stop.

Having refreshed ourselves at the water/beer stop, HS and I continued along trail and into someone's yard, which is where I was attacked by a dog. Good thing it was my prosthetic leg he tried to bite, 'cause otherwise he might have caught rabies from me.

The next check was marked only by the trampled brush around it, so we looped around a tree or two until we saw signs of where the herd had crossed a field. We saw flour on a tree at the far side of the field and continued into the woods behind the tree. Too bad the trail didn't go there, although that patch of woods contained enough thorns for all to share.

We finally went back to the aforementioned tree where we picked up trail in another direction, and a checkmark about forty feet beyond that. Unfrickingmarked. Hands Solo checked straight into the woods, I checked uphill into briar patch #47. I really thought I was onto something because I saw a pair of running gloves on the ground, and after about five blots of flour and thirty more cuts I hit another checkmark.

I started checking left as I called to HS, who came running as fast as the brambles would allow. Two pints of blood later he arrived and announced "That's not a check, that's a BT." Damned those hares! It's all Harddrive's fault.

We heard voices coming from the direction of the real check, and found Lick It Off, Baby, Spread Sheets, and Do Me Next Week trying to solve the same check. Having eliminated two directions and maiming ourselves in the process, we all opted for the only remaining direction which was, wouldn't you know it, true trail. The next section of trail was really the best, nothing but trees and flour as far as we could see.

A couple of checks later we came upon a fork in the road. HS checked straight, LIO,B checked right, and the rest of us stayed put. We heard a whistle, but could not determine whose it was, so we continued to stay put. When neither scout returned, we opted, against our better judgment, for the least shiggy direction.

Civilization was just around the corner, along with a hares arrow. Eventually LIO,B reappeared, but HS was gone for good. At the next paved road, SS and LIO,B recognized the barn at Roto and Nightcrawler's farm, and we lost no time in our haste to reach the barn. DMNW had been collecting rocks along the trail and was about forty pounds heavier than she had been at the start, but that did not slow her down.

Near the barn we found flour, and soon ON IN to Roto and Nightcrawler's house, where the rest of the gang (minus Hands Solo) was finishing a meal of hot chili and cornbread. I loaded my plate and settled down for my reward.

I was still eating when Hawaiian Puke whistled circle to start. First, hares Roto Router, Harddrive, and Continental Drip were brought forward to drink for their trail and the traffic jam we had endured getting to it. When they had finished their down-down and I had finished chewing my current bite, I hurried over to the hares and blustered "Hands Solo is still out on trail!" Timing is everything, HS had just come into sight and earshot in yon meadow. Continental Drip replied "Is there anything else you want to be hysterical about?"

We had one virgin, Mike Drickey, who had cum with Mud Buns, and one visitor, Gator Bait, from San Diego H3.

Returners were Lick It Off, Baby, Screws Everybody, Sweet Cheeks, and Hawaiian Puke.

Anniversarians were Drop Box - 5; Holiday Ho - 35; Blazing Straddle - 69; See Dick Run - 100; Lick It Off, Baby - 145; Dual Air Bags - 225; Wankers Aweigh - 265; and Dr. Strangelove - 300.

We had two namings, Just Alec and Crayola Fucker. Just Alec is the son of Dual Air Bags, so we were under threat to name him something he could repeat in school without getting suspended. Cradle Bait, Male Bait, Bitty Bags, and Side Air Bag were suggested, but Little Big Man stuck (and was the only one permitted by his mom).

You know we had to improve on Crayola Fucker. Even so, his new name is questionable. Suggestions were Pork Chopper - The Other White Meat (quite a mouthful heh heh!), Joystick, Spread Eagle (I would have voted for this if I hadn’t been too busy eating to vote), Eyes Wide Shut, and Auto Rotate On This. But the winner, and I'm spelling this right, was Wappada Wappada Wappada. Don't ask.

Since I had better things to do (like finish the trail) Wankers had collected violations, and here's what I can make out from his handwriting: John Handcock - registering for the m*rathon but auttxn it; Sweet Cheeks and Little Guinea - no beer on dog (you had to be there); Milk Money - autohashing; Hot Legs - gave hash name to her cat; Holiday Ho - abandoning us to move to Germany; Dual Air Bags - exposing her child to hashers; Just Sid - lost compass; Buddha - turned down by the mannequin; Mud Buns - hitting on the horses; Vominatrix - sex on trail with tree (last mrlxt); Stained Sheetz - growing new leg; Late Cummer - something or other I blame on Perk-A-Set.

There was a special rubber-chicken-breaking-in down-down awarded to the scribes because everybody likes us so much and we are doing such an excellent job with the Trash. Since P-A-S was at home recovering from some tropical disease and Big Bird Turd had delivered the trash for her, he was requested to also stand in for her down-down. I gently assisted him in his down-down by showing him how to grasp the chicken by the neck, then holding his ears as he drank.

The hashit was not present, but a plumbing tool was located in Roto's garage and awarded to Just Sid for the compass thing.

Whistle check, swing low, farewell for another week.

Gratuitous mention --> Dr. Strangelove.

Latecummer

____________________________________________________

Next Hash

Date: November 6, 1999

Hares: Stained Sheetz (who’d you expect?)

Directions: School at the corner of 24^th and N St. NW

From VA: cross Memorial Bridge, go left around Lincoln, go left on 23rd St (first left). Go left on N St to the end, park at school.

From MD: take Rock Creek Parkway to Pennsylvania. Go right on Penn, then left on 24th to the end.

Take New York to Mount Vernon Square, then up Connecticut to Scott Circle, then East on N Street to the end.

Do yourself a favor and look it up on a map!

For the latest MVH3 information, and links to all area hashes, visit Harddrive's web page: http://www.dchashing.org/mvh3

If you still don't have internet access, get updates on area hashes on the hotline: (202) PUDJAM0, take option 6 for MVH3.

Hash 644 – Nov 20^th – Foul Balls, Water Sport

Hash 645 – Nov 27th – Thanksgiving Leftover Hash

Hash 646 – Dec 4^th – Needa Hare!

The next Full mOOn will be Saturday, November 20. It’s Homecumming weekend!

Joint Masters - Jaret "Yes Dear" Seiberg & Dave "Wankers Aweigh" Bertagnoli

Religious Advisor - Rich "Hawaiian Puke" Walker

Scribe/Subscribe - Carolyn "Latecomer" Sutherland & Samone "Perk-A-Set" Johnson

On-Sec - Barbara "Milk Money" Bredehoft

Hash Cash - Craig "Pudknocker" Puz

Hare Raiser - Tom "Three Times A Lady" Jones

Haberdasher/co-haberdasher - Mike "Dr Jekyll" Boyle & Heidi "Cunning Runt" Gerken

____________________________________________________

____________________________________________________