Run # 787 June 11, 2001

Hare:   Basket

Scribe:  Dr Who

Where:   Smithfield/Box Seats

The Weather:  Cloudy, a few sprinkles, thunder, 70's

Present: Bondo, Dr. W.H.O., Baxter, WIPOS (Late). Virgin: Just Tom

Commemorating: June 11: 1184 BC - Greeks sack Troy; 1770 - Capt Cook runs aground on Great Barrier Reef; 1957 - 12 die in Train crash in Vroman, Colorado; 1960 - House collapses on wedding party, killing 30 in Pakistan; 1979 - John Wayne dies of cancer; 2001 - Timothy McVeigh is executed. Coincidence? I think not!

At 6:15, in the parking lot at Box Seats, a moment of silence was held. This was mainly because no one except Dr. WHO was there. But soon Bondo Jovi arrived, and a confused young runner took time out from some Swedish contortion exercises to introduce himself. Just Tom had discovered the RIH3 website, and, being so impressed by the quality of the write-ups by Dr. WHO, had decided to give the thing a try. Bondo announced that he had decided to usurp the hare, and was planning a bicycle hash. He had therefore left the GM and his partner at home, a crime if ever your scribe has seen one. Basket arrived, and like two elderly matrons fighting over the last size 40 corset at K-Mart, the two senior statesmen of the hash snipped at each other, giving the virgin a surprisingly accurate view of what he could expect from the RIH3. The low numbers were attributed to the rumor that Async and Oozing, thinking this was still Shine On's run, had headed to "Pickle Park", the rest stop on 146 south of Rt 16 in Uxbridge. There they had met some aging fairies from Holliston. We may never see them again.

The trail began across the Farnum Pike, heading northeast, away from Stillwater Reservoir (Stump Pond). Soon into the woods fresh from the recent downpours, the mostly washed away blue and white flour shamrocks were seen only occasionally. The Hare clearly needs to get a new theme. A series of dirt/trail bike paths and old dirt roads were encountered. Dr. WHO charitably chose the wrong trail at every check, allowing the virgin to feel that he was some kind of hot-shot hasher. Despite instructions that "On-on" should be shouted when on trail, Just Tom decided that he liked to yell "Mark" at each sign of flour, undoubtedly because he was silently reciting the second Gospel as he ran. Bondo, riding/carrying his bike, was harassed by Baxter, and mired in mud so much that when he encountered a road, short-cut the trail entirely. He did however make it to the beer stop, second week in a row! The hare had his hands full shepherding the two runners, who would not have been at all out of place in the Special Olympics.

Curving East, uphill, a "Confidence course" was encountered. DR. WHO attempted to break the swinging log, Just Tom got all tangled in the "Spider's Web" and Basket is still trying to figure out what the three wires that start on trees, come together in the middle, and are attached to trees at the other end, was for. Bondo came by after the rest had gone on, and tried to ride his bicycle on the tightrope. He fell, suffering a groin injury which immeasurably improved his singing voice for the night. Moderate areas of shiggy were encountered, mostly churned up mud on the bike trails. Not a briar was seen though. Turning south, the beer check was found under the Rt 116 bridge across the Woonasquatucket River.

The hare marked an arrow indicating the need to cross the river, so Dr. WHO pointed out that tradition demands that the virgin try all river crossings first, and that baptism is an important part of hashing. With Presbyterian skepticism, Just Tom refused to bite, so the hare gave up and produced the beer. Bondo arrived, and under the bridge with gothic-like arches and cathedral-like acoustics, several hymns were sung including "The Church's One Foundation" (although Basket changed the words to something about a religious meeting of the Doggies). The virgin drank Shine On's soda, and resumed his Swedish exercises, marveling at the quality of the singers, as well as the refined nature of the lyrics.

On back to the northwest, the trail had more mud. At one point, a small stream crossed the trail. Dr WHO, thinking to clean some of the mud off his shoes, went right in, only to find quicksand. Sinking to his knees, it looked as if it was all over for the handsome young hasher. Basket's evil laughter at the Dr's predicament quickly turned to awe as he extricated himself with almost miraculous grace. Soon the virgin performed an exact repeat of the Dr's mud treatment, and the howls of derision could be heard in the distance again and again. The noise provided sufficient guidance for Bondo to rejoin the group for the down-down ceremony in a parking lot just south of Box Seats.

In the circle, the run received marks reflecting the religious tone of the evening, with unusual charity and humility. Bondo repeatedly turned the other cheek. Dr. WHO would have given the run a perfect 10 if no one had shown up at all. The virgin declared it the best and the worst run of all. The hare attempted to claim run of the year, but was graciously allowed the best run of the evening of June 11, by the trio of sufferers: with a score of +0.69. Next, virgin in the circle: He got his own name wrong, liked heifers, and thought that the square root of 69 was 9! We have not seen such a promising hasher in years. He then performed a creditable rap version of this write-up, from which your scribe has freely stolen. Hashit was given to Oozing, primarily because he was not there to defend himself, and because of his misbehaviour with the legendary "Thong of Tiverton" the week before.

Back at the cars, WIPOS was found practicing tantric Yoga with his walking stick. He had arrived late: obviously a good idea in general with this group. The on-on-on could have been at Box Seats, but the hare, sensing an opportunity to profit, moved the group to Mowry Park, up the road a bit, where he served left over Dorito chips, prepackaged potato salad, and a dead seagull, disguised to appear as roast turkey. The thunder and lightning served to accentuate the oddity of the meal, and to top it all off, the hare was hawking some inappropriate T-shirts commemorating the death by lethal injection of Timothy McVeigh. A strange, but ultimately good time was had by all, and the wankers who missed it should be green with envy.


On-on

The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.