Run # 796 August 6, 2001

Hare:   Async

Scribe:  Dr Who

Where:  Phelps Pond, Big River, West Greenwich

The Weather:  'ot enough to boil a monkey's bum, Bruce

Hounds:  (in reverse order of intelligence) Basket Boom Boom, Bondo Jovi, Oozing Syphilitic Dicktaphone, The Slasher Dr. W.H.O., WIPOS, PW, Tinker.

Virgin:  Just Susan

Management:   Ben, Jake, Baxter, Zoe

Commemorating: 56th anniversary of atomic bomb destruction of Hiroshima.

The usual crowd gathered promptly, minus the geographically limited Shine On (who is restricted by statute to areas of Rhode Island north of 41.5 degrees N Latitude) and Short Peck, who has a pathological fear of South County because the deer ticks might hide in his luxuriant hair. A virgin approached, despite having visited our web site. Just Susan had thought to get away with self-naming, and called herself "Too Slow". The pack was mightily confused by the sexual implications of this. She was however, treated to the RIH3's best behaviour throughout the evening (given our track record with virgins lately: no one comes back for seconds, several have reportedly forsworn running and drinking entirely, and a few have taken Holy Orders with the Little Sisters of the Poor).

After instructions from the hare prompting a Mexican Hare Dance from Basket and Bondo, the pack was off. Over a rise, they descended to the bank of Phelps Pond and followed the SE shore briefly, disrupting several groups of pilgrims who had come to these healing waters in celebration of Bolivian Independence Day. Dr. W.H.O. and Oozing led WIPOS, PW, Just Susan and the hounds along the trail, while Basket, Bondo and Tinker ambled along the New London Tpk to Division Rd where the trail emerged and crossed the road, turning west into some pitiful shiggy, which even the hounds did not deign to wallow in. Basket, attempting to miss the beer stop again this week, chose the false trails reliably. Given the site of his posterior in neon-green girlie running shorts, no one was anxious to follow him. This allowed Oozing and Dr. W.H.O. to share the lead. WIPOS and PW followed casually, looking for poison ivy to test the newly reinforced seals on WIPOS's "Enviroarmor" (TM). Bondo was in short cutting mode. Most of these short cuts led to longer distances, as well as more exposure to shiggy. Just Susan was overheard to comment admiringly on the pack's athletic prowess.

Past a field of junked cars, crossing back northwards across Division Rd, the trail led through minimally open deer paths, again with sadly avoidable shiggy. It was gratifying to the pack to realize however that the hare, in order to place hash marks in the middle of several particularly toxic swamps, had had to run through the swamp (so easily bypassed by the pack) himself. The beer check was attained, Newcastle Brown Ale, in a field close to Route 95. Tinker had bribed the hare for inside information about the location of the beer check in order to shortcut and save his energy. Following Async's instructions, he had run through Nooseneck down to Breakheart Hill in Exeter, up Rt 102 to Cedar Swamp, swam across both Reynolds Pond and Lake Mishnock, and ran up Mud Bottom Brook to get to the check. Nevertheless, he arrived in time for the last beer, as well as the chance to join in a four part rendition of "There was a little bird..."   Just Susan stated that the almost ethereal beauty of the pack's harmonization sent chills down her spine. And who has heard the RIH3 sing the chorus: "A**hole, a**hole, a**hole, a-a**hole..." and not felt the same?

Back on trail, they ran east, following 95 through some of the feeblest nettles ever encountered by the group. The hare, feeling that this was insufficient, set several concealed lines of barbed wire, a "Malay Man-trap", trip wires with bent saplings and pungi sticks, and a "figure-4" Box snare. Apart from Baxter and PW, no one was fooled. Cleverly, the hash marks soon straddled a wire fence with nettles and bittersweet vines on both sides. Which side should be taken? Either side could lead to the true trail. But if the wrong side is picked, one might have to go back or even climb the fence. After long minutes of argument, azimuth checks, GPS readings and pondering, the group split up: four on each side of the fence. They regrouped in a clearing 10 yards east where the fence ended. It is exactly this brilliant and innovative approach to this type of obstacle that makes the RIH3 legendary. Finally trail led to some good swamp, then over a rise and on in to Phelps Pond where the Cape Verdean Fish Dance Festival was in full swing.

Basket and Baxter led the way for Bondo, Dr. W.H.O. and Oozing for a brief dip before the circle, sending hordes of frightened families running for their cars. The others gathered the beer at the cars, and returned to the pond, where the circle was held, at 2-4 feet depth, depending upon one's position on the arc of the circle. Several suspicious patches of unusually warm water were felt by all who were downstream of Basket. A rendition of "Singin' in the Rain" with liberal special effects was started while waiting for Tinker to arrive. He had again been advised of a short cut by the hare, and had gone via Tarbox to Andrews Hill and back through Moosehorn Corner. But again he made it, and the beer was broached. Incredibly, the hare still had left-over beer from a Christmas party back in the 1970's, and once the initial round of fresh Guiness and Newcastle was finished, the group was left with stale Cranberry Lambic and Winter(1978)Ale. Many of these same bottles had been refused by the same runners at the Snake Den Run (#776) in March, so they were almost like old friends.

In spite of the beer, the hare received charitable ratings from most, mainly to impress the virgin with the pack's forbearance. Overall: 6.9. The virgin gave the wrong name, was made to cum by some guy named Bob, and equally enjoys all sexual positions. She almost attempted to sing the tragic but ineffable "Seven Old Ladies Locked in a Lavatory", but she and the pack foundered sadly with five ladies to go. Oozing, noting the angry and disappointed bystanders in the pond, calmed the locals with an astounding imitation of Nusrat Fateh El-Khan imitating Amalia Rodriguez singing fado in a smoke-filled cafe in Lisbon. This along with a recitation of the first part of Book II of Camoens' "The Lusiads" by Bondo, had the crowd in tears of joy. The Hashit was presented by its current recipient PW. He had brought with it a giant eggbeater as a scepter wholly appropriate for the group. It had the unfortunate effect of making the hashit unusually desireable on this occasion: Bondo dreamed of whisking his wort, WIPOS thought it would make a wonderful protective device in thickets on trail, Dr. W.H.O. thought the proctological uses were too numerous to name, and Basket felt a glimmer of hope that with this device he might at last achieve sexual satisfaction of a sort. Oozing took notes for his current project: a paper on dysfunctional group activities in the middle-aged. It ended back with PW for no good reason.

The hare led the pack (minus Bondo and PW) to the on-on-on at a former sports bar, now "Tomaselli's Pizza" in Warwick, where the group's arrival prompted a rapid and panicked emptying of the dining room, as well as additional soundproofing of the glassed-in bar area by the management. [Note to RIH3 Members: Stop ordering appetizers!] The food was plentiful, but no pitchers and the overall cost per member would have bought each member a summer home in Pakistan. With indoor plumbing. Just Susan proclaimed how much she had enjoyed herself, thus indicating by past historical precedent that the RIH3 will never see her again. But she'll be able to live off the leftovers from her small pizza for almost as long as Async can keep old beer. At any rate, the group was remarkably mellow, and enjoyed themselves with a soporific grace that befits their aging members. So to speak.

On on

The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.