Theme: Hangover House House Harriers is finally over the hill
Hare(s): Straight in the Navy, Deaf Lesbian, Grinding Nemo
Start: Turkey Run Park on the George Washington Parkway
So we expected to encounter BEER, great views, BEER, rainbows, butterflies, BEER, farm animals, Tequila, beavers (or maybe it was a badger?), food, and oh, yeah, BEER all along the bucolic scenery of the majestic Turkey Run Park alongside the Potomac River. Instead, we got 81F, 69% humidity, a 5 mph breeze blowing from the SSE.
The directions to the run site were clear, perhaps disarmingly so. For instance, if coming up the GW Pkwy from the south, peering for the correct entrance while feeling like a salmon going up river surrounded by thousands going the same way in a hurry, trying not to get lured astray by the exit to Chain Bridge Rd., but now you knew the exit was coming up fast. Next was the single lane, bucolic appearing turnoff to the, OMG, CIA. Quietly, you try to forget the many reasons why your pulse rate dramatically increases, and there it is, the sign for the National Park Service. You pull in and, oooops, a friendly (but armed) uniformed person approaches as you stop in front of the chain link fence. Turns out you are now at the offices of the U.S. Park Police, 2nd District (who share the driveway with the National Park Service). You explain your predicament, hoping that the Listerine is able to camouflage the scent of your late night/early morning excesses of the Pre-Lube, and he says, “No. Sorry, you need to go to the next exit.” You thank him for his advice, wish him a good morning and join the rest of the salmon still heading north. Soon, the next exit. You heave a sigh of relief, start to turn into “Lot C2” as instructed, and are greeted by a sign that says “Learning to Ride.” You laugh quietly to yourself for a moment, enjoying the obvious intended sexual connotation, until quickly approached by another uniformed officer who is not anywhere close to polite who decisively waves you on. As you pass the second entrance to Lot C2, you look back and see a number of parents and small children with bicycles and the meaning of the sign becomes clear. Out of options, you continue on until you finally see a gaggle of people in brightly colored attire, and breathe a silent “Thank you” when you start to recognize people and realize that you have finally made it.
The above is a collective tale gathered from a number of different experiences, but the common result was the satisfaction of knowing you had found your way, and would not be lost again this day.
Little did we know what the Hares (Grinding Nemo, Straight in the Navy, and Deaf Lesbian) had in store for us. Consistent with the announced theme of “finally being over the hill”, we were destined to roam over the many hills through the near and far reaches of Turkey Run Park on the shores of the wide Potomac.
A traditional beginning, with Fister Roboto serving as RA pro tem. There were no virgins to be had, much to the disappointment of the pack but especially Wookin' Pa Nub. Promptly at 10:22:30, with the catchy lyrics of Hashy Pokey echoing in many empty minds, the pack rolled into action.
Greeted by a little shiggy, then a little asphalt (running on asphalt, in a park? what were the Hares thinking?), folks began to hit their stride, slow though it might be. The Penguins had been promised 4.5 mi., the Turkeys 6.5 mi., and the Eagles 8.2563 mi., but more about that later.
The Penguins had one of the shiggiest H4 Penguin trails to date, there was rock scrambling, lots of hills, two water crossings, massive tree root climbing, and a delightful (NOT!) little two log crossing over a scary ravine. The Penguins all managed to find their way, even though not a word about blue tape crossed the lips of the RA or the hares - just something about WHITE FLOUR!
The Eagles and Turkeys went off through lots of hills, with about an even mix of uphills and downhills, a beer/water check at roughly .63 mi., a jaunt through a working colonial farm (including squawking geese and barefoot folks in old time clothes, living as they did way back when), and a smack, shocking back to reality, by emerging onto a set of ball fields. Where there was a tit check. Let’s see. A tit check at a ball field? Sigmund, you have some new clients.
2.1 miles in, and still no Turkey/Eagle split. The poor Turkeys.
As we passed through Langley Park, the playground equipment in Clemyjontri Park (honest, you can’t make this stuff up) beckoned (ala Run #47) but it seemed somehow wrong to push kids out of the way and take over the slide so the pack continued on.
We exited onto the Georgetown Pike, then continued our sojourn on asphalt to a right on Turkey Run Road and once again into the welcome shade of shiggy strewn hills.
Finally, after a log crossing over a delightful little ravine at roughly 3.94 mi. into the run, the Turkeys split off to find their own way home. Then,for the Eagles, the coup de gras. A YBF. The pack immediately turned back down the hill to try to ascertain where we should go. The last check? The last intersection? All of those opportunities were pursued, but to no avail. The pack regrouped, collectively concluded that we had really been f***ed. Repeat. Repeat, yet again. Finally, recognizing that continued meandering was of no value, the larger group of the pack turned left (to the west on the appended map at the upper left corner) but five souls decided to adopt the H4 version of the Marine Corps recruiting message (“The Few. The Brave. The Stupid.”) and set off to the north, rationalizing that even a little stream will run downhill and will end up in the Potomac, and there must be a way for it to go over, along or under the GW Pkwy to get there. It turns out the highway engineers chose under, through a culvert roughly 4’ high and 4’ wide. Those intrepid souls, having successfully solved that intellectual dilemma, figured that if they kept the Pkwy on their right and the Potomac on their left, they would find their way home, and so they did. To the delight to those who had already finished, Wookin' Pa Nub, The Whore of Sarajevo, Dr. Cockulus (sp?), Bumspringa, and F*ing Squid skipped happily into the midst of the après.
As tales were told, it was reported that Whale’s Vagina was the only person to do the “correct” Eagle trail, a story received with virtually uniform skepticism.
Once the rest of the Eagle stragglers arrived, the Turkeys and Penguins long since in, the serious beer drinking and circle silliness began.
Some of the more notable violations were received by the following miscreants among the crowd:
Fister Roboto as RA for no mention of blue tape
Whale's Vagina for liking toes with his catsup and for his Hail Mary Asian chicken wing pass that landed smack dab in the middle of Fart's drink (which he then sent back)
Wookin' Pa Nub for eating said wing
The Eagles for getting lost on trail even when the Penguins managed to find their way to the end (for anyone who's interested, the actual trail that was supposed to be r*n is attached
French Toasted for his Three Stooges impression with a tree
Cock-A-Thong for kicking out marks on a back check
in the "only from the mouths of hashers" category:
Bumspringa, "F*ck, I got cockwebs in my face"
Cheese Jizz, "This trail is moister than my ex"
The fearless, feckless five (Nub, Sarajevo, Dr. Cockulus (sp?), Bumspringa, and F*ing Squid) for their shenanigans on trail, which included treating end circle to a chorus line kick to the tune of “Follow the Yellow Brick Road,” much to the displeasure of the guard dog, Just J****.
And then we ne’er-do-wells retreated to the Lost Dog Café, in nearby McLean, VA, for brunch and more tales of our heroic feats to be told.
See you next month at AGM!
Yours in the Hash,
Queen of the Jungle