The 30 Days of Biking Challenge

The Trek 1000 and our pond in the early morning hours on a quick ride before work.

     It is now May and this post would have been best posted near the beginning of the previous month, but it wasn't. A part of me wishes that I could be better about posting here and updating as often as I would like, but the other part of me is just thankful to get through one day at a time during this busy, busy part of the year.  I also know that the audience for this blog is super small, so not so many folks are checking here, so I really have nothing to worry about, but still I like to post and wish things were slightly different, but it is Spring and I'm a teacher and a coach, so I leave work only for these short bits of time that many would call dinner and a short nap. I'm also thankful to have run across this little challenge and glad I attempted it and made it into the saddle for even the shortest of rides during each day of this past month. In Grant Petersen's book, Just Ride, he has a little part of it titled something along the lines of there being no such thing as too little of an amount of time for a ride or no such thing as too short of a ride to be worth it and goes onto to say if all you get to do is ride five minutes each day, then that is enough. I value this kind of thinking. It seems pretty rational and very realistic, but also highly hopeful.

  

         I cannot physically or mentally name ten complete items that I find more joy in than getting on a bike and riding it. I'm sure if you follow this blog or my Instagram account you know this already. You may even think you know it too much and wish I would branch out. I also cannot fully say why being on a bike brings me so much joy. I know that may seem a little odd, like it should be a very easy answer, but just think about something that brings you joy. Is it just a simple answer of what exactly about that item or action brings you joy or does it get a little murky when you try to zero in on a single answer? If you are the type of person that is great at getting to the root of things, great. I'm not that type of person. If something brings me to some sort of emotional ending, then it's usually a heterogeneous mixture of items and I cannot plainly see the separation of where one part of the joy blends into the next or the overall joy. I hope everything you love or find joy in is like that for you.

        And being on a bike is that for me. No, it's not the thing in my life that brings me the most joy and it's not something that hasn't brought anger, or frustration, or disappointment to me. But if you can think back to when you first learned to ride, the joy that it brought you, the smile on your face, the satisfaction, the wind in your face, the joy of powering your whole body into motion, and the freedom that comes from movement then you can remember that joy and the simple wonders of it. Now think about how you felt when you got together with a few friends for a ride from one place of play to the next and all the places in the middle. Remember those feelings. Do you miss them? Well...there is some really good news. You can still do that. It's not just for kids. You, yeah you. Yes, you too. It doesn't matter if you are 8 or 88, you can jump, climb, load, crawl, etc. onto a bike and ride around the block or down your driveway and still have those same feelings. It can be any bike. It doesn't have to cost you three arms and your first born and it doesn't have to have shocks or be aerodynamic. It can be old and rusty or right off the Wal-Mart shelf. And then add a few friends who are also in the market for this type of action and you still get the same feelings or at least as physically close as you can hope.

      You may have to leave those friends who need the "grind" of a long ride where you don't talk during the ride and sit in sweaty spandex afterwards talking of cadence, pedal rotations, rpm's, racing weight, racing wear, aerodynamics, etc. while leaning on a car or truck in a parking lot in a small state of disappointment because you're just not riding how you think you should be and how the pros do. They'll be sure to ruin the moment. Now you should still race your friends to the next power pole or home. It was fun when you were a kid  and its still fun now. And you should still take your hands off the handlebars and ride with them held in the air down a hill. It feels the same as it did when you were a kid and it is just as exhilarating. If a fellow adult yells at you from a car or shakes their head from their yard, or tells you need to get serious, ride as fast as possible away from them. Those serious things are waiting for you as soon as you step off, or you are like me and ride most of the time with a little one behind you, the serious things are behind you. And as Ernest Hemingway is credited with saying that when you stop doing things for fun, you might as well be dead. I completely agree.



      And this brings us to this post. I know this challenge is over, but I still wanted to put something out about it. 30 Days of Biking is the brain child of Patrick Stephenson. He found himself where most unmarried guys find themselves soon after college and that was gaining weight, bored, wasting time on video games and caught up in the cycle of not knowing how to fill those few hours between work and being back at work again. He had a friend around that time that biked and shared the joys of biking with him and this shared joy got Patrick off the couch and into the saddle and when he heard another friend was doing a 30 day yoga challenge decided to see if he could ride his bike for same 30 day period and thus the, 30 Days of Biking, was begun with the hash tag, #30daysofbiking. His enthusiasm caught on quickly and the challenge spread throughout the country and then into the world at large pretty quickly. The first year, 2010, there were only a few and now in 2015, there are almost 10K cyclists. The two friends, Patrick S. and Zach Schaap, decided to make all this passion and enthusiasm count for more than just a mere hash tag and so they teamed up with, Free Bikes 4 Kidz, and several other sponsors who told them they would donate one bike to a kid without one for every 30 pledges to ride each day in April. This year almost 300 bikes were given away. Not too shabby since just a few years ago Patrick Stephenson was stuck on a couch playing, "Call of Duty".


      I saw this little challenge last year, but wasn't really sure what it was and it seemed a little like a scam, so I never looked into it much, but this year, I looked it up and did a little research and found out quickly that it was all on the up and up and that if I would just pledge to ride my bike each day in April, I could help donate a bike to a kid who didn't have one. What really pulled me in besides the bike donation item was this whole idea of just having to ride for a small amount of time each day. There were no mileage requirements, hour requirements, finding sponsors, etc. It was just pledge to ride and then carve out a few minutes each day and ride. That was it. And I was in.


      I pledged sometime late March and by the end of April, I had ridden a few miles short of a 150. Yes, I got in some good, longish (in my standards) rides by myself and with FH, but there were also many rides where I only had time for a super quick ride down our driveway and back. But I never felt like I was really slacking because all you were required to do was just get on your bike and ride for a little while. I will admit that I did not ride every day of April. There were five or six days were it was really rainy, stormy, or just one of those days where I had to leave home a little after 6 am and didn't get home till almost 11 pm and there just wasn't a single free second, but I did make up for those times by doubling and sometimes tripling up on other days.  The main idea was to just be able to ride for a little while each day and I did and it was always worth it no matter how short the ride was. 

     I will look forward to this challenge next April and may try to do this in other months this year as well. I really liked looking forward to the chance of getting to ride each day. It made even the busiest or hardest days seem like there was a little extra light in the day. I think all people should do this sort of thing; install something small in each day that they look forward to no matter how small it may be. You may not always get to do it, but when you do, it makes it so much better. Getting to start my day on my bike or take a quick ride before I got to read to and put FH to bed was a bright spot in each day.

    And when I think about hobbies, that is how I think they should be thought of and pursued. I know this has a slight tinge of sadness to yet, but it is wholly realistic. Yes, it'd be great and ideal if I could load up my bike and head off into the horizon and that is where I think most people leave their thinking at. It is where my thinking stayed for such a long, long time until very recently.They just sit and wish for those days, but those days don't exist. I think we often look at hobbies or those who live life solely by them and are lifted up as idols as the ones who are really out there and "living", but we forget to think about our commonplace lives and remember that, that too is living. If I were touring the world on a bike, think of all of my life that I would be missing, even the parts that seem to be pure drudgery. I think we are too quick to see what others are "getting" to do and label that as living while forgetting that we too are getting to live our lives too; that if I were in Patagonia on a bike then think about all of my current life of Mel, FH, teaching, coaching, life lessons, relationships that I would be completely missing. I would hate that. I wouldn't want that.

Happy reading and happy riding,

DAVID



A Very Happy Birthday Wish to My Dear Boy FH

*This was supposed to be posted yesterday. I'm not sure what exactly happened. I'm going to chalk it up to user error like most things in my life that go wrong. My sentiments are the same though and I still wanted to post.

Our first day back at home as a little family sitting on our porch swing. A place we would spend so much time together in the following years.

 

 

       Your birthday was yesterday. The following was supposed to be posted yesterday, but alas it wasn't. I will tell you that as we loaded the cars up to heads towards your party on Saturday, I glanced up on one of the many trips from the table to the car and saw the picture above the china cabinet of you at 18 months holding onto our hands and teared up some. I know. I know. Pull it together. Be a man and all that. But that is all a lame definition of a man. David in the Bible wept and he was a warrior. I cried a little as I woke you up and dressed you for the party and tried to take in every second as we rode in that old, crappy truck to meet your Aunt Amy, Jackson, and your Nana to ride to the party. I kept looking over as you talked about all of your things and as we talked about your coming party. There you were sitting in your seat talking to me and asking me questions; just a couple of guys talking in the front seat of a truck Except we weren't just a couple of guys talking. I was your father and you were my son. I am the father to a three your boy. You had already lived three full years of your life. And all of it made me think about all that those three years had contained and made me think about when your sweet mom was pregnant with you and when you came to us. I am pretty sure that I will feel the same when someday we are driving down the road in some other old, crappy car or truck and you are a young man and I am much older. I will still be your father and you will still be my little boy, but you will be grown and I will wonder where the time went. 

 

Pancakes and chocolate milk: the breakfast of the happiest of champions.

 

 

         And so, I'm not exactly sure what to say to you, my dear little boy. Three full years ago, I stood in a room holding onto your dear and brave mother's warm hand waiting for you to arrive. We had been in that room for hours. I was so very excited and yet, I was so very scared. I was not ready for you. I knew nothing about being a father and didn't know if I had what it took. I was so very nervous because I love your mother so very much and was not sure my heart had room to love someone else the way I love her. I was not sure if I could it all right. and then you arrived at 10:06 am and they handed you to me after I'd cut the umbilical cord and I looked at you and tried to see who you would be and wondered what I'd be and who I'd be in light of you. I will never forget those moments. I still feel as if those moments are still happening. 

In the co-pilot seat.

    And I remember those first few days and what it felt like to put that seat into the car and then take you out of your mother's hands and place you into the seat of the Subaru and then help your mother in and then go sit in the driver's seat thinking that we'd never really drive another foot as just two people, but now we'd be three and how odd it was that when you go to have a child you come with two people and leave with three. I know this sounds like the dumbest things to think about and they may be and I'm sure everyone has it figured out long before, but I never do. I remember driving back to that house with you and your mom and spending most of that ride looking in the rear view mirror checking you out and being so excited to show you your new room and hoping you'd like it.

One of the many great meetings of the Saturday morning breakfast club.

 

 

      I also remember so many things from those first few days. It is a very surreal feeling to live with someone for six full years and think that just two people can make a family, and that may be, but then have a third person suddenly come to exist, and live, and share those walls with you is a strange and wonderful thing. I remember all those many nights when you wouldn't sleep so well and cry out and you and I would sit in the swing or walk around the block in the darkness of the night and I would hold you close to me trying to tell you that everything was ok and that sleep would make you feel better. I would try to rock you on that porch swing and sing to you songs that I love so much, but never really remember the words to and now each night I lay beside you and read you little books and cannot really fathom how that little baby grew into the little boy who is next to me. So much has happened and I feel so much has changed and yet it feels like no real time has past and at times I too feel unchanged, but I know that isn't so.

 



Love sharing the breakfast counter with this guy.

I have truly never smiled so much nor laughed as hard.

 

 

       And now today, you are turning three. As I type this, I can't believe its real and many of my feelings are the same. I'm still wondering if I have what it takes because I still do not know about kids and I still don't know how to be a father. I still hold onto your dear and brave mother's warm hand and look at you and into your big brown eyes and try to see who you will be and who we will be in light of you. I'm often tempted to feel inside, but worry it is too sacreligious, that I must echo the Great God who looked down upon His Son and said, "this is my son, in whom I am well-please". I hold you and you seem to make all things better even if just for a brief moment. You bring your mother and I so much joy and happiness. I used to wonder what life would be like with you and now I often wonder how we did life without you. 

A little clowning around.

 

 

 

         So, I wish you the best of birthdays. I wish you a wonderful third year of your life. I look forward to a full year of life with you. I am sure I will be sitting here doing much of the same when you are getting ready to turn four. I love you very, very much. I am both humbled and honored to be your father. Hope you enjoy your party and enjoy the cake!



My brown-eyed boy.

 

 

Your Dad 

Our 2015 Garden-Part 1

“Odd as I am sure it will appear to some, I can think of no better form of personal involvement in the cure of the environment than that of gardening. A person who is growing a garden, if he is growing it organically, is improving a piece of the world. He is producing something to eat, which makes him somewhat independent of the grocery business, but he is also enlarging, for himself, the meaning of food and the pleasure of eating.”   --Wendell Berry, The Art of Commonplace Essays

“One of the most important resources that a garden makes available for use, is the gardener's own body. A garden gives the body the dignity of working in its own support. It is a way of rejoining the human race.” --Wendell Berry

       If you have been a follower of this blog for any length of time, you probably know that we find great pleasure in trying to grow a garden, working at growing our own food, and have tried our hand in several different ways at trying to do so. We have been very successful at times and other times, if we would have had to survive on the food we grew, we would have starved to death. Literally. We have attempted to grow food items in pots of a variety of sizes with some success and we've attempted to grow things in raised beds and we've mostly had great successes. I was always and am actually still so surprised by the amount of food one can grow in a raised bed in the smallest of yards. I often think that some people don't try to grow food for themselves because they think their location is a huge limiting factor, but that couldn't be any farther from the truth. We grew almost a year of certain food items for our little family in a little 4x8 raised bed. And in a small 4x4 bed, we grew enough herbs for over a year. I think that's amazing. 

Our garden spot before any harrowing was done. 

    And if you've been following this blog, you've probably seen more Wendell Berry than you've wanted to see.  And I feel like I've used the above quotes before, but they are too good not to use and reuse. We really love Wendell Berry. Between the both of us, we've read many of Berry's essays, poems, and novels. I'd easily say that in my highly under-read opinion, he is one of the greatest and most important writers of the last fifty or so years. And between Mr. Berry and John Seymour, of England, I am very tempted to unplugged from much of modern society and attempt to become as self-sufficient as we can be here at Otter Creek Farm, but don't worry, we're not there yet. We'll settle for a small garden spot, a few cows, and several chickens for now. 

The harrow plow doing it's thing. The soil turned out to be much darker and healthier than we'd anticipated, so we're all pretty excited to see what it can grow. 

    One of the many benefits from our move to South Georgia was it would provide us with the chance to try our little hands at farming. We have loved our little escapades into urban farming with our four chickens, may they rest in peace, and our raised bed garden spot that grew a little larger each year. Last year, we didn't have much of a chance or desire to grow much of anything. We were in survival mode and the fact that we're all still living, Ford is about to turn three, Mel and I are still married and loving each other, and we are all talking, existing, laughing, and moving forward is the very picture of God's goodness,  great mercy,  abundant faithfulness, and grace towards and for us. BUT…we are far from that point and we are itching to get our hands dirty and we are already talking about how good our meals are going to be this summer when whatever we plant comes in. 

The finished spot. We still need to go through it one more complete time and then it'll be ready for planting. 

   So, about a week and a half ago, when Mel's dad offered to bring his Case tractor over and help us plow up this year's garden spot, we jumped at the chance. We were planning on starting off small, but after the final run was made with the tractor and plow, our "small" garden spot turned out to be big enough to grow food for several families. He came over and FH and I jumped on and we all made the initial several rows with the tractor, but then after about twenty minutes, he and FH got off and he turned it over to me. I will only say, he made driving and plowing or harrowing up the ground look very, very easy and it is far from that. I had the poor tractor up on two wheels several times and had smoke coming from the exhaust a few times, and did not do that great of an overall job, but I am learning. Slowly. Just remember and know that when you drive by a guy/girl on a tractor and they look like they have it all under control, that you're looking at a highly skilled person in complete control of their work. If you could ever see me drive, then you'd see the opposite. 

There is something inherently peaceful and beautiful about driving a tractor and plowing through a piece of land. The dirt smells so good and when you plow up the dirt, you can see all the colors of the dirt and how they contrast with the grass or weeds that once grew above it. I know that sounds odd, but it is true. 

   We have yet to plant anything and actually we still need to run through the garden one more complete time with the harrow plow to sift through the soil. We are waiting till the ground dries out a little more, but we'll probably do that within the next several days. And then we'll start planting the items we've agreed upon. I know we're going to plant tomatoes, green peppers, squash, zucchini, several types of flowers, onions, potatoes, and maybe some corn. We also have a lot of herbs in mind, but we may need to plant them elsewhere because most herbs need a spot where they get some sun rather than full sun, but we'll see. We have the room for probably 20+ rows of different things. I had originally thought we'd have a 50x50 garden, but what we plowed under is more like a 200x100 foot spot. I'm not sure how much we'll plant or if we'll actually use the whole space, but we'll see. A garden, no matter how small, is a lot of work. It requires you to do something each day and a garden this size is going to be a lot of work. It'll be worth it, but I also don't want it to get out of hand. And I don't want to waste anything that we'll have planted.

     

It turned into something much larger than I'd originally planned, but I believe it is going make a very fine garden spot. 

    I'll close for now and we'll keep you updated on our garden. We have a lot plans for our life here at Otter Creek Farm. We love knowing where our food comes from and we love the whole farm to table movement that is slowly becoming quite known. Before we left Macon and before we decided to move to Fitzgerald, we almost accepted a position to help start a farm that would supply several summer camps with fresh food in Northern Alabama, but felt God wanted us here and we hope to take full advantage of this place and our time here. We have little Pecos the Bull and we may soon sell him in order to get a cow to start breeding. We also have a large chicken tractor in the works, mental for now, for us to start a pastured poultry business in the future. And now we have this garden going. It all takes time and it all takes a lot of work and money, but it is well worth it. You always get more from it than you put into it. Or at least that's what it seems like to me. 

Happy reading, farming, tractor driving, and hopefully good eating, 

DAVID

PS: Let us know if you want to get in on this garden. We could grow you something and then sell it to you later! 

A Few Thoughts for A Monday

 

Book I

 

        Great art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power, and Thy wisdom infinite. And Thee would man praise; man, but a particle of Thy creation; man, that bears about him his mortality, the witness of his sin, the witness that Thou resistest the proud: yet would man praise Thee; he, but a particle of Thy creation. Thou awakest us to delight in Thy praise; for Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee. Grant me, Lord, to know and understand which is first, to call on Thee or to praise Thee? and, again, to know Thee or to call on Thee? for who can call on Thee, not knowing Thee? for he that knoweth Thee not, may call on Thee as other than Thou art. Or, is it rather, that we call on Thee that we may know Thee? but how shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed? or how shall they believe without a preacher? and they that seek the Lord shall praise Him: for they that seek shall find Him, and they that find shall praise Him. I will seek Thee, Lord, by calling on Thee; and will call on Thee, believing in Thee; for to us hast Thou been preached. My faith, Lord, shall call on Thee, which Thou hast given me, wherewith Thou hast inspired me, through the Incarnation of Thy Son, through the ministry of the Preacher.

 

 

 

    At our new church, New Life Presbyterian Church, during the Sunday School hour, we are studying an overview of Church History. I will confess that on our first real visit to Sunday School, I sat there in prideful disdain wishing the topic be anything other than that and was thinking I didn't really need to listen because I had graduated from Mercer and had sat through my fill of Biblical and Church related history classes and had done well in them. I feel bad about this. I will only say, I am not a good person; even at my very best. But the more times that we've gone and the more I've listened, the more I'm so very thankful that I am there. And I think I've come full circle into the realization of why history as a subject is so important. In every age. In every time. In every subject. For all people. It is only a fool to be involved in anything and not be fully interested in the history of whatever it may be. And the level of importance of the event, club, movement, etc, then the level and need to know it's history should also increase.

 

    In 2015, it may be widespread where you see so many who want to cast off the burden of history and walk free from it, but that couldn't be anymore foolish. As it is known and quoted often, to the fools who refuse to learn and acknowledge history, their punishment is to repeat it again, or worse, have to live through it again. I know so many people who hated their history classes and I know why and get that. Most history classes focus on dates and people, which are important, but miss the opportunity to teach movements, patterns, and thoughts. And this last part is so very important for one major reason, humans from Adam and Eve till now have and will not change and it is so very interesting and vitally important to study the men and women that came before us. Each generation becomes absorbed within itself and the time it lives within and so quickly forgets what came before them and becomes historically egotistical. We all become this. It is all too easy to be. It is easy to look around and say that no time has ever been so progressive, free, burdened, evil, loathsome, critical, etc. and forget that as time moves forward, all times within history have been exactly the same because the main element within human history, humans, have remain unchanged. No, we don't speak exactly the same, or look exactly the same, or for that matter do anything exactly the same, but we are humans and humans have basically remained the same. All I'm really saying is that the thoughts you have today, were had by someone of the same status hundreds of years ago. Yes, that is weird and no, they weren't exactly the same, but they were at their very core the same. I'm in no way making light of those thoughts. They have been thought too many times to think that way about them. They are the very thoughts of humanity. It should be what binds us so wholly and closely together, rather than divide us.

 

   And that is the very importance of history whether you hear it spoken of hundreds of times or for the first time. History is what binds us. The greatest thing that confronts us in this modern age, in my smallest and unimportant opinion, is not weather changes, drought, loss of freedom, governments, economics, extremism, or anything of the sort, but rather it is this ever increasing need for individuality in the face of all circumstances. It is an impossible task and one that is nothing short of a true fools errand. In the heat of battle, there are no individuals. In the middle of the greatest of joys, there are no true individuals. In the greatest of defeats, there are no true and bold individuals. And in the greatest victories, there are no courageous individuals. There are only humans left standing there and either winning or losing, or laughing, or crying. There is only the community. There has always been community and there will always be community.

 

    I know this is starting to sound like a, "one people, one world", post, and that is not the point. The only point is we all need our histories and people's histories are no different than anything else. There are those moments when we rise so very high and become the greatest visions of that part of Creation that was formed within the image of God and then there are the moments where we too would have lost the right to exist within the Garden and become the vilest of human beings. And this is why we must listen and study the history of who we are and what we are involved in. We are slowly, but ever so rapidly becoming what we will be remembered for. And that is true for us as individuals and for us part of larger wholes. And just because we decide we are not part of a certain part of history does not mean that, that is actually true and it is also true that all people are forming history. We cannot exist without it, be removed from it, or act separate from it. There are all those who came before and what they did, they said, how they acted, or didn't act, what they wrote, what they struggled with, what they used their power to do, it all means something and it all effects us in all we do. We are all shapes of what has come before us.

 

   We must not forget what has come before us or we forget who we are. We must not look at those in the past and wonder why and how did they struggle so. We must not look at them in our present lenses of life and history and say how wrong and blind they were. All of those things will be thought about us by those who are coming. We are currently shaping who they will be. That terrifies me.

 

    We must not also join the hordes within the current Church who look back at all the tragedies, fights, schisms, crusades, racism, sexism, etc. and question why and how could they have been so and attempt so hard to distance themselves from the past and try to pretend like they can exist alone in the here and now while all they claim to believe and support came about at the hands of men and women who struggled and fought and disbelieved and had faith in the process of what it takes to make a movement. And these are the same things we are struggling through and amongst. Ask yourself if you'd be willing to believe something or put faith into something that wasn't a struggle. If you were wise, you'd quickly say you wouldn't be interested. This is our history. And a lot of it is ugly, but it is all so very important. There has always been this giant and monumental struggle to attempt to shape an earthly version of God's Kingdom on earth. It has been done wisely at times and it has been done with the most sinful of ambition and motive. We cannot and should not separate those items. There are very valuable lessons to be learned from both and neither side is perfect. There is only one true Kingdom and it is here and it is coming. We the ones who wander and attempt to live in the already and not yet. And we are not alone in this. This has been all humanity that has been and is yet to come.

 

     Augustine of Hippo wrote, The Confessions, sometime between 397 and 400 AD. They were applicable then. They were applicable a thousand years later. And now 1617 years later, they are still a wealth of wisdom that we so badly yearn to hear today because we have not changed. All truth is still God's truth and it is still so very hard to contemplate and think about higher thoughts and it is a struggle to contemplate truth, beauty, goodness, love, etc. within the realm of the constantly changing definitions of a modern world. It was hard for Augustine. It was hard for Luther. It was hard for Spurgeon. It is hard for us. It will be hard for all those who come after us. They shaped us and we are shaping them. May we struggle to do it wisely and carefully.

 

DAVID

        

My Night with the Ben Hill Hash House Harriers



          This past Monday night, FH and I headed out to meet up with a group of folks who call themselves the Ben Hill Hash House Harriers. They are a running group, but not the type you'd ever find training around an oval track, running repeats of any sort, comparing race times, talking running shoes, bragging about training techniques, discussing the Daniel's Formula, or ever even using the dirty "r" word: race. "Hashing" as it is called is not about racing, it is about chasing. Hashing, or at least the game it was modeled after, is a very, very old pastime; older in fact, than the very country we live in. Hashing was derived from the game, "Fox and Hounds" or "Hares and Hounds", that was played in England, Ireland, and Scotland as early as the early 1700's. Those games became somewhat official in the early 1800's and hashing was officially founded by an Englishman in 1937 who was stationed in Malaysia.

The Ben Hill Hash House Harriers gather, sip, and gab before the hash. 

      If you have never had the privilege of playing chase, I'll say sorry first and then I'll give you a quick primer. One person takes off and everyone attempts to catch that person. In the case of "fox and hounds" or "hares and hounds", one person plays the role of the fox or the hare and takes off marking their trail in some noticeable fashion, with paper, flour, leaves, paint, etc. and in due time, the "hounds", the other people, give chase and attempt to find the trail and then in the end attempt to catch the fox or hare. Hashing follows the same basic format. And in most places the trail is marked by flour. And each mark is left behind with a certain purpose to tell the pursuers something specific about the direction in which they are going or should be going. Here is an example of a few known marks:

     In the case of marking the trail, the fox or hare will attempt to lead the pursuers in a totally wrong direction and hoping they lose their way or "lose the scent". And if you've ever watched an animal, except a raccoon, or actually hunted an animal, they do not choose a linear path or one that is easy to follow, it is a trail that goes in, around, over, through, and under anything and everything. It is a path or trail of pure fleeing. And that is the type of path or trail that is marked by the proverbial fox or hare.

The first mark at the beginning of the hashing trail.

    Hashing isn't exactly the same as the old game of fox and hare, but it is very close. Hashing is a mixture of running and socializing; much more socializing than running and it is never a race. And training for the hash is greatly looked down upon. Hashers meet weekly or biweekly and run a course that may vary in length, but usually ranges from about three miles to some over five or six. There are thousands of hashing groups around the country and around the world. Each hashing group that affiliates themselves with the "hash house" title attempts to affiliate themselves with the original hashers who were far away from home and tried to find community and oneness in around a national pastime. The "house" part refers to an old English tavern frequented by expatriates, where they would meet up in Malaysia and the "hash" part refers to the food served at the tavern. I think this part is really neat, but I'm a sucker for traditions like that. The modern hashers that continue to meet, run, and socialize today are really only doing what the original hashers did almost a hundred years ago.

A flour mark showing us we're on the right trail.

     But...I will be quick to add that hashing is not for the faint of heart, or the closest Baptist in the room, or your favorite Prohibitionist. It is a social running club like no other. One of the tag lines I have seen used to describe hashing is that they are a drinking club with a running problem. The closest thing I can compare it to is maybe if a whole bar went running one night and brought the alcohol, the music, and the craziness with them. And if the drinking doesn't offend you, then the route of the hash will make you double-think about why you are there. The hasher that is chosen to mark the trail usually chooses the hardest, muddiest, wettest, thickest, oddest trail they are able to mark. They will bypass many easy and accessible ways in order to make those who are chasing them crawl under trees, through briars, through creeks, over fallen trees, across rivers, over rock ledges, etc. The only let up from the chase is that for all the hard chasing, there will be a beer stop about every mile or so. And at the end of the trail, there will always be a party of sorts to enjoy.

FH riding shotgun on the craziest jog we have ever gone on. 

   And all this brings me to last Monday night, but as should be expected, it goes back further than that for me. When we moved to Fitzgerald in June, I was driving my car through town one night as it was getting dark and came up an odd group of adults running through people's yards and one guy was carrying a flag and I rolled my windows down and tried to follow them for a bit and see what they were up to and they were yelling and whistling to one another and seemingly trying to follow something I just couldn't see. I should have looked down instead of around. I probably would have seen a small patch of flour nearby. I went back home after the group disappeared into a dense section of woods and asked my inlaws about the group and they tried to tell me a little about the group, but made it sound like Mowgli from the Jungle Book had started a little running club and I guess that really isn't that far-fetched. I kept asking around and eventually stumbled upon the name of the club and after some internet searching came upon the Ben Hill Hash House Harriers; who were founded in 1985 and have been dedicated to hashing since then. And later that summer, while on a bike ride with FH and some students, came upon the group assembled in full fashion getting ready to head out and chase the trail.

This is the point in the hash when FH and I moved into second place and were heavily into the chase!

    I really wanted to join them someday, but between school, XC, and just life in general, I never found the time and then this past Monday, that changed. FH and I had a free night and Mel had a few things that she had to have finished before the next day, so we loaded up the jogging stroller and headed to the meeting place. Every two weeks, the Ben Hill Hash House Harriers meet downtown Fitzgerald behind the Modern Appliance building at 6:30 pm and then head out together to the head of where the trail has been marked. FH and I got there on time, but had to wait around till around 6:50 before a soul showed up. A few cars showed up and then had us get back in our car and follow them to a place called, "The Brewery". It was actually more a shed where some beer was brewed a long time ago by a bored bachelor, but rumor has it that they are going to get brewing there again soon. The crew had already assembled behind The Brewery and were talking of past events and money was collected for the beer that was to be shared. And with the talking and catching up also came the first of many beers. I found this to be very funny and very odd. I have been running for almost twenty years and I can honestly say that save milk, beer, may be the beverage I hope to never have to drink and then be made to run. But beer is almost a central character to a proper hash experience.

Short cuts and more advantageous paths are not frond upon during a hash. If you are behind and see where the leaders are running, nothing says you can't cut a lot of corners and head them off. Trying to be first doesn't benefit one during a hash much. We learned this the hard way! FH and I were first several times only to be dropped by those behind us. 

     After the leader, known and referred to as, The Grand Marshall or GM, decided all had arrived that were coming and the last of the initial beers have been polished off, the GM sounded off a whistle that he carried around his neck and the group assembled in the front of The Brewery and the first point on the trail was arrived at and they all yelled, "On Hunt" and the chase was on. FH dove into his stroller and we just tried to keep up. The trail went up one street, crossed a busy highway, went down a muddy alley, through a field and into a parking lot, through a church lawn, through a high school practice field, over a creek, through a little league field, behind the town's radio station, down the side of another busy highway, through another church yard, through another field, but this one was very muddy, over and through another creek, and through some of the thickest brush I have ever run through, over three fallen trees, down a muddy dirt road, and right to a barn known by the group as, "Mr. Bill's Golf Cart Barn", and then we stopped, whistles were blown, and odd things were yelled by the GM to those hashers who had taken the false trail. I was sweaty, dirty, wet, and out of breath. Pushing a stroller through all of that was crazy! And FH looked at me like what had we really gotten into, but the barn we stopped at was more of a golf cart graveyard than anything else, so he got out of the stroller and took a look around. While we sipped some water and looked around, the rest the hashers made it to the BN, or the beer near spot, and more beers were had and more stories were told. One of the men there was telling some great stories about him getting older and then they all kept laughing about one guy who wasn't allowed to come for awhile because his wife had laid down the law because he had really overdone it at a previous hash. FH and I listened in as we climbed on an old trailer and drank our water.

Follow the leader; especially if he is called the Grand Master and also serves as a standard bearer for local Civil War reenactments. 

Calling in all who had gone the wrong way on a false trail. 

    After about 10-15 minutes, the whistle was blown by the GM and again the chant of, "on hunt" was shouted" and we were off. The trail followed a muddy dirt road, and then through several people's yards, and down the side of another busy road, through the parking garage of a nursing home, and after about a little over a mile, another BN marking was spotted and the group stopped for yet another round of beers and conversation. FH and I joined the conversation, but we also walked around the place we had stopped checking out a few things and then we finished our water while we climbed on yet another golf cart. We had run almost 2.5 miles at this time of the chase. And at this point you maybe thinking that only old "frat" guys who haven't grown up yet partake in this type of stuff, but you'd be very wrong. Within the BHHHH group and most all hashing groups a wide age range can be seen as well as both sexes. And this also goes for the socioeconomic status of the hashers as well. This night there were two women, pregnant no less, and guys ranging from their 20's to their 70's.

The beer, laughter, and stories were flowing at the first BN spot. 

    After about the same duration of time, the same whistle was blown, but this time, the chant of, "On In" was shouted and signaled. "On In", means that the hashers are to make their way back to the beginning of the trail by whichever path they'd like to follow. FH and I cut through several yards of people we know and made it back to The Brewery first. I'm sure that attitude would be looked upon. I loaded the stroller up and we went inside The Brewery for a time, but all that was left of the hash was the party aspect and FH and I headed home to eat dinner with Mel. I am pretty sure that was for the best.

Our leader leading us well. It is about the chase, not the race. 

    I am not really sure how I feel about my whole experience. I'll definitely go again. I'm not sure I'll bring FH, but I probably will. I will say it was fun. And it was very different. And it was also oddly refreshing to join up with a group of people to run, but have the focus be on other things. It was as if the almost four miles we ran was a distant side product of the night. I don't love the drinking aspect, but don't find any harm in it for now. I am not a beer or drinking kind of guy, but I'm also not offended by those who are. Some people are beer people and I happen to be an ice cream guy.

The infamous, BN, mark signaling that the beer is near. 

    I don't know if I'll ever really get into the whole hashing scene, but I definitely liked the whole chasing and following the trail aspect. I also loved how the trail wasn't linear or fixed. I liked the running through water, over trees, through backyards, and through the woods. It reminded me of how kids run through the woods. It also reminded me of the old type XC races that used to be put on. XC is quickly becoming a sport where the courses are becoming more and more manicured and less challenging so the times can be faster. I'm not a fan of that. I'd much rather watch a kid run a 25 minute three mile race knowing he or she had to jump trees, cross through water, and run a quarter mile in knee deep mud and was still able to keep up an eight minute mile rather than watch a kid trot a 14:50 5K on a gravel path with no real hills or obstacles. The latter is a little boring. It's why they have a whole sport called track. And it's also why no except those who have to be there comes to a track meet.

Time to take it to the house!

     I plan on being back behind the Modern Appliance building at 6:30 or so in two weeks and I'm looking forward to it. Don't worry, I won't write another post about it. That is unless something amazing happens. Well, I believe it is time to chant, "On In", and take this post back to the house.

Happy running, hashing, and reading,

DAVID