Do you feel lucky?

I bought a lotto ticket yesterday.  I have been buying one at the grocery store every week for a couple months now.  It started out as a joke gift for Popeye when he changed departments and started working six and seven days a week. Now it's got a permanent slot on the grocery list.  

I attempt to guess-timate the odds.  48 million to one, maybe?  Higher than my calculator can count, let alone me with my Jethro Bodine ciphering skills. 

Not much of a Plan B, is it?

When we got our college degrees, my friends went off to their Careers.  I couldn't wait to get a Job.

To me, Job spelled freedom.  A Job was something you could quit anytime.  Sail to the Bahamas.  Come back when the money runs out.  Get another Job.

"Those were the days, my friend.  We thought they'd never end..."  

My current Job is not exactly hard work, talking to people about bikes all day.  But I do have to show up.  And if I leave for a few months there are no other Jobs to come back to.  Of course, my current pay wouldn't support Tiger's 9-Lives habit, let alone Pepper, and Gypsy, but it does enable the cycling problem.

Tiger - somewhere between 1st breakfast and 2nd breakfast.

Speaking of a cycling problem, there's a club for that! 

A Drinking Club with a Cycling Problem.  

We do like a good hash. No, not corned beef, and definitely not drugs. The hashes we like are bike hashes, of course!

Most of the bike hashes here are Sunday afternoon rides. But once in a blue moon, someone steps up to hare who's not afraid of the dark.

A couple weeks ago, while running in Wickham Park, I came face to front wheel with Mr. E and Mr. B on trail. (Hash names are usually given on one's fifth hash, and in grand British tradition, most are unprintable.)


I was grateful I'd just changed out of my Vibrams and back into my normal, glamorous, size ten Nikes. When you're wearing unconventional footwear a chance conversation focuses on the shoes, and you hardly ever get to nose into what the other guy is up to, you know? 

And when you see hashers out on a Wednesday, you definitely want to know what they are up to! 

Scouting trail for a full moon hash.  Hooray!


A quick chat and I volunteer to head off the other direction. A hash trail is secret or the game wouldn't be any fun. 

Good thing the reminder comes with a few days left to untangle and charge the light batteries.  There are no street lights on trails.  To ride a mtn bike at night, you need LIGHTS, not lights.  With 2 lights each (one on handlebar, one on helmet), and batteries that take 12 hours each to charge, plus (what the heck, we got 'em, might as well charge 'em) one extra batt apiece, it can take a couple days to get organized.

  ultra organized light storage

But any extra effort is worth it.  Night hashing is an experience in itself.  

In the twilight, there's a sort of tailgate atmosphere.  Mr. D. has made a stencil, and is busy spraying T-shirts with glowpaint. 

Some riders have gone to the same dollar store as me!  4 for a dollar glowsticks sprout from helmets, dangle from wrists, wrap handlebars.

At sunset, the hares depart.  About twenty minutes later, it's "On-On!  Hounds Away!"  We hounds hit our lights and begin the chase.
 

Trails can go anywhere, streets, back alleys, off road.  Hounds range at "which ways" to scout out "true trail".  There can be count backs and YBF's, (you've been fooled.)
  

Often there's a half way stop with beer, to further tempt and delay the hounds - and huh, they don't seem to mind! 

The half way at this hash is a little unconventional, a few pitchers set up on the bar at LongDoggers.   Bikes lay all over the bushes and landscaping, and we stop to admire some of the more unconventional bikes, like Tranny's with the superfat tires.  (And no.  Kick kick kicking myself I did not think to take a picture!)
   

Then it's On-On again, hound's away, to track down the BN mark (Beer Near), the On-After, and the keg.  Or in this case, the coolers.

So.  Do you feel lucky?

Oh yeah.  So lucky to live in midcoast Mel-boring, Florida, where a hash can end under a bridge and still be beautiful.

From under the Eau Gallie Causeway

For a history on hashing, check out Hash House Harriers on Wikipedia. 

And if you're ever in the Melbourne area, bring your mtn bike and come On-On down to work up a thirst with the Lost Hares. (bikehash.com)

Who needs lotto, anyway?