You're all white trash! Every last one of you! Yes, I mean you, Dean, and Kevin, Eager Beaver, Crystal and James, Medievil Cowboy, (a very pregnant) Nail Me and her virgin Serena, Skeeterbait, Cunning Linguist and...ahem, alright, me too...Thick n' Creamy.

And it's a damn good thing, too! Fort McMurray puts on a "Pitch In" program in the Spring and this is where the residents of our town really shine, brushing off the cobwebs, getting outside and "pitching in" with the trash cleanup after a long winters' accumulation.

The Fort McMurray Hash House Harriers gathered in a gangling group of white trash (we haven't seen the sun in ages! Tans take time!) to get down and dirty and clean up McMurray.

Hares Skeeterbait and Cunning Linguist came fully prepared with latex gloves, garbage bags and the promise of "prizes" for the most trash scooped. CL announced there was very little garbage on the trail as residents had already beaten us to the dirty streets, so TnC made the decision on behalf of the group to split up in pairs with 3 bags (less drag when trying to rush to the Hash Hold!)

Our first markings led us through a virtual dumping ground of sorts, however; and after each of us filled our bags nearly three quarters full, we collectively decided that large fields of garbage were best left to the pros (or those who had the foresight to bring along more bags...just in case).

We all made our way along the trail, as best we could, considering that navigating CL's new versions of checkbacks was really a matter of listening to his directions and then doing the opposite, then backtracking and happening upon the marking by sheer luck.

Medievil Cowboy, jingling and sweating in his armour, managed to toss a few dead "things" into the garbage bag, which I'm pretty sure had been alive, prior to his stepping on them, but anyway...

We finally came across the BN (Beer Near) and the stinking bags of trash, sweaty, slimy latex palms and confusion over the trail markings became a mere memory as we hopped the creek to the booze.

The oh-so fitting "Dirty Laundry Vineyard" cab. sauv (??) waited for us, and the pungent sting of wine melted into parched mouths, tongues recoiling from the shock of something other than beer. Blood red staining the cracked lips of hasher trash pickers.

But it was good.

While we drank, the hares and I regaled the group with stories of poop and pee adventures and pre-run hydration and nutrition tactics. Dropping trou' on "r word" courses, pooping while peddling on "tri" word courses...you know, the things high-brow folks discuss while sipping a good vintage.

After the storytelling ceased and we grabbed more garbage bags, we were off on the trail again (or shall I say "off trail" as there wasn't much?) and headed on in. We would've made it there quickly too, had Eager Beaver not decided to show off by doing a kooky knee twist and landing on her ass.

After we ensured there were no torn ligaments or popped patella's we walked as a team back to the circle.

Rather than create a debacle in the Extra Foods parking lot, we headed to Boston Pizza for the on in...and Prober graced us with his presence!

Now....for the f**king BEER! Wine....hmph

Until next week! On On!