Bob Searches for the Northwest Passage

It was a brisk morning, frost on the lawns, and a band of local yahoos out running the dirt roads of Richmond, MA. It started and ended at the cold-and-flu funded estate of local sawbones and running legend Bob Lee. For those of you who don't know Bob, here's a picture of him ogling the power glutes of local running hero and beloved adjudicator Judge Sunshiney Ass.

---

If You Announce It, They Will Come

As the runners approached Sawbone Bob's house, they were directed by the Sheriff's deputy to park in the Lee Estate's Main parking area. There were so many runners the Sheriff himself had to come out to direct traffic.

As Nogle came barreling up the driveway, showing no concern for the safety of her fellow runners, she managed to sqeak in within the limits of the 10 minute rule. Climbing out of her car, she greeted everyone with the comment "Oh sure, Bob leads a run and 20 people show up. I lead one and only one person shows up."

Well, with that attitude it's no wonder.

---

Dean's Hill Road

Living in Berkshire County has made the RRFs no strangers to rolling hills, but Dean's Hill Road more than lived up to its name. Paul, AKA "The New Mr. Wonderful" explained to your humble narrator that it's called Dean's Hill for a reason. From that I assumed that the people of Richmond, MA hated some guy named Dean and named the most ruthless hill after him. That way every runner and driver would be cursing that sumbitch Dean every time they were forced to travel the grueling road.

---

Henry Hudson Searches for the Northwest Passage

After warming up our legs on a mile long hill, we welcomed a bit of a downhill. Just then, Bob "Henry Hudson" Lee steps in to correct our errant path. "LEFT" they yelled, and we humped it back up the hill to the correct road. A little way down the correct road, it narrowed and turned into a rutted mess.

Only after we had run down an ATV trail/riverbed did the back group decide to start thinking about considering their options on how they might begin the process of choosing who would indicate to the front runners that they were going the wrong way.

Straws were drawn, Theresa made some phone calls, a Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament was played and finally they decided to just yell "HEY, wrong way!" Again, we turned around and ran back up the hill only to go right back to the first "wrong" turn.

It turns out that we were probably mere meters from where we wanted to be, but Bob didn't want to risk any of his crew in the uncharted lands beside that muddy mess. Such a noble leader.

---

The RRFs in Full Uniform

Yup, the RRFs made a valiant showing at this morning's run but looked kind of silly with such meager numbers. While most RRFs had valid excuses (too early, too cold, not enough sun on ass, etc) there was no Bad Jim. Of course, if Bob lived closer to Mount Greylock things might have been different. Sorry Jim, maybe he'll consider moving closer to your house.

---

Standing around the parking area afterwards, we were rewarded for our efforts by the warming rays of the sun on our Lycra clad asses. Whew, that sun feels good on my ass.

For those RRFs who don't plan to run the Stockadeathon, there were talks of a trail run next Sunday. I'm sure details will be announed as they unfold, and as long as Nogle doesn't announce it I'm sure attendance will be strong. I vote for breakfast afterward.

And that's all I have to say about that.

~Judge Sunshiney Ass