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DAYTONA BEACH -- In a street jammed with people sporting scary-looking tattoos and strategically placed leather, the bar is set pretty high for getting a biker's attention -- or for getting him to move out of the way.

On Saturday, a group of beer-chugging runners -- led by a guy dressed as a nun -- managed to do both.
It's common knowledge that this weekend kicks off Bike Week in Daytona Beach, but what many people might Which way to the bar?

not know is that it's also the time for the biggest party in the Southeast for a group of oddball runners called the Hash House Harriers.

Each year, a couple hundred of these bawdy fitness buffs -- hashers -- crash the biker party and stay for the weekend. They come from all over the country and from all walks of life.

"There's all kinds of mental cases here," said Jamie "Otis" Streich, a 47-year-old janitorial-supply business owner who helped start the weekend event about a decade ago.

The highlight was Saturday's quarter-mile sprint down a lane of Main Street cleared by police. The run was preceded by activities that included following a trail of chalk to the mainland and back, watching a fellow hasher (Gilligan) get a birthday cake dumped on his head, and downing plenty of beer.

It was an eclectic group that gathered at the eastern end of Main Street, many blowing whistles to round up the stragglers. Some dressed as bikers. Others wore attention-grabbing hats. One guy sported a kilt and a bright-pink T-shirt. Most opted for conventional running outfits, accessorized with strands of beads and tags commemorating other hash events.

Bikers gawked, shook their heads and reached out for the beads that some of the hashers took from their necks and threw to the crowd.

Robert MacMillan of Indiana summed up the feelings of many bikers and tourists watching the spectacle from Main Street's sidewalks.

"We have no idea what the hell is going on," he said.

Leaving the confused bikers behind after a few blocks, the runners quickly made their way into a bar called Wise Guys. Watering holes are imperative to hashers, who call their organization "a beer-drinking club with a running problem." They drink before, after and sometimes during their exercise.

Kathleen "Salad Shooter" Ramsey of Daytona Beach said, "It's not the healthiest thing."

The group's Daytona Beach runs also include a Biketoberfest event in which men and women dash down the street in red dresses.

The hashers are quick to point out that these big Daytona Beach runs are more a social event than true hashing, which started in the 1930s with a bunch of British expatriates in Malaysia looking for a fun way to combine exercise with liquid refreshment. The club's name derives from the hash house where they would meet after their runs.

With 1,600 chapters worldwide, hashers meet on a regular basis -- often weekly -- for events that are part foot race and part drinking, loosely based on a 19th-century British game called Hare and Hounds.

In the woods or in suburban neighborhoods, one or two people create complicated trails of chalk, flour or toilet paper, which the rest of the hashers try to follow. After the races come singing, drinking, and good-natured and often-R-rated teasing.

Those activities are led by a person designated as the group's "religious adviser." For the Daytona Beach chapter, that would be the man wearing the nun's outfit. Known by his hasher name, No Blow, he declined to identify himself further, saying he doesn't want people at the school where he teaches to know of his extracurricular activities.

Though spread around the world, hashers are a close-knit group. They're quick to offer friendship to their comrades, who may temporarily join other hashing chapters while out of town.

"Anywhere you go, you have a group of friends," said Rich Menold of St. Petersburg.

The organization has its own Hash Hymnal, filled with off-color classics such as "Queen of All the Fairies," and its own Hash Bible. Every hasher gets bestowed with a nickname that might make even the most hardcore biker blush.

"This is not a family organization," said the Daytona Beach chapter's grand master -- John Ramsey to the rest of the world, Sir Flatulot to hashers.

Ramsey is a serious runner, a veteran of races including the Walt Disney World Marathon. Many others in the group keep fit in 5K and 10K runs, but walkers also can enjoy the hashes -- as long as they don't mind being called turkeys by the runners, who are known as eagles.

This year, the hashers tried out one of their more traditional races before the event they call the "storming of Main Street."

Rick "Thor" Campos of Daytona Beach marked a path with chalk, and the runners followed.

"Did you see a bunch of runners go this way?" Kathleen Ramsey, Sir Flatulot's wife, asked a couple of bushy-bearded bikers. They silently pointed straight, and the runners were off. The trail eventually led them over a bridge and into the Crook's Den bar, where they downed beers before returning to the beachside.

A few almost crashed into a woman wearing a tank top, blue jeans and sunglasses.

"What are you guys jogging for?" the woman asked, looking confused.

A hasher quickly shouted the obvious answer: "Beer!"

Sandra Pedicini can be reached at spedicini@orlandosentinel.com or 386-851-7911.

Sunday, March 2, 2003