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SCH4 ReHash #230
Hyper Hash at Roselawn Condon School, Thursday 21 March 2002, 1830. "Things are going to get a lot worse before they
get worse."
Lily Tomlin Having made the recollection that Ma Nature is cutting us no weather breaks on the Hypers so far this year, this half-mind guessed that is was going to get a lot colder before it got colder, and donned layer-upon-layer of thermal, breathable, insulated, lined, waterproof, wind-resistant running/Hashing/drinking clothes before HEADing out. And the guess proved to be on target, as upon my arrival in the Condon School car park, I found an increasing number of amassed Hashers shivering, jumping around, adding layers, griping, whining, trotting around, huddling, standing inside the school's door, drinking warm beer, etc. in futile attempts to stave off the biting cold (30 degrees F and plummeting, according to the Holy Hash (Rabbit Hash, that is) Thermometer, with a nasty west wind howling out of the scenic Mill Creek valley). Who braved these less-than-hospitable conditions in hopes of being selected to Hare or, in turn, snare a Hare? The evening's half-minds: Anal Vice Beat It Best Blow Blue Balls Butt Digger Dah Gimp Eats It Raw Gourmet Hot Tub Slut Hot Wax Me Off Mark NHN Carle Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac Smegma Stinky Winkie Tight Sphincter When Hairy Met Chunky By 1840, I'd lost feeling in my extremities, and other Hashers were beginning to turn blue, so with TS's prompting ("Hey, let's start this fucker!"), we Circled, and Hot Tub Slut quickly illustrated the pukish color of this evening's flour-and-whatever combination as well as the standard Sin City marks. Since it was too effin' cold to find the Holy Hash Bucket and separate the Holy Hash Numbers for those who'd signed-in, our Hyper-Virgin for the evening, Mark NHN Carle, was asked to "randomly" think of a number. His selection was 15. A quick check of the roster by Stinky Winkie revealed that Gourmet was 15th to sign-in. Gourmet again?! He's as lucky as Vommitt Dog! So, with an enthusiastic "Fuck you guys!", Gourmet grabbed the Holy Hash Bag, and was away, trotting eastbound out of the schoolyard onto Crest Hill Avenue. For the next four minutes, the remainder of us debated obvious merits of leaving a note for Gourmet and HEADing erectly to the On-On-On bar. Then we remembered that running would warm us, too, and, hey, we might even find trail(!), so with approximately 4 minutes and 30 seconds of trail having been laid, we were off in (hopes of) hot pursuit. At New Bedford Avenue (I think), we encountered our first check. The pack was puzzled by the X with blobs of flour in each of the two lower quadrants - was this a boob check? ...a sagging boob check? ...a dick check? ...or merely spillage? We couldn't make a definite determination, and it was too cold to fret about it, so we decided that it was just a plain ol' check. Eats It Raw ran south to find at least two marks, I followed. However, On-Two was the extent of what could be found in that erection, so EIR returned while this half-mind continued on-forward. A left on Summit, another left on Reading, and a long trot to Reading and Sunnybrook got me nothing but exercise - not a bad thing, mind you. At Sunnybrook, several Hashers were descending the hill from the erection whence we began. Tight Sphincter, Smegma, and others were all as clueless and trailless as I was, all apparently still looking for true trail away from that aforementioned first check. As they adjourned back up Sunnybrook, I continued north on Reading. At the Ramada Inn, a wee voice in my HEAD (my schizophrenic other half-mind?) said "turn here, turn here!" Being ever-obedient to the voices in my HEAD, I trotted up the inn's driveway. As I crested the driveway into the car park, who do you suppose I saw running toward me (with a bag of flour) into the Ramada Inn car park via another driveway? Um, yeah, if you uttered (either verbally or silently) "Gourmet", you win the Kewpie Doll! With a quick "where the hell did you come from?!" (which should have been "whence the hell you?!"), the exchange of the Holy Hash Bag and Holy Hash Drywall took place, and I reversed my erection (OW!) back through the Ramada Inn lot. [N.B. Dah Gimp wishes to note here (in a cumpetitive manner?) that he caught up with Gourmet not more than 15 seconds after this Hasher was away with the bag!] For those (most) who never saw it, my diminutive portion
of trail: Just around a corner
in the Ramada Inn lot, a quick check was followed with true trail crossing a
foot bridge toward what appeared to be some sort of building associated with
the hotel. Trail did not enter
the building, but skirted it's south wall beside a creek to Reading
Road. A check on Reading Road
saw a couple quick false marks toward the northeast, with true trail HEADing
across Reading and bisecting the Frisch's car park. At the far corner of that lot adjacent to Sunnybrook Drive, another check. False marks across the street into what appeared to be an outdoor work-break area (picnic table), and true trail climbing Sunnybrook and crossing the railroad tracks (Norfolk Southern (nee Conrail, nee Pennsylvania) Fort Wayne Division) at the top of the hill. BC past a driveway beyond the tracks. By now, I had every expectation that I'd see Hashers close on my arse, at least as close as the last check, which I could still see. Hmmm, that was not the case. Anyway... True trail proceeded south on the tracks for a couple hundred meters until I spotted (in the now near-darkness) to my right (west) apparent access to shiggy between a warehouse and a chain-link fence. Check. One mark to the south. Hmmm, still no one in sight on the tracks!!(??) Blast into the shiggy. [N.B. Dah Gimp wishes to note here (in a cumpetitive manner?) that when he and Gourmet arrived at this point, he knew he'd snare me if he continued south, because he could see no way through to either side of the tracks.] Trail followed in the weeds and muck between the warehouse and the fence to the west end of the warehouse. Here I was blocked to the south and west by continuation of the fence and by a creek to which access appeared to be treacherous at best. Given that and the cold weather, I decided to avoid the creek (a good choice, according to Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac - apparently that "water"way sets city-wide records for it's E. Coli count - thanks for the after-the-fact tidbit, there, Scum). Unfortunately, that forced me back toward the north, and (as I realized as I recovered by bearings) Sunnybrook Drive. Damn. Walking/trotting carefully toward Sunnybrook, I still expected to see Hashers. But certainly the pack was past here by now! But, no. Arriving back at the post-Frisch's check, there was no pack-arrow to indicate such a passing. Okay, now what the hell to do? Well, shit, guess I'll just lay a pack arrow at the check and a Hare arrow on the opposite side of the street, and hope the pack follows the former without noticing the latter. Uh-huh. Righteo. Sure they will. Anyhoo, as I was laying strategic Hare arrows, what should I hear approaching from behind me but the bells of eight tiny reindeer... no, wait, that actually would have been the jingle-jangle of Gourmet's lanyard. So, once again, with a "Where the fuck am I?!", Gourmet was the Hare. Now I watched as Gourmet ran across a parking lot to the west and south, HEADing back toward Reading Road. In the full 3(ish) minute wait, I saw no other Hashers (what the hell happened to the pack?!), so proceeded to give chase on my own. Marks were now sparse, as the Holy Hash Bag was beginning to lack in content by the time I was snared, so I was proceeding slowly (um, walking) in order to spot flour southbound along Reading when up trots Smegma, "You'll never catch a Hare that way!" By now he was just running for shits and giggles, so proceeded on-south. The last Hash mark I could find was adjacent to Arby's, so I spent quite a bit of time circling and running back and forth and to and fro (or back and fro and to and forth), exercising futility. Eventually, I crossed an abandoned (I think) shopping center (or warehouse?) parking lot, and ended up HEADing south on Reinhold Drive, east of and parallel to Reading. The next intersection I found was Summit. Ahhh, familiar name. Here my half-mind decided (half-mind fully functional once again) that On-In was the best choice at this point. As I crossed Reading Road for the final time this evening, Eats It Raw was awaiting me (not all that far from where we'd last seen each other, many paragraphs ago), "I heard whistles and saw Butt Digger and others down a street, but now I can't find anybody or anything." "On-In!", was the best advice I could render. We were soon back to the cars at Condon School where other Hounds (and Gourmet, who had not been snared a second time) were regrouping. Gourmet and I congratulated each other on fine (shitty!) trails, while the commentaries of others seemed (maybe it was just my imagination) to slant more toward, "Trail? WHAT effin' trail?!" [N.B. Dah Gimp wishes to note here (in a cumpetitive manner?) that when he would have snared a Hare only if...........] Soon, all had trickled into the parking lot, and the sweaty warmth we each had enjoyed upon our arrival was quickly evaporating into a clammy shiver. On-Lefty's!! Lefty's. How does
Slut find these bars, anyway?
Whaddever. Nice (really!)
neighborhood tavern. Good greasy
bar food. Unaffected
locals. And, of course, tap
after tap after tap of skank beer.
And drink we did the skank beer, despite the fact that one could
obtain Bass Ale for - what? - $1.50 a bottle! Alas. And, no,
I am not whining.
Anyway... I digress. The Circle was opened with Stinky Winkie emceeing. As far as this half-mind can recall, the following events occurred, although I disclaim and guaranty of accuracy or thoroughness. Please feel free (free feel?!) to insert amendments as you recall them! I do apologize to those I here omit... notes, need to remember to take notes... then need to remember to take home the notes... then need to remember where the hell I put the notes at home... gawd, it's such an effort to take notes! Anyway... again, I digress. Hares Gourmet and Anal Vice. Excellent, superb, splendid, phenomenal trail!! Here's to the Hares.... Hyper-Virgin, Mark NHN Carle. Not really an excuse to be excluded from the Hare pool, if ya ax me... but what the hey. Why was he born.... Visitors. Nope. Not tonight. Hare Crimes. Of course there were no Hare crimes!! So Gourmet and Anal Vice were forced to drink for having a "Private Haring Party". What EVER. Real Crimes. Okay, here's where I fall apart... . I know Tight Sphincter drank for that cumpetitive pull-over jacket she was wearing... It was labeled "Patagonia (or whatever the brand was) Competitive"! TS's attempt to skate: "It was a gift, you guys!" Huh?! How does that make it less competitive?! . Did we make Dah Gimp drink for all of the above N.B.s? Well, if we didn't, we should have! . Um, I'm sure some folks were caught sans their whistling devices... insert your names here, okay? . Crimes... other crimes? Is it a crime to not remember all the crimes? . Best Blow for flaming yellow tights Gourmet had a Haring Analversary this evening. Yeah, we've instituted celebrating Analversaries of Haring, every 5. Not sure how many this was for Gourmet, but I'm sure it was divisible by 5, and I know that when one Hare drinks, all Hares drink. Shees. Real Analversaries. none Birth Analversaries, plus or minus two weeks, or so, give or take. . Smegma stepped forward, and was duly serenaded with "Happy Birthday, Fuck You!" And finally, anyone (well, now, there were at least two or three...) who hadn't had the pleasure of a down-down to this point in the Circle was called forward so that they could enjoy (help drink) the remainder of this fine beer! At last, the Circle was (temporarily, of course) closed. Hashers descended ravenously upon the bartender/short order cook putting to the ultimate test her multitasking skills: Hashers in need of beer and food! As far as I could tell, she survived, and the fries and wings and Bass Ale all tasted damn good! Ass far ass the party lasting into the wee hours, I cannot comment - this Hasher was On-Out relatively early for that long drive north because, regardless of what Steamer will tell you, Friday is a workin' day (is everybody happy?!).... Disrespectfully submitted, disclaimed, and denied for your lack of consideration, Anal Vice Sin City Hash House Harriers & Harriettes |