A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
Start: South Hill Recreational Area, Six Mile Creek
Finish: South Hill Children’s/Hasher’s Recreational Area, Six Mile Creek
Hashers Present: {Porcelain Goddess, Cocktail Frank, Mouthful of Clam} (Hare + Man-tourage), TOFU, Beats It Blind, Always a Bridesmaid, Butt Floss, Spike, Poke Her Heiness, Liquor Harder, Jiffy Lube, Mr. and Mrs. Porcelain Goddess, Just Sid the Fiddler on the Gorge, Just Delana, Just Brian, Master Baster, Just Rachel, Just Kevin (or is it Justin? The hash cannot remember), Bumbleballs (née Just Matt), various hashers of the canine persuasion.
The morning of hash #542 began ominously, with the weathermen reporting that most of New York was already wet with excitement for the impending hash — indeed, upon leaving to seek trail, I noticed that Tompkins County was the only county in the area not affected by severe thunderstorms. It was almost as though God (the original hare) had said unto the hash: “be fruitful on this day: drink of my mead, run of my daughter’s trail, and multiply.” And verily, we did.
Driving the impeccably maintained vehicle owned by Mouthful of Clam, I ventured to the hash with Beats it Blind and Just Delana, noticing on the way that Butt Floss was driving his wonderfully gas-efficient Nissan Xterra immediately behind us. Beats It took this courting as an invitation to see if his rear would comfortably fit out the window while the car was in motion. Butt Floss can confirm that it does.
Arriving at the hash, we were greeted by other hashers, but there was not a hare in sight! We soon learned that our hares had been enjoying some sweaty private time on the last leg of their newly-set trail. Cocktail Frank, in particular, was so excited from his time alone with PG and Mouthful that he passed out, sweaty and with a blissful smile on his face, and did not return until the hash began. We passed the time until the start discussing the fact that Mr. PG, sire of the great harrierette, had not had PBR in over a decade. After assuring ourselves, and him, that the tasty beverage remained as wonderful as ever, the hash began.
In search of cold beverages and adventure, the pack set out down the gravel path on South Hill, r*nning for what seemed like forever on an nonbranching trail, we were greeted with the first of many back-checks. It was at this point that many noticed that our hares were far behind, if following us at all. Jealous of their ability to drink beer while we sought trail, our pace was hurried. The trail led us into a shiggier path off the main road, and it was on this path that I had the first of my three hash crashes of the day.
After running through overgrown fields and along not-so-beaten paths, the trail led us past a gorgeous hash view of a tall waterfall. It was shortly after this hash view that I along with many other hashers encountered a man hiking on the rocky part of the trail, looking most unhappy. Surely his sour attitude was attributable to his lack of beer and good company, though his identity was confirmed as a City of Ithaca Park Ranger when Always a Bridesmaid and Master Baster found BEER hidden in the shiggy near his truck, parked at the top of the waterfall. During this period of drinking, the hash poured some out for its dead homies, sharing in a large quantity of malt liquor, provided by Cocktail Frank.
Soon it was off to trail again, and for me another hash crash brought upon by a high-lying tree-root. The trail took us up, up up, and also back, back, back, as we began to understand the true magnitude of the hares’ love for back-checks. At one point, running near Jiffy Lube, I was given my third hash crash when Jiffy lost her footing on a hill, careening into me. When she turned to laugh at the spectacle, Just Rachel also joined in on the tumble, all three of us dirty and wet. The trail led us onward, however, and we eventually heard the sweet siren song of fiddle off the in the distance. The hash rested to the sultry sounds of Sid’s melody, and enjoyed some swimming and more conversation with the Elder PG’s. The trail continued on only a bit longer before Always a Bridesmaid discovered more BEER hidden in a pipe!
During this beer check, the hash was set upon by either an angry set of bees, or on incredibly angry and persistent hornet. While minding their own business and attempting to enjoy a frothy beverage, Poke Her Heiness and I were stung by the creature(s). My reaction to this was to exclaim a sentence expressing my dismay at having a bee sting so near my groin, and to go flittering away from the creature into the safe and protective arms of Spike, Just Rachel, and Butt Floss. Luckily, the bee(s) left us, and the hash continued, but not before Just Brian joined us, having been lost and wandering trail for quite some time in search of the group.
From the second finding of beer, it was a short jaunt on-in to the playground in the South Hill Recreational area, where more beer, as well as a package of “larger than life” Cocktail Franks awaited the hungry, thirsty hashers. Circle commenced, giving our hares a much needed drink for their hard work. Beats It, Cocktail Frank, and I were also given downs for deciding that we must leave the Ithaca Hash. Baster was also rewarded for his foresight of bringing new shoes on trail with a cold beer from said shoes, and PG was rewarded for her recent r*cism, which many hashers had witnessed firsthand. As usual, Bridesmaid and Baster were given downs for FRB’ness. The Circle also successfully avoided the ire of the angry neighborhood, jealous as they were of the fun being had of the hash. Finally, in reward for my recent wound and more-than-overdramatic reaction, I was christened Bumbleballs by the Circle, shedding at last the status of being just another hasher. Thus the hash ended, with the hashers searching in vain for a way to replace the three who were lost. With that, the hash went in peace.
Thank you, Ithaca Hash, for helping me to lose my hasher virginity. I will miss you all dearly, and you are all always welcome at my home in Santa Cruz.
On-On,
Bumbleballs