IH3 Trail #577: He Said, She Said on All Beer’s Day

The Hes:
Man-O-Whore (a Hare)
Master Baster (a Hare conspirator)
Always a Bridesmaid
Butt Floss
Cold Cocked
Just Bob
Just Jim
Just Pete
Virgin Paul

The Shes:
Crimes Against Huge Mammaries (a Hare)
Just Alex
Just Betsy
Virgin Armanda
Virgin Jen

The I:
Spike

I drove toward Varna, on the 366. He approached me in a small gray car, pulling off on the other side of the road. He had just passed the turn off to Monkey Run. I did not. I parked, put on a heavier jacket, and got out of the car.

He said, “Spike!”
She said, “Hey Spike.”
I greeted them and started writing names.
I said, “CoCo? That just doesn’t sound right.”
She smiled a devilish grin and said, “It reminds me of those small dogs that rich women carry.”
He said, “So CoCo is really some hot woman’s bitch.”
I said, “That’s making more sense.”
He hoisted his dog over his shoulder.
She started picking the ticks from its groin.
I continued taking notes.
He said, “These are my gloves.”
She said, “No, they’re not.”
He said, “Yes, they are” and tried to put them on.
He said, “Hey O. J., nice fit.”
And he said, “Okay, maybe they’re not my gloves.”
He gave chalk talk.
She provided corrections.

We started off down the trail, which used to be the old roadway.
He said, “This is hard on the ankles. I’m not warmed up.”
I thought he was whining, but i said, “This looks like a false.”
He said, “How about a Return 6.”
I followed him back.
She cast a bemused harish smile, “Having fun?”
I said, “Yes.” and continued on.
He ran down the trail.
She ran down the old railroad bed.
He stopped at a new heart-shaped mark.
He mock-humped him at the mark.
Then he mock-humped me at the mark.
I just hugged her as she reached the mark.
I continued on.
We turned into the woods.
I followed him through the swampy trees.
He said, “Beer Near!”
She said, “That bark looks rather suspicious.”
He said, “Suspicious bark?”
We drank.
He came running up from behind, a hasher not seen in Ithaca in quite a while.
She called him on the telephone, complaining that he was late.
He said he would be right there.
We drank some more and munched on the orange square cheezy things.
She said, “Check it out.”
We ran around in confusion.
I said, “This leads back the way we came.”
He said, “Okay” and followed anyway.
I said, “Return six.”
We ran back and across the bridge at Route 13.
She smiled with deceptive sweetness and said, “So, how was the trail?”
I grinned and said, “As expected.”
He said, “Checking right.”
I ran to the left, down the trail and into the woods.
I noticed the large piece of fractured quartz that had been propped in a tree crotch, just above eye level.
I noticed no one was following me, even though there seemed to be many marks.
I waited.
He came, eventually.
He checked across the road and into the trees.
We approached the small family group with children.
They watched us pass with nervous smiles.
He said, “Good afternoon.”
They nodded.
We stopped at the hash view overlooking Fall Creek.
He pissed over the edge.
Small children could see, but were not watching.
We continued on.
I said, “Isn’t this the old trail that washed out.”
He said, “This is probably where Crimes slid on her butt down the hill.”
She said, “How do we get down?”
I said, “Trail goes that way into the steep gorge.”
He said, “If my dog can do it and only roll once. . .”
We descended.
She said, “Are you sure there isn’t an easier—ow!”
He clawed his way up the dirt cliff on the other side.
I followed.
I said, “Oh wait, you ran by that special mark again.”
He said, “What mark?”
I said, “I forgot what it’s called.”
He frowned, walked back and, looking at the mark, “Ah. . . that mark.”
We hugged warmly.
Then we waited for others to arrive.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog  brought it back.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog  brought it back.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog  brought it back.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog  brought it back.
I sensed a pattern here.
A dog smacked him in the back of the leg with a large burly stick.
He said, “God damn it Phoenix!”
He threw the stick farther for the dogs.
A dog ran back in excitement, slamming sidelong into a tree.
He said, “That took the wind out of him.”
I said, “He seems to be limping a little, though not enough to stop him from fetching.”
He said, “That’s Choby.”
Other people came.
We ran on.
He said, “Turkey-Eagle split.”
I stopped to look at the mark, and said, “Hmm.”
He continued on, through the dry ferns.
We looked at the hill.
I said, “I guess the other way was less steep.”
He made no comment.
We climbed.
We slid.
We climbed some more.
He said, “Damn.”
I jogged along the edge of the cliff top.
I said, “Beer near!”
He said, “Look for suspicious bark.”
I said, “How about suspicious leaves.”
She said, “See any suspicious bark?”
I said, “No really, suspicious leaves, with metal things under them.”
We drank and were merry.
He said, “Where are those damn turkeys.”
He said, “Wait, i think i hear them.”
I said, “I don’t see them.”
He said, “Where are those damn turkeys.”
He said, “I see them.”
We drank more.
We ran through garden plots.
He said, “I saw this part of trail before; it goes this way.”
I followed.
We ran down Freese road and across the bridge.
He held up his bulbous squash in the middle of a field.
He ran to have it shoved it in.
He broken his rotten squash all over his shorts.
She said, “I’m glad i didn’t try to hump that. And i was going to.”
He wiped his arse on the ground.
She said, “Are we still on?”
I said, “I haven’t seen a mark since the last turn.”
We fanned out to check.
She said, “I think Alex and CoCo are having another murky moment.”
He said, “With the squash?”
I said, “They’re on the white truck over there.”
She said, “Well. . . i guess it’s not murky if we can see it.”
In the distance, two fully clothed figures undulating on the hood of a white van. . .
the kind of van a serial kidnapper might use.
He said, “It’s hard to say it’s a murky moment when it’s all the time.”
He said, “Where’s the trail?”
I said, “Over there.”
He said, “Ah fuck, i’m taking the turkey trail.”
I ran over twisting trail.
He said, “What does ‘On In’ mean?”
I said, “It means we’re done.”
She said, “The cars are right there.”

He said, “Does everyone know the directions to Bridesmaid’s place?”
He said, “Follow me.”
She said, “Do we really have to give Floss a ride?”
He said, “It’s cold.”
She said, “Wow, you have a beautiful place.”
He said, “Should we do circle in the garage.”
He said, “We can do it in the house.”
She said, “We should probably not do it over the wood floors.”
He accused the hares, because trail sucked.
He accused the virgins, because they didn’t know that trail sucked.
He accused the late comers.
He accused the bobbit.
He accused really late comer.
He accused the dog owners.
He accused mug owners, because the actually brought their mugs.”
He accused Just Alex, because she dared to have a birthday.”
He said, “May the hash go in peace.”
We said, “May the hash get a piece.”

He said, “Hey Spike, how about you write the ReHash.”
I said, “Uhh. . .”
He said, “Good. That’s settled.”