A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
The sound of squealing tires brought a seemingly calm day into a decisively edgy one. It came with the realization that we had just flown by the driveway labeled 1581 Ellis Hollow Road, tucked neatly at the leeward side of the ridge we had just passed over. Throwing the Jeep in reverse, we sped backwards, hoping that no one else would come over that ridge without seeing us. We lucked out and I sensed that this would not be the last time we’d call upon luck for the day.
Upon reaching the end of the driveway, we deftly maneuvered around the mass of parked cars (and one motorcycle) to announce our arrival. Among those present were Pong Pussy & Dances with Head (our fearless hares), Hot Lips, Scooby Snatch (who was sporting matching jacket and helmet, ready to prove his bike’s salt), Lil Miss MuffIt and his dog, A virgin, and an almost virgin who had come once the previous year, who worked at Hazlitt Winery (and, incidentally, had what resembled toilet paper stuck to his shoe…more on that later) Soon after our arrival, came LOA (donning a large wooden Phallus) & Butt Floss, Roadkill, 1/2 Monty, and Hung Man (Sorry Spike if I forgot to mention you…I really don’t remember your being there!). Once all were assembled, there was a brief, albeit raucous, instructional session wherein the hares informed us that a back check would be marked with an R(standing for ‘rong way’ as one particularly bright hasher pointed out!..or perhaps reverse) in an attempt to not mislead with a B.
We were then off and we found ourselves on an old logging trail which apparently was too well groomed for our hares as they quickly took us off trail, bushwhacking for a good half-mile before finding our way to a similarly groomed trail… The land, owned by Cornell, was chock full of trails and was, to the best of my knowledge, virgin hash territory. As we ran tirelessly searching for nearby beer, it became apparent that perhaps Dances was not in total control of the planning of this hash as the Beer was not within a mere few miles of the start, but much, much farther out, over the river and through the woods…wait, through the woods and around a swamp. After the BEER, we were directed to more bushwhacking, then: NICE BEAVER! Did that catch your attention? It certainly perked up ears at the hash, although few actually got a glimpse of the BEAVER, it had long, brown hair (which means that several of the harrierettes were out of the running when others were guessing where the BEAVER might have been seen.) After the commotion died down, the overwhelming male contingent of hashers, as well as some of the females, were unable to concentrate on finding flour. I relied upon my years of hashing experience and used my 6th sense to get back on trail, which, not only brought me past a well preserved Volkswagen beetle, but led me back to the true trail some 400 meters past the main pack. I used this time to recharge my zen through meditation. The pack continued onward to beer check number two, on the pinnacle of Snyder Hill (Yes, THE Snyder Hill!) and although Mr. Snyder was nowhere to be seen, his tree stand was clearly visible, and Roadkill, apparently fearing a great flood, shimmied to the top and went to sit down. What happened next is a blur as it is unclear whether the Guffaws and uproarious laughter came first, or the cracking of seat and floorboards of the tree stand, or the power and speed which Roadkill displayed in leaping from the 15 foot height.
After hysteria dissipated, the pack went onward toward the On-In, again through amazingly scenic trails, through a creek and up to the On-In. Here we managed to grill up some awesome grub and enjoy each others company as Down-Downs commenced. Many drank some and some drank many, but no one left parched. It was then that Butt Floss suggested a naming to the gentleman from Hazlitt who was given a down-down for being the Bleeb despite having to drive back to the nearest petrol station to drop a load as the hares were still out setting trail. Butt Floss suggested Naming him ‘Has-Sh:t’ after his workplace, but others who have frequented the place recalled and began singing their favorite wine’s catch song…Here , I’ll sing it to you (Don’t complain if its flat, this screen is only 2 dimensional):
Red Cat-Red Cat
It’s an aphrodisiac
Red Cat-Red Cat
It’ll get you in the sack
So it was decided that this hasher’s name would hereby be known as ‘Red Crap’
Thanks to the hares for providing an awesome trail on new territory, and for providing the food for the on-in. It really reminded me of the glory days of the Ithaca hash during its heyday when we would regularly have 30+ attendees. Great Job!
On-On!
Calvin Klimax