A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
On a beautiful cold day in mid-November, two gentlemen got up and decided to make the best of their day. Being that they had taken full advantage of the freedoms they had to offer, they decided to wake themselves up to the rigors of the mid-day trail setting, without consideration or care paid to the extreme benefice that the hash hash to offer. At the reasonable hour of eleven o’clock, they found themselves with flour, Kool-Aid, and the matching ensemble of Wegman’s grocery bags, they set upon their merry way, which was met with sunlight. This continued for all of three minutes, whereupon the hares were beset by a bout of snow. The snow fell rapaciously upon this fun-loving duo, whereupon after six hundred and forty-two seconds*, the weather skipped snow and proceeded directly to sleet. After some time during which Mother Nature could only vacillate betwixt different levels of precipitation that seem appropriate for the acclimated area half-mind, somehow the hares managed their way back through the murky woods.
*time approximated
Having completed the dead trail and beer nears with virtually no time to spare, Doris and Baster scooted back to the Hash Start, only to find Porcelain Goddess, Butt Floss, and Just Chris there to welcome the somewhat hapless hares. A collective sigh was drawn upon learning that PG had deigned only to show up, say hi, show off her delightful boots, pretty hat, and then drink a beer before proclaiming her insouciant disagreement for a hash devoid of naught but sun and warmth. Left with a paltry pack of four, the decision was made to soon enough press forward: on-on through the gently falling snowflakes!
The temperature spiking at thirty-four degrees, Just Chris and Butt Floss skirted tentatively about, flitting hither and yon before soon discovering the little bit of pink amidst the white that oft lays amongst the driven snow. Soon trail was discovered – a winding path along the ridge overlooking the upper part of Fall Creek. As fortune would have it, the wily and elusive proto-Virgin Just Eric S. appeared on trail! As Gispert would have it, several of us were well-acquainted with the gentleman, a sort with whom the occasionally overachieving may be familiar; all in all, a decent fellow. After a few minutes of slogging up and down the slippery, cold shiggy and hills, covering several false trails and a particularly egregious and unnecessary back-check, we soon hooked up with the main ridge of Monkey R*n! Just Eric chose to take his leave just short of the main trail, so as we bid him adieu, the four plucky trailhound pushed forward through the luscious chill flakes, now pouring luminous through the early winter skies.
Once along Monkey R*n, we continued along, finding the bits of pink along the path laid by those responsible, scaring the occasional fur-clad dog owner. In the intervening ten minutes between Just Eric leaving us among the barely-trodden footpaths along the eroded banks of Fall Creek, the weather had chosen to take a turn towards “Rain, Semi-Freezing,” pleasing the trail-sodden four who would have much preferred direct immersion in tepid tap water. Needless to say, the weather did naught to deter the hounds from their intended course, which led in-advisedly across the frigid waters of Fall Creek. Shocker the Safety Dog, having until recently been more sensible than to immerse himself in hypothermia-inducing waters, threw safety to the winds and started a swim across the creek. The silly, bipedal creatures had no choice but to follow the path across the decrepit, ice-covered skeleton of a bridge… only to find BEER!
The delicous emolument lay at the nethers of an old forsythia concupiscence, shrouded from view by a bundle of hemlock. As Butt Floss bravely forged the path o’er the bridge, he jumped down from the icy walkway, only to be drenched by the virtues of Safety Dog the Inconsiderate. Once the hash rested, the slightest amounts of grumbling commenced. Amongst the talk of lawn flamingoes, virtues of hashing in humidity versus frigidity, “good” cheap beers, and preferred flavors of prophylactics, a desire to remove ourselves from the growing onslaught of a rain overtook the pack. On-on we went, slogging down a path towards the trailhead of the orange trails. But oh no! Oh, goodness no were we to follow a pavement-treaded trail, resulting in a BC16. So we continued, following the creek’s path, dodging the frequent ice-tinged pools of water. As the freezing rain set over us, we continued down along the banks of Fall Creek, admiring the salt cliffs above and the shale-sifted paths below.
Lo, what emerges but paved road? Really? Damn hares… the path continued before us, with the errant Just Chris and Butt Floss to find their way amongst old potato fields, guessing their way over deer runs and under low-hanging shiggy vines, until a path clearly emerged along the old railway bed near Varna…. and before you might suspect, only a mere few hundred yards from the last BN, was another glorious treasure, nestled amongst some old tarpaulin! With the weather now turn’d towads snow once again, the pack laid into the PBR and Michelob with a passion. After all: what better way to put up with snow and the shared company of BF, JC, DD, and MB than a good, cold, refreshing beverage?
As darkness waxed above, the decision was made to head off, even without consuming the beer? As the pack headed along, over the railroad bridge, down Mount Pleasant Road (no cheap jokes were harmed in the making of this re-hash), and towards the trestle bridge, the question of “True Trail?” was raised. You see, dear reader, it seems that the hares had chosen to lay true trail towards the beet and rutabaga fields that comprise a semi-inaccessible path up a hill… the known destination of this acknowledged A-A trail. What, then, is the right thing to do, as a philosophically-inclined hasher? Follow trail and risk certain ignominy due to the diminishing sun and lack of headlamp???
Clearly, it’s to shortcut trail and get one’s ass back to the car. So off Doris Dicktoria went, off up Freese Road’s ignominious incline, leaving poor Baster to ward off cars clearly intending to squash poor Chris and Floss. By the time that we had surmounted the obstacle, Doris pulled up… too little, too late. Once the paltry pack reached their cars, it was quickly determined that the level effort put in was worthy of a suitable circle/on-in. So, then, it was decided to have the wretched hares pick up the hash rest supplies, then proceed following BF/HC to unwitting hospitality of Porcelain Goddess, who it was determined would have to be punished for her egregious spurning of trail.
The pack assembled soon after, barging into PG’s house with barely more than invitation and a smooch from Floss. Though under slight protestations, down-downs were meted out for flagrant bobbiting trail (PG), being stupid enough to hash in the weather (all), sh*tty trail (hares), following trail (hounds), being overly prepared with hand-warmers (MB), being too well-dressed for trail (PG), and being stupid enough to actually set this trail under the prevailing conditions (hares).
And once complete, a decision was made to adjourn, and start composing a list of those who should be called into question for not following a truly glorious, temperate, flat, enjoyable, fully-catered, entirely safe trail without risk of injury or incident.
~MB