A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
Amidst a backdrop of grey skies, gusts of up to ten MPH and near-freezing temperatures, the Ithaca Hash was soon to assemble on Yellow Barn Road for another exciting trail. Always a Bridesmaid and I took the scenic route, heading through Varna, across Turkey Hill, out to 79, and back through Midline & Irish Settlement. Pulling up to the intersection, we notice a familiar vehicle… SPIKE! As our mighty engines roared through the hollows and up Yellow Barn, we started wondering where on Earth the trail would start.
Aha! A few miles up the road, along a woodsy stretch of straightaway, we spy the legendary ToothyMobile! Though there is no Toothy, nor Crimes Against Huge Mammaries, nor Man-O-Whore, we do spot Just Chris, Just Rachel, and …is that COCKTAIL FRANK? It IS! It is Cocktail, returned from the wilds of Arizona! We gathered around Bridesmaid’s car, chatting and catching up on Cocktail’s recent machinations in the world of college, hearing of his exploits on the radio, r*nning with the rogue, even-more-mismanaged-than-most Flagstaff H3, and his conquests of many fine women. Many. All of them fine.
As the winds blew and time dragged on, I became more and more grateful that I had taken five minutes to pack several additional layers of clothing. Pulling on my snowshoes and jacket, I noticed that the hares were not yet there. Hmm. I called MOW, who informed me under no uncertain terms that they were “…just moments away from the pack.” Ten minutes later, at about 2:30, I finished my second beer and declared “Enough of this. I’m getting cold and there’s beer out there.”
So the pack left to find trail, without benefit of the hares, with the two FRBs leading the way, packing down the snow for the benefit of those without snowshoes. Off we went, trailing down the single-track, amidst the snow-dusted maple, oak, and ash. After a few minutes pounding down trail, we come to a circle-check. When the pack was all caught up, Bridesmaid continued straight, Spike bore left, and I elected a sharp left, straight into the woods. Shiggy knows no season, and trail became an exercise in bounding over logs, around brambles, and under branches, weighted down with an icy crust of snow, which resembled so much frosting on a gingerbread house.
Over and on-on we went, staving off hypothermia and frostbite with our athletic vigor, checking checks, feeling the cool snow on our butts as we trampled the shiggy, and wondering when we would find the beer. Trail came out onto open trail again, and Just Rachel remarked that she would have to leave soon. Seeing a road nearby, she noted that she ought to bounce, as there was a prior engagement to attend. We headed out towards the powerlines at the crest of the hill, but alas, it was not to be, as Bridesmaid found a back-check a ways down the hill, and the road went nowhere useful. Resigned to her fate, Rachel continued on trail with us, trekking down the crunchy, tire-hewn ice and snow.
Problems soon arose, as we came to a false trail at a T-intersection, but could not find a trail. Curious. Backtracking, I was a bit confused, and found nothing. I then headed right down the trail, endeavoring to zen trail and find beer. But wait! What’s this? A stranger approacheth! Clad in yellow, and with a dog in tow! It’s Dash! And Toothy Lunker, our noble hare! Woohoo! Catching up with the pack, our hare continued with us down the road, where we she helpfully pointed out a dog-nibbled circle-check. We made a turn and on-down the road, where we hit a T and an E. Spike elected to follow Bridesmaid on-left, while I held back, both out of a desire to catch up with DFLing Cocktail and to determine whether my cold feet wanted beer quicker, or after more exercise.
For the first time in a while, I chose the Tough trail, continuing straight down the road. We shortly lost trail in a similar manner as before, and backpedaled a ways before discovering errant marks pointing off and to the left. The Toughies bounded over a couple of fire road berms and found themselves crossing a semi-frozen quagmire, which in spring no doubt comes up to your ankles. Once the swamp was passed, we continued through the forest and shiggy, crossing several streams and ducking under fallen trees. Once over a fire road, we suddenly found ourselves amidst a beautiful dark stand of fir trees, bringing to mind the grove that stands atop Virgil Mountain. Navigating around the branches that snag and poke, we came back around to the snowmobile trails, where who of all people would be out but Crimes and Man-O-Whore, accompanied by their faithful hound, Charlie!
After exchanging greetings and grousing about the dry trail, Just Rachel soon found a heartening note at the cross-roads near a large pond — BN! Much rejoicing ensued, as Bridesmaid and Spike burst through the vegetation to join us in the hunt. After much searching, it turned out that the hares had to relocate the BN from the previous location, but soon beer was upon the pack! Woohoo! Bridesmaid helpfully pointed out we had traversed 3.06 miles in just over an hour, with his f-a-a-a-ancy-shmancy new Garmin 405, while the rest of the pack grumbled about tech on trail. We canoodled about for a while, talking about the large hill on the Easy trail, puppies, new houses, gluten-free beer, holiday plans, kids, finals, concerts, and suchlike, before Rachel announced her departure. We bade her off with a rousing chorus:
“She ought to be publicly pissed on, she ought to be taken out and shot! (bang bang)
She ought to be tied to a urinal, and left there to fester and rot!”
Thus we continued our valiant effort to drink the beer, before folk started mentioning the various chills. Having lost the feeling in my right pinkie toe within the first 30 minutes, followed by the numbing of my feet during the hash rest, I tossed my can aside and cleared my throat. Soon enough, the pack cleared off for the rest of trail. On-on we bounded, sticking mainly to the groomed snowmobile path, winding our way down a fast hill, hopping betwixt the streams that flowed along with us, until we jumped back into the shiggy. We continued for a bit, leaving the hares in the dust, before emerging back out onto Yellow Barn Road. Seeing trail could only go one way, Bridesmaid and I soldiered up the hill, keeping to the snow when possible, our cleats clinking against the pavement. When we finally made it to the cars, some three-quarters of a mile later, we noted that the hares hadn’t yet arrived. Cracking a beer being the only truly feasible thing to do, the two of us readily commenced pre-emptive rehydration.
Toothy and Spike joined us soon after, and went off to retrieve the rest of the errant pack. Soon we were all assembled, and convoyed down the hill to the hares’ new place for circle. We all piled into the garage to strip off our sodden garments and don fresh ones, then into the house where we met an amiable, aloof feline puffball that I will call Cupcake, since I can’t remember the real name. After beers were cracked and chatter exchanged, circle got under way.
Hooray circle! The hares were duly celebrated for their pavement-ridden, heat-stroked, shiggy-avoiding, too-much-beer having trail, and again for cherry-busting. It was decided that, although Man-O-Whore did live trail for the weekend, it only half-counted, and that, though this wasn’t really their first housewarming party, that it was half of one. Cocktail Frank was duly called up for a cums-lately, and Bridesmaid and the hares were also grouped into the circle. The dog owners – coincidentally the hares – were punshed, as were the usual suspects for FRBing. I came up again for costuming in my ever-so-fashionable Shiggy Shirt, as did the hares for theirs. Spike and Bridesmaid had down-downs for an extended murky moment on the Easy trail, and Cocktail had a belated side-side for his recent 23rd birthday.
Less common down-downs were meted out. We sang “Hot Vagina” to Cocktail Frank for sleeping with a Mom (not your own or the wife of your children), for being a father (Just Chris and Always a Bridesmaid), and for being a mother (Toothy) since we didn’t want to leave her out. We accused Crimes and Man-O-Whore for living in sin, which morphed into the accusation “Or you now, or have you ever lived in sin?”, for which the entire pack drank.
At this point, I related the story of the last hash, during which Just Chris had been one of the few who had the courage – and stupidity – to follow trail through the rain, sleet, hail and dark. Once he finished his down-down for his actions, Toothy remarked at what a good naming opportunity this might be. We banished Just Chris to the reaches of upstairs where he played with Crimes’ pus… err, cat. We discussed naming along the lines of “Leave your package at the door” and similar ‘dirty postman’ names, in keeping with the old oath: “neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
It was after several minutes of brainstorming that one of us suggested “Speedy Delivery,” recalling the sketchy postman that Mister Rogers always used to hang out with…. the one that always seemed to have a nice, big package for Mister Rogers, who lived in a house at the end of a block. Further debate revealed that Mister McFeely was much more entertaining, and Just Chris was called back down into circle. A benediction was given, a song was sung, and Just Chris was duly named Mister McFeely. Not a minute later, however, did someone remark that Mister McFeelMe would be much more entertaining…. a quick vote was taken… and the Ithaca Hash is proud to announce:
Just Chris will henceforth be known as Mister McFeelMe!
And lo, there was much rejoicing. The pack adjourned to treat of brownies, courtesy of Toothy, some warm blackberry-strawberry-cherry pie (you missed out), and escargot with garlic & butter (you REALLY missed out).
And yea, the pack did go in peace, and they hopefully got a piece. Or will soon.
On-on-to-Holidaze,
~Master Baster