IH3 Trail #658: A Very Sh*tty Trail (Literally)

It was a hot and muggy Tuesday when the hashers arrived at the Tuller Hill State Forest to find a couple of sweaty hares waiting. Yet (surprise!), these were not the hares we expected. Kickstand was there, but a last minute malady had sidelined Nurse, resulting in Male Bait stepping in for hare duty. Nurse did arrive for the hash, and the crack medical staff of Hasher Hospital quickly suspected a diagnosis of “hangover” while she firmly claimed to have a “cold”. The usual suspects all gathered, and the absence of a certain elderly gentleman who had recently chastised hashers for skipping hashes was duly noted. From down South, Hoosier Daddy slipped in for a visit from the great land of KY.

After chalk talk, Kicky pointed up the hill and announced that trail started up top. While the rest piled in for a little vehicular assistance, Baster took off up the hill to shake out his legs with a mere 38.6 r*cist miles to their credit from the prior weekend.

Upon arrival, the hashers encountered a pile of garbage (mostly food packaging), about which PG incredulously exclaimed “And it’s all processed food!” Eventually, the hashers were off in search of shiggy, and shiggy they found. After winding about in the woods on semi-trails, the hounds found themselves lost, with the hares surprisingly lost as well. The first of much hare-on-hare finger-pointing began, but we managed to refind trail and proceeded to tramp through as many prickers as we could find. Speaking of tramp, PG was already whining, despite the relatively mild shigginess thus far. Fortunately, she was easily distracted by her search for toads on trail.

Somewhere along the way, the hash began living up to its name as we encountered deer droppings and were treated to an official horse poop hash view.

After a refreshing BN, the hounds set off to find trail, with PG finding true trail and some shin deep mud to accompany it – alerting us by screaming like a mad woman. Much of the rest of trail is now lost to eternity, due to this hasher’s forgetfulness, but it definitely led us eventually to the second BN, situated near a mid-forest outhouse for some more discussions about BMs. With beer consumed, the hashers headed back onto trail and somehow found their way to the On In for circle.Libations were lifted to lips and down downs were doled out, and as everyone began to scatter, it was discovered that one of Kicky’s tires was flat. This lead to an all-half-minds-on-deck scramble to figure out the best course of action. Male Bait took the lead in attempting to change the tire, but unfortunately the appropriate equipment was not available, and the last wheel nut proved intractable. This hasher took the opportunity to consume nearly an entire bag of orange cheesy poofs while surveying the scene and providing what was no doubt tremendously invaluable advice. (Hey, it’s my rehash.) In the end, we decided to put Kicky’s nuts back on, and he slowly drove off to find some air for his tires.

In the post script, Kicky did make it out of the wilds of Virgil alive and no college kids had to go without their alma mater scrunchies or Bob Marley posters.