IH3 Trail #411

So these two guys pull into the parking area right in front of me, obviously following the directions to the hash. Little did they know that the directions had been changed. They turned out to be Mother Cummer from Flour City H3 and his virgin brother. So after a few minutes of chatting, there were indications that the real starting location was down the road in the middle of a field. And lo and behold, there was Dances with Head and Pussy Pong relaxing on the hood of the car in the middle of said field, drinking something related to beer. Yeah, that was the start…

Then all these other people showed up. ET, Monte, Li’l Miss, and Hot Lips crused up in their vehicles, and Road Kill trotted in, being far to over-athletic to actually use a vehicle to get to the hash, and then this guy who had the audacity to be "just jogging by" stopped in to join the hash.
There was beer, there was talk of beer, and then there was flour on the ground…

…and the lackadaisical wandering commenced. First there was wandering up the road, but that didn’t work. So then there was wondering down the road, which worked for a bit. That is, until the trail doubled back on itself. Then there was wandering in the field. It was at this point, i should point out, that ET must have gotten rather wandered out, because he fled the scene and was never seen on trail again. Must have had to take a Monte-style bathroom break.

So the continuing hashers continued hashing, through the plantations, downhill all the way. Then there was beer by this car in a gravel parking lot. Yeah… and frozen water, which was very much like the beer, except that it was frozen. Some standing around commenced, and then there was a second round of beer as Lawrence proceeded to discuss those events pertaining to the forbidden R word, and others contemplated the volume of beer that an official "Ultimate" frisbee would hold and whether that amount would be in litres or cups (something about a pint not being a pint like a pound is not always a pound). It was truly an approximation of the type of academic pondering which may or may not occur at a fraternity keg party of any institute of higher learning… like the one we were hashing across, for instance.

Oh yeah… and i think everyone eventually started hashing again, until they passed by Women There’s house. Now i must take this opportunity to mention that not only did Women There not notice the large white flour marks in his front yard, and not only did he fail to drop what he was doing and join the hashers’ quest for even more beer, but he failed to be a proper party host and offer the people standing around on his flour-marked front lawn any beverages or small fried treats. Yeah… the small fried treats that come in a freezer box and are usually very quick and easy to make and would have pleased the beer-seeking hashers immensely. Well, actually, it would not have pleased Road Kill, as it does not conform to his particular style of dietary consumables, but the other hashers would have been pleased to some extent.

So… the hashers abandoned the poor party host and ran around Beebee Lake. There was talk of short-cutting the hash, because, god forbid, it was getting late. Hot Lips had already vanished like the proverbial pumpkin carriage at midnight, and Road Kill decided that he was close enough to home that he could get some of that athletic stuff in and call it a day.

And then there was this place which is better known for happy hour on Fridays. It is known by many as "The Big Red Barn", even though it hasn’t been a barn for many a year. But, to the pleasure of the hashers, the Big Red Barn dropped its trailing n and pretended that it was a Friday happy hour. So there was again beer. And there was again frozen water, which was very much like the beer… but we’ve been through that already.

There seemed to have been a minor problem a few minutes later when the beer ran out. Being experienced with just this sort of emergency, however, the hashers quickly ran to the On In, not taking too much notice of the remainder of those little white flour marks. You see… having hashed many times, the hashers kind of knew that there would be beer at the On In, so there really was little reason or incentive to worry about the remainder of the tail. And, after all… it’s not short cutting if everyone does it.

And so, there was an On In at Point B. With many flying accusations, and, of course, beer. Two officers from Cornell Police conveniently watched over the cars while the hashers imbibed in the woods just ten metres away. RedCrap and some other hasher finally showed up in the middle of the ceremony after having been retrieved from point A, where they were waiting for the hashers to return. Coolers were emptied, awards passed, and, well… that’s that.