IH3 Trail #472

So it was another Sunday, and a cold one at that. I got in my car, headed out the driveway, turned around and drove back in the driveway, got the Hash Cash, which i didn’t have the first time, got in my car, got out of my car, wished i was a caffeine addict, got my hash mug and some aspirin for my hangover, got back in my car, headed out the driveway, and groggily made my way to Freese Road.

And there they were… the Ithaca Hash… LOA and Floss, Pippi and Cocksmith, Dances and PP, Tequila and Staffy, Just John and Just June, oh yeah… and Phil McCrackin, all huddled together, shivering against the chilly December wind. So got out of my car and took a piss in the weeds.

After a brief chalk talk by virgin hare John and veteran assistant hare Dances, the hash was off in a generally that-a-way sort of direction. We hashed across snowy field, checked a false up a very steep hill, checked a true up a very steep hill, crossed wind stripped fields, circled around the Plantation trails and ended up climbing the muddy slopes to the back fairway of Cornell’s golf course just in time for a most elegant (so i’m told, i didn’t see it) hash crash by Cocksmith. I was so excited by this news i thought about taking another whizz in the bushes.

However, before i could expel any excess liquid, someone called out "Beer Neer!!" (yes, they really did spell it that way when they shouted; honest). We search the partially forested area near the tee-off, desperately hoping for some excess liquid in small cold cans. To the bafflement of Phil, it was not in the large metal basin, which looked like an old toiled and seemed the most obvious place to hide hash beer.

Curse those hares for picking the less obvious pile of leaves to hide the beer in!!

So we sipped our beer-flavoured soda pop over a brief chat about the pros and cons of television sitcoms and Just John’s academic pursuits. And there’s nothing wrong with academic interests in supercomputers and aerodynamics. Like no other hasher has considered throwing their computer off the top of a gorge.

So after we got all liquidated, we jogged around the horse barn and into the housing community build by Lucenti. As a matter of fact, we saw the Mediterranean-style archway house of Lucenti himself, right before we saw the ugly multifamily dwellings build by some other schmuck with no taste. Hey… i’ll choose gaudy Long Island Italian villa over stoic windowless grey box any day, but i digress.

The trail led to this dirt road which didn’t really go any where, but there was beer at the end of it, so we were happy. At this point i took a piss somewhere in the bushes near a creek. It’s all a little foggy right now, but that might be the cough syrup talking.

Well… after all this, some people felt that they had to abandon the hash to get back to their mundane lives. So a few people ran ahead. The rest of us explored another snowy wind-swept field, wondering where the hell Cocksmith’s dog had run off to this time. That darn mutt!! Never around when you need to blame a fart on someone else!

Eventually we found trail through the woods and right up to the edge of Fall Creek Gorge, where we got a wonderful view of Fall Creek Gorge. No really… did you think i was going to name some other gorge?

Then we made it back to the On In, where there was much merriment and a great deal of shivering as the sun got swallowed up by the darkness. Prizes were awarded, beer was consumed, and Dances messed up a few hash lyrics. You know, the usual. Then there was something about oral sex and dancing around a camp fire, but that might have been after the hypothermic shock set in.

Anyway, fun was had by all.
And until next time…

Spike