Trail notes
(Cliffs Notes, for those of you who’d rather spend your time drinking
instead of reading. Gist of the trail: Tunnels, mud, water
and whine.)
Holy crap! What a gorgeous day. I pulled into the parking lot at 9:55 and found a small gaggle of wankers stretching out (a violation?) in the oval parking lot beside the tee-ball field. French Toasted, Byte and Dr. Jekyll were chasing each around the bases clock-wise. Very odd. TwoLips in the Bush was sitting on the blacktop leafing through old editions of the Trash looking for his name. He made a pile of trashes that included his name beside the much larger pile that did not. Add this one to the growing pile, 2Lips. Slowly inching through the crowd, Dual Air Bags appeared from behind PudNocker and waved me into one of the two remaining parking spots. Beside me was a big-ass, no, those words aren’t strong enough for the size of this thing … beside me was this GI-gunta, obscenely-large gas ‘shlorter well over 7.5 feet tall. God bless American-made vehicles! Standard Deviant and Chappaquickdick emerged from its belly, covered in sweat, proudly announcing, ‘well, we couldn’t get it to rock!” Tore Ass made a bee-line to the backseats armed w/ a roll of paper towels and air freshener. Guess we know who the owner is now? Not wanting to think about what this all might mean, I delivered to Black Box a present from Fussy, a Halloween flag (self-indulgent, stream-of-consciousness editorial note: which reminds me, the annual combined DC area Halloweenie Hash is coming up in just a matter of days. [Note to self: Oil, remember to put an announcement about it here in the Trash, otherwise this whole aside just illuminates the shallow pool of your concentration] … ok, on w/ the mindless ramblings). There I met Elevator Guy (aka Just Scott) Black Box’s beau of beaus. Good fella. Chatty. Good-natured. Is the IT person at the Department of Transportation where you will recall Ms. Box got busted for having PORN on her computer in the form of the Hash Directory. Coincidence that they are now an item? You be the judge! This was his first hash, although if he wants to keep in the Queen B's good graces, it won't be his last.
There was a slight breeze at the start and Roto kept making odd contortions so that his head would be constantly in the breeze, spinning his new propeller. Red Dress Mismanagement came out to lead us in Father Abraham, shouting “thank god it’s over” during the pelvic thrusts. My, how many times have we heard that? Yep. It’s never enough. And the pack takes off. We hit the first check before the running even started, causing some looks of confusion amongst the FRB’s who were ready to dash off. As the whistle blew, the pack had already determined that trail should be downhill. WRONG! Back they came up the hill and we all headed down the natural alley behind a row of homes, towards the first (of many) strip mall. At the end of the alley we passed a concerned homeowner and a FFX patrol car. The homeowner had spotted piles of a mysterious white substance beside her home and wanted it checked out. Dual Air Bags and Stained Sheets explained our bizarre rituals to the officers (hope they didn’t tell them about the midgets and marmalade!!). The pack pressed on. Things were well under control. One of our virgins, Just Leslie, and her little Eskimo dog, Alex, strolled along with us behind the strip mall, around the industrial park and then … into the stream, Hollow Point and Stained Sheets looked at one another knowingly (that same look you see from the janitor when the cafeteria serves chlli and beans for supper … wer’re all in for a messy ride!). Mud Buns appeared briefly (no, not in her briefs, you pervs!) on the opposite bank and then was gone, not be seen again (by us, at least) until the On-In. Holiday Ho clomped through the stanky water just in front of me as BBT and Lucy pulled up the rear. We were now at the railroad yard. Two trains sat idly on the five tracks. Beyond the heavy rail stood the Metro line. Me, having never crawled on a stationary train, One Hand, Hollow Point, Elevator Guy, Holiday Ho and I all tried various methods of crossing the tracks. Ho found the speediest and least strenuous option, under. Meanwhile, Black Box and her entourage (read as “folks who had the intelligent foresight to see that crossing those trains was going to be a fruitless pursuit”) had quickly made their way far past the obstacles we were vexed with. Under was the smart way to go. A typical PIO trail. I’d forgotten who our hares were this week. Until now. After several tunnels (four? Five?) we reached a clearing outside the beltway. In a wooded park we happened upon a mysterious hasher wearing a San Fran H3 t-shirt. He was looking for white flour, the runner’s trail. News to us walkers! We were supposed to be following orange flour. Well, we found it. We encouraged SanFranMan to come with us as the trails were supposed to split at the water stop. He pressed on alone. At that point, Black Box produced a cheery little note from her pocket which read:
Gooday Walkers! Your Instructions;
Follow True Trail until the water stop. After that, look for the large On On in flour. Go RIGHT into the woods and look for the walkers trail in ORANGE flour. By and by you’ll merge with the runners and go on in!
Xxoo MT PIO Tipper
By and by, indeed. We meandered through a maze of neighborhood streets and came across a new MV trail marking, “MVH3 ¼ Mile Race.” A short down-hill towards a residence. The On-In? It’s been 1.5 hours, surely this is it. That truck parked on the street looks like the bag vehicle. This must be it. WRONG! Past the homes we go, to a narrow concrete culvert and, yes, once again, a TUNNEL. Imagine that. Squat.. Squat. Squat.. Squat. Squat.. Squat. Aaah! We’re done! Not quite. Now we’re sandwiched between a major road and the metro lines. Standard Deviant, upon exiting the tunnel said, “there’s a whole damned bag of flour at the foot of this spillway leading into that damned nasty-ass creek. Screw it!” We all concurred and resigned to hang out there betwixt the transits and drink our own sweat. Not one to be out half-witted, Stained Sheets sprayed his leg brace with WD40, tore off his shirt and lept into the drink. We followed suit, not so much inspired as realizing SS was going to drink all the beer! Directly we reached the On In. Roto and PIO met us just outside the circle, beers in hand. Sam Adams. God bless “yuppie beer” (PIO’s words, not mine.). Thanks, Milk Money, I will have another.
On-In
Virgins: Just Leslie and her little dog, Alex. When asked
what she thought of trail. Leslie replied, “man, that sucked.” Of
course, the hares drank heartily. Just Scott, whom those of you with semi-literate
comprehension skills (which, we all know, is all we hashers can usually
muster) will recall from your earlier reading as Elevator Guy.
Visitors: Saturday Night Beaver (TX; the exception to the rule that “everything’s big in TX”); Lucille Bold (Nebraska)
Returners: Puss in Boots and Well Hung (here’s a boast you don’t hear real often, “Ladies, I’m hung like a cat!”)
Anniversaries: (a simpleton’s drinking game; hand this list to
a buddy. Have them say all the names and number of runs in one breath.
If they don’t complete the list, make them drink … a full beer, none of
this pansy little gulp crap. Then try again until either (1) the
list is fully-read, or (2) the drinker must urinate. Then, switch.)
Just Christa (5), Two Lips In The Bush (15), Womb Broom & TipHer
WhipHer, aka, that mean-ass bitch who, after proudly proclaiming, “those
walkers won’t be in for at least two hours!” threw her head back and cackled,
nearly toppling herself off her crutches (45), Latin Analyst (85), Pay
Per View (105), For Sale or Rent (115), Mellow Foreskin Cheese (125), Hollow
Point, aka “the guy wearing Hawaiian Puke’s hat” (225), French Toasted
(285), Roto (305)
Crafty warmed our collective cockles as he serenaded Black Box with “Are you lonely tonight?” The tune so warmed Roto, Continental Drip and S’Not that the trio had to cool their posteriors on the chain link fence for a passing cargo train. Several times. Along a simu-lar vein, For Sale or Rent encouraged us all to break out our codpieces and chastity belts for next week’s (well, by the time you read this,today’s) Renaissance Hash.
Hashit:
The hares. No competition.
Next Week’s Hash
MVH3 #748 -- Sat Oct 27 10AM
Theme: "Marine Corps Marathon warm-up hash”
Hares: Just Mariah, Holy Tit!, YesDear, and WellDrilled
Start: 35th and Garfield Streets NW. (Adjacent St. Albans
and the National Cathedral)
PI potential: low
Miscellaneous: A to B. Bring dry shoes as always.
Dog friendly -- stroller unfriendly
J
L
Directions:
Metro
Get on red line to Woodley Pk. Take elevator to Conn
Ave. At the corner where the elevator comes up--turn
left onto Woodley Rd. Walk about ¼ mile and Woodley turns
to Garfield. Walk another ½ mile and look for hashers. (Do
not fret. The end is closer to Metro. Besides, you’re hashing.)
From VA
Cross Key Bridge. Right on M. Left on
Wisconsin. Travel through Georgetown. Right on
Garfield Street. Drive a block or so to 35th. Park and hash.
Or,
Get on Rock Creek Pkwy.
Take the Mass Ave. exit off the Rock Creek Pkwy (If
you get to Conn Ave, you’ve gone too far). Left at top of Exit.
Right at 3rd light onto 34th St. Left at 1st light onto Garfield. Park
and hash.
From MD
South on Conn Ave. Right on Woodley Rd. Drive 3/4
mile. Pass 34th St. Park and hash.
From the District
North on Conn. Avenue. Left on Woodley Rd. Drive 3/4
mile. Pass 34th St. Park and hash.