It was Saturday. I could tell from nervous twitch I was developing underneath my left eye. Although it took me a week, I did finally recover from the PTHS (Post-traumatic haring syndrome) which left me virtually unable to be in the same room with a bag of flour. After seeing my therapist and reciting some of Stuart SmalleyÆs Self-Afirmations I was ready to face another long, hot, summer hash. And hash there was. Cunning Runt and Dr. Jekyl were so versed at throwing the stuff that we actually had a trail this week. With real checks and hares arrows. In fact, I heard some mutterings from the pack that following this trail was just a little too easy. In fact, this trail was so well marked the pack was in in under an hour. WhatÆs wrong with this picture. Nothing, apparently. Even Byte seemed pleased when he blew into the on in. A far cry from the week before when an entire pack of sweaty, smelly FRBs came for my throat at the end. So maybe a 6 mile trail, in the middle of July isnÆt a such good idea. If it makes any of you feel any better, Yes Dear and I got totally lost the first time we scouted the damn thing and my bug/thorn tolerance was at an all time low after about 2 hours out. Live and Learn.
The trail began as we wound our way through a well-marked, tree-shaded trail. We passed a what looked like an arrow with three lines across the end. Dual Air Bags was kind enough to point it out that this was actually a hares arrow, and that I should learn how to draw one. As we were continuing along the rooted but well-marked trail, Cheap Slut was trying to figure out the last time heÆd hared. I think it was 1979. At some point I lost most of the pack and Number 2, Pitstop and I were off on our own. I could have sworn we had blown through a BT. (Fortunately, I knew what a BT was from the chalk talk I was forced to listen to at the start), and was starting to get worried about the possibility that we were on the Great Falls trail. We kept going hoping that someone would run into us or hear our pleading, ôARE YOU?ö Finally, Watergate came to our rescue and informed us that we were still on trail. No Class, Black Box, Seven Minutes, Screws Everybody and the entire group of walkers met us at a water stop and gave us the glorious news that we were actually FRBs. Yes, Mama, there is a God in Heaven. As we were humming the theme from Rocky, some young guy with a really loud whistle swiftly over took us as did the rest of the real FRBÆs and from then on out it was all up hill, and we took our place at the back of the pack. At some point, those wonderful FRBs took us into an apartment complex which led straight to a BT. As the back of the pack met the front, I looked around and actually saw people having a good time, so different from last week, I thought. This must be what itÆs like to run a well-marked trail. So pleasant, almost spiritually enlightening. We headed up LawyerÆs Road. Gee, big surprise, the road with the million dollar homes on it should be named not after one lawyer, but all lawyers. As we passed the on-in on the left I heard Stained Sheets say ôHey, isnÆt that one of the hares cars. We all stopped dead in our tracks and bolted to the picnic area and the on in. The rest of the FRBÆs followed in on true trail. We enjoyed sandwiches, fruit salad, which looked vagely familiar, and Virginia-Iced Beer. I now know the difference thanks to Blank Check.
The Circle was led by Steamer who made the hares drink for such a shitty, but well-marked trail. Poop Deck stood in for Dr. Jekyl on his down-downs. Whatta guy! And he was actually instrumental in my redemption from hash-it hell. Looks like the oleÆ hash-itÆs goinÆ on a little trip æround the world with Beers on Me Bud! We expect that baby to be loaded down with memorabilia from all over the world. We may then be forced to retire her as a piece of memorabilia in the Hashing Hall of Fame.
On-On,
Scoop