05 November 2005
18. The G-Spot 100 Weekend
G-Spot H3/Charlotte H3 - 9 January 4004 to 11 January 2004
This is just one fool’s view of the weekend. Three days, four cities, four trails, one great time.
FRIDAY
The ride up from The Land of a Gazillion Hashes was pretty standard until I hit Charlotte. Then it started snowing. The rest of the drive up to Greensboro was pretty awesome for this desert-bred boy, with plenty large expanses of white. It turns out my biggest question of the weekend was shared by many: Would the bus leave on time? A lot of the curiosity came from Buck’s note, which included numerous warnings, including “Call, yell, scream, your ass will be left behind if you ain’t there on time.” And how can you forget “THE BUS WAITS FOR NO ONE.”
My first stop was to drop off some computer stuff at the Veterinary Clinic where Insufficent Cums’ non-hasher brother works. (She stayed in Atlanta.) The clinic is between I-40 and MC and Whiner’s house. There was a printer included in the stuff, so I put everything in a big plastic tub so it wouldn’t roll around in the bed of my truck. I took the tub into the building and three people behind a long desk all looked up at once. I told them I had a delivery for him. They looked at the large, nondescript tub with the lid on it, and their faces all fell to the floor. One of them actually looked like she was getting pale, and said “Oh, God, what’s in there? Is that a snake or something?” I was laughing until I left. Apparently, IC’s brother gets a lot of strange crap in covered tubs.
By the time I pulled up into MC and Whiner’s garage, I had shifted my truck to 4x twice because of the slush on the smaller roads. All hail the power of Thor, my Tacoma with a hashing name. By about 10:45, everyone from Atlanta had shown up: your humble author, I Know That Trick, Dr. Doo-Doo, Yuron Weed, Davey Crochet, and Red Breast, who decided to pony up the dough and fly in. Oh, and by the way… their house is orgasmic. Tons of rooms, darts, pool, and something that looked like a fancy, clean version of a Beer Pong table. What was it called? Table tennis? Hmmm.
We knew it was late, but after some food and brew, we decided to say a quick hello to everyone at Red Oak Brewery and catch what sort of vibe we might be getting for the next morning. The vibe was good. In fact, it took me no more than 30 seconds to be glad I drove up. We walked in just as everyone was leaving, and a lot of people were leaving fairly tanked. The pre-lube was apparently quite successful. We took a quick trip to Silence’s house, ran into even more people there, then went back to MC and Whiner’s. A few of us were up until about 3:30 getting drunk on tequila and beer.
SATURDAY
It has become a tradition in Atlanta (at least among Camp Diva) that someone has to end up puking during a road trip. This weekend was no different. One of us (who shall remain nameless) decided to lose intestinal fortitude about an hour before we left for the bus.
With that special tradition out of the way, we jumped in Thor and motored to the start, where we found a bunch of shivering hashers downing beer, spiked coffee and other assorted treats. We followed suit without much hesitation. The departure time? Pretty damn close to 9a. We were so prompt, we landed in Garner about 1/2 hour early. The moonshine made its first appearance soon after we left Greensboro. A tip of the hat to the distiller of that stuff.
The bus seated about 50 people, and it was full. This was no school bus, either. This was one of those touring buses, which included cloth seats. I can’t do the trip justice by attempting to describe it, so I won’t try. Let’s just say you should have been there, instead of doing whatever lame crap you thought you needed to do instead.
G-Spot #98 summary: Drinking, chalk talk, live hares, mostly street, a couple (very) DFL’s. The bus driver was one of them. He had gone to McD’s to get something to eat, and a lot of us beat him back to the start. A little bit later, our flight and glorious beer returned to us. This would be my first experience with Iron City beer. Interesting. You could tell in circle that people were started to get lit. Ah, life is good. Oh, did I mention this would also be my first time hashing in snow? Another bonus.
The first warning that the bus toilet might get full came on the ride to Fayetteville. I think it was about the same time that the never-ending supply of Krispy Kreme donuts had made a third trip down the length of the bus. This was the quietest part of the day. A few people had consumed just enough beer to get tired, and they had started falling asleep.
We landed in Fayetteville with plenty of time to spare. A couple of people who had predicted doom for the flight were now changing their minds and sounding quite impressed. So who did we meet in Fayettenam? A non-named hasher and four virgins, all wide-eyed and ready for some drinking. We started stumbling off the bus, and they couldn’t have been happier.
G-Spot #99 summary: Drinking, chalk talk, live hares (I think; I wasn’t paying attention at this point), mostly off-road. Here’s something that will be seared into my cranium forever: Cans of beer hanging from trees by pink string. There’s an official proper noun for the collective bunch of them when they are at a beer stop, but at that point, I was the most drunk I would get for the entire day. Proper nouns didn’t seem too important. Also included on this stop was another good circle, pizza and even a little drama which I didn’t find out about until much later: Someone stumbled and broke off the bus driver’s key in the ignition. Some surgery was needed to get the bus started again. Unless I missed something, that was the biggest problem of the trip. Not bad for a day where dozens of hashers wound up sucking down beer for more than 12 hours.
I don’t know if it was the Scoobies or not, but the ride back to Greensboro was the loudest of the three. I noticed some serious drunk-dialing going on at one point. Oh yeah, and a couple of those virgins jumped on board to finish up the night with us. How would they get back? They didn’t care. And I never found out. They helped us finish off the Key Lime Pie and the moonshine. Back in Greensboro, we landed outside Fat Dog’s and quickly started drinking inside. We were soon back in the parking lot to start the day’s final hash.
G-Spot #100 summary: Cold, fatboy, live, around a couple blocks surrounding the bar. Circle was on the curb, where ice was waived in favor of frozen assfault.
Here’s a good idea: end a hash across the street from a sex shop. A few motivated drunks decided to take a little field trip. (Was the store called Adam and Eve?) I’m assuming this is where one of the virgins got his strap-on. He wore it into the bar.
At this point, I was starting to fade out. The only thing I had the energy to do was sit and be entertained until I finally called it a night around 11:45, right before the caffeine totally wore off. At midnight, I had my first sip of water in over 36 hours.
Rumor has it that quite a few of the more-motivated drinkers decided to shut the bar down at 2, then leave for more consumption elsewhere.
SUNDAY
Because I crapped out so early, I didn't find out until the next day that one of the drunk virgins started dancing on a bar table with his strap-on dangling from his crotch. And then there was Strip Foozball. Of course, all of this is perfectly acceptable hash behavior at a public bar. Even before all that happened, I had overheard one of the non-hasher females who was inside the bar turn to her non-hasher boyfriend and say "I am totally offended at all of this." Nice work by all.
I was out of Greensboro before noon and hit Charlotte for their weekly bout of debauchery. Joining us from the 100th was Tooth, who drove down in his Home-on-Wheels, as well as Taxi Ho from South Korea. About 15 people did trail. Noticeably missing was Frita, Wedgie, Barf and Rip Cord, who all decided they were trailed-out after the Ride of our Lives the previous day. Those who decided to do yet another trail were your humble author, Spitzer, Miss Charlotte, Blow Pops and Nascunt.
The trail was between 2 and 3 miles and wound through downtown near the train tracks, not far away from that Pepto-Bismol-looking building. We drank before trail, on two beer stops and at the circle, and all we had to do was trot around town for about 20 minutes. I think that's called More Beer Per Mile.
Speaking of circle, Tooth did the honors. For those of you who have never been at one of Tooth's circles, they’re never boring. It was estimated that he didn't take a breath for 20 minutes.
With the whole trail-thing out of the way, we drove a couple blocks to Tavern on the Tracks for the on-after. And let me just tell all of you lushes something -- that was the loudest on-after I have ever been witness to. The poor, clueless servers put us in our own elevated section, which was raised higher than everywhere else in the bar. So all those poor civilians had a view of us screaming out a long list of dirty hash songs, one right after another. Which of course, is simply more acceptable hash behavior. The server who drew the short straw had to deal with us, and he was pretty nervous about approaching us at first. As if we were going to turn into a gaggle of raging demons, strip off our clothes, and pulverize him with our more-intimate, dangling body parts. After about an hour, he actually calmed down enough to ask what our group was, and what we were doing. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around the whole "running for beer" concept, but he seemed like he finally understood why we had raised the decibel level in the bar by about 96 percent. He wrote down the CH3 website address, but that was probably out of morbid curiosity. Who knows. If you ever see some timid, bald dude with a server's apron at the start of a hash, abuse him terribly. He'll probably like it.
The thought of the 4-hour ride home, as well as the fact that I had to work the next morning had me cracking my mental whip right around sunset. One final thought... The Peach That Looks Like An Ass looks less dramatic at night.
Well, if you've read this far, you probably won't mind a couple sentences of gratitude. This was my third weekend in North Carolina in the past four weeks and I really can't thank all you guys enough for your hospitality. Of course, the thank-you also applies to my previous trips up there. It's not possible to be a dedicated working-class Road Whore without a little help, and everyone has been absolutely stellar in rolling out the welcome wagon. For those of you who have ever played hash host, trust me… it’s appreciated.
Until next time,
On Out
This is just one fool’s view of the weekend. Three days, four cities, four trails, one great time.
FRIDAY
The ride up from The Land of a Gazillion Hashes was pretty standard until I hit Charlotte. Then it started snowing. The rest of the drive up to Greensboro was pretty awesome for this desert-bred boy, with plenty large expanses of white. It turns out my biggest question of the weekend was shared by many: Would the bus leave on time? A lot of the curiosity came from Buck’s note, which included numerous warnings, including “Call, yell, scream, your ass will be left behind if you ain’t there on time.” And how can you forget “THE BUS WAITS FOR NO ONE.”
My first stop was to drop off some computer stuff at the Veterinary Clinic where Insufficent Cums’ non-hasher brother works. (She stayed in Atlanta.) The clinic is between I-40 and MC and Whiner’s house. There was a printer included in the stuff, so I put everything in a big plastic tub so it wouldn’t roll around in the bed of my truck. I took the tub into the building and three people behind a long desk all looked up at once. I told them I had a delivery for him. They looked at the large, nondescript tub with the lid on it, and their faces all fell to the floor. One of them actually looked like she was getting pale, and said “Oh, God, what’s in there? Is that a snake or something?” I was laughing until I left. Apparently, IC’s brother gets a lot of strange crap in covered tubs.
By the time I pulled up into MC and Whiner’s garage, I had shifted my truck to 4x twice because of the slush on the smaller roads. All hail the power of Thor, my Tacoma with a hashing name. By about 10:45, everyone from Atlanta had shown up: your humble author, I Know That Trick, Dr. Doo-Doo, Yuron Weed, Davey Crochet, and Red Breast, who decided to pony up the dough and fly in. Oh, and by the way… their house is orgasmic. Tons of rooms, darts, pool, and something that looked like a fancy, clean version of a Beer Pong table. What was it called? Table tennis? Hmmm.
We knew it was late, but after some food and brew, we decided to say a quick hello to everyone at Red Oak Brewery and catch what sort of vibe we might be getting for the next morning. The vibe was good. In fact, it took me no more than 30 seconds to be glad I drove up. We walked in just as everyone was leaving, and a lot of people were leaving fairly tanked. The pre-lube was apparently quite successful. We took a quick trip to Silence’s house, ran into even more people there, then went back to MC and Whiner’s. A few of us were up until about 3:30 getting drunk on tequila and beer.
SATURDAY
It has become a tradition in Atlanta (at least among Camp Diva) that someone has to end up puking during a road trip. This weekend was no different. One of us (who shall remain nameless) decided to lose intestinal fortitude about an hour before we left for the bus.
With that special tradition out of the way, we jumped in Thor and motored to the start, where we found a bunch of shivering hashers downing beer, spiked coffee and other assorted treats. We followed suit without much hesitation. The departure time? Pretty damn close to 9a. We were so prompt, we landed in Garner about 1/2 hour early. The moonshine made its first appearance soon after we left Greensboro. A tip of the hat to the distiller of that stuff.
The bus seated about 50 people, and it was full. This was no school bus, either. This was one of those touring buses, which included cloth seats. I can’t do the trip justice by attempting to describe it, so I won’t try. Let’s just say you should have been there, instead of doing whatever lame crap you thought you needed to do instead.
G-Spot #98 summary: Drinking, chalk talk, live hares, mostly street, a couple (very) DFL’s. The bus driver was one of them. He had gone to McD’s to get something to eat, and a lot of us beat him back to the start. A little bit later, our flight and glorious beer returned to us. This would be my first experience with Iron City beer. Interesting. You could tell in circle that people were started to get lit. Ah, life is good. Oh, did I mention this would also be my first time hashing in snow? Another bonus.
The first warning that the bus toilet might get full came on the ride to Fayetteville. I think it was about the same time that the never-ending supply of Krispy Kreme donuts had made a third trip down the length of the bus. This was the quietest part of the day. A few people had consumed just enough beer to get tired, and they had started falling asleep.
We landed in Fayetteville with plenty of time to spare. A couple of people who had predicted doom for the flight were now changing their minds and sounding quite impressed. So who did we meet in Fayettenam? A non-named hasher and four virgins, all wide-eyed and ready for some drinking. We started stumbling off the bus, and they couldn’t have been happier.
G-Spot #99 summary: Drinking, chalk talk, live hares (I think; I wasn’t paying attention at this point), mostly off-road. Here’s something that will be seared into my cranium forever: Cans of beer hanging from trees by pink string. There’s an official proper noun for the collective bunch of them when they are at a beer stop, but at that point, I was the most drunk I would get for the entire day. Proper nouns didn’t seem too important. Also included on this stop was another good circle, pizza and even a little drama which I didn’t find out about until much later: Someone stumbled and broke off the bus driver’s key in the ignition. Some surgery was needed to get the bus started again. Unless I missed something, that was the biggest problem of the trip. Not bad for a day where dozens of hashers wound up sucking down beer for more than 12 hours.
I don’t know if it was the Scoobies or not, but the ride back to Greensboro was the loudest of the three. I noticed some serious drunk-dialing going on at one point. Oh yeah, and a couple of those virgins jumped on board to finish up the night with us. How would they get back? They didn’t care. And I never found out. They helped us finish off the Key Lime Pie and the moonshine. Back in Greensboro, we landed outside Fat Dog’s and quickly started drinking inside. We were soon back in the parking lot to start the day’s final hash.
G-Spot #100 summary: Cold, fatboy, live, around a couple blocks surrounding the bar. Circle was on the curb, where ice was waived in favor of frozen assfault.
Here’s a good idea: end a hash across the street from a sex shop. A few motivated drunks decided to take a little field trip. (Was the store called Adam and Eve?) I’m assuming this is where one of the virgins got his strap-on. He wore it into the bar.
At this point, I was starting to fade out. The only thing I had the energy to do was sit and be entertained until I finally called it a night around 11:45, right before the caffeine totally wore off. At midnight, I had my first sip of water in over 36 hours.
Rumor has it that quite a few of the more-motivated drinkers decided to shut the bar down at 2, then leave for more consumption elsewhere.
SUNDAY
Because I crapped out so early, I didn't find out until the next day that one of the drunk virgins started dancing on a bar table with his strap-on dangling from his crotch. And then there was Strip Foozball. Of course, all of this is perfectly acceptable hash behavior at a public bar. Even before all that happened, I had overheard one of the non-hasher females who was inside the bar turn to her non-hasher boyfriend and say "I am totally offended at all of this." Nice work by all.
I was out of Greensboro before noon and hit Charlotte for their weekly bout of debauchery. Joining us from the 100th was Tooth, who drove down in his Home-on-Wheels, as well as Taxi Ho from South Korea. About 15 people did trail. Noticeably missing was Frita, Wedgie, Barf and Rip Cord, who all decided they were trailed-out after the Ride of our Lives the previous day. Those who decided to do yet another trail were your humble author, Spitzer, Miss Charlotte, Blow Pops and Nascunt.
The trail was between 2 and 3 miles and wound through downtown near the train tracks, not far away from that Pepto-Bismol-looking building. We drank before trail, on two beer stops and at the circle, and all we had to do was trot around town for about 20 minutes. I think that's called More Beer Per Mile.
Speaking of circle, Tooth did the honors. For those of you who have never been at one of Tooth's circles, they’re never boring. It was estimated that he didn't take a breath for 20 minutes.
With the whole trail-thing out of the way, we drove a couple blocks to Tavern on the Tracks for the on-after. And let me just tell all of you lushes something -- that was the loudest on-after I have ever been witness to. The poor, clueless servers put us in our own elevated section, which was raised higher than everywhere else in the bar. So all those poor civilians had a view of us screaming out a long list of dirty hash songs, one right after another. Which of course, is simply more acceptable hash behavior. The server who drew the short straw had to deal with us, and he was pretty nervous about approaching us at first. As if we were going to turn into a gaggle of raging demons, strip off our clothes, and pulverize him with our more-intimate, dangling body parts. After about an hour, he actually calmed down enough to ask what our group was, and what we were doing. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around the whole "running for beer" concept, but he seemed like he finally understood why we had raised the decibel level in the bar by about 96 percent. He wrote down the CH3 website address, but that was probably out of morbid curiosity. Who knows. If you ever see some timid, bald dude with a server's apron at the start of a hash, abuse him terribly. He'll probably like it.
The thought of the 4-hour ride home, as well as the fact that I had to work the next morning had me cracking my mental whip right around sunset. One final thought... The Peach That Looks Like An Ass looks less dramatic at night.
Well, if you've read this far, you probably won't mind a couple sentences of gratitude. This was my third weekend in North Carolina in the past four weeks and I really can't thank all you guys enough for your hospitality. Of course, the thank-you also applies to my previous trips up there. It's not possible to be a dedicated working-class Road Whore without a little help, and everyone has been absolutely stellar in rolling out the welcome wagon. For those of you who have ever played hash host, trust me… it’s appreciated.
Until next time,
On Out
# posted by L&F @ 5:43 PM 
