05 November 2005
47. The Life of a Road-Hare
Charlotte H3 - 30 January 2005
Humbly Submitted by the Hare... it's
THE UNOFFICIAL HASH TRASH OF #585
We were almost to Charlotte before I ever looked at a map.
Slip 'N Side was behind the wheel, one of the eight (!) hashers who
had decided to represent Atlanta at the latest-greatest Triangle
Analversary in Durham. In an impressive gesture of hash dedication,
she decided to chauffer me to Sunday's trail before we motored the
rest of the way home. I was the mystery co-hare of record for
Charlotte's 585th, and we had left the hash hotel early enough so
we could do a little scouting before the official meet time. The
start was at Hollow Beaver's house.
About an hour and a half out of Durham, I got the scoop: Spitzer,
a.k.a. the other co-hare, was iced in at her house and probably
wouldn't get to the start early enough to scout much. Especially
since we had not heard from the beer meister, and she'd have to go
to the store. Having Hollow help scout was a possibility, but she
had gone to Triangle too, and left the hash hotel a little later,
and was at least an hour behind us. It looked like the out-of-
towners were going to be scouting alone, so I unfolded the map and
(gasp) started thinking.
I called Hollow when we got to her house, and only had to talk with
her for about eight minutes to figure out where the shiggy might be
in her neighborhood. Phone scouting... that's a new one. It was
12:10p, so if we wanted to do any car scouting, we'd have to make
it quick. The plan was a clockwise loop with the first big turn at
Campbell Creek Park, and the second big turn at the railroad tracks
at Sharon Amity. The length? Who knew. I guessed 3-4 miles. Ha.
The thought was to go south on Harris a little ways, then try to get
to the park by going west, even though the map said there was no
through streets. Some apartments greeted us on Harris, and would
serve as a decent place to avoid the sidewalk. Right across Harris
from where I could pop out of the apartments was a big area tagged
for demolition. With all the ice and mud on the ground, this would
make for the first decent piece of uneven footing of the day. I
jumped out of Slip's car and was running to where the GPS said there
would be a street on the other side when a football field appeared
in the middle of nowhere. At the end of the field was a strip of
non-private-property shiggy that led to a much-needed street.
Excellent. I ran back to the car, and we quickly found a way to the
park. On foot, I found a sewer easement in the park that would make
for a decent beer stop, and after a few minutes of running the park
trails, I found an exit to a street on the other side. Back to the
car again. A few more minutes of auto hashing was needed to find a
way to the railroad tracks, and it turned out there might be a
forested area to work with. Time was running out, and I had a
general idea of where I'd be going, so we got the beer for the beer
stop, hid it in the forest next to the sewer easement and motored
back to Hollow's house.
Shivering hashers trickled in as I filled my hash bag with about 12
pounds of colored flour and some toilet paper. By the time I left,
the brave pack included, in a politically correct alphabetical
order, Goth, Hollow, Inseminator, Lobster, Material Girl, Miss C,
Pussy Shaved, Shits, Slip, Spitzer and Thumb. Chalk talk included a
warning about dead trail marks, because I was probably going to have
to lay a few if I went the wrong way at any point. On Out.
Right as I was laying my first check on the corner of Trysting and
Park Hickory, I looked up to see Ottowa driving by laughing at me.
Good. One more victim. I waited until he got around the corner and
dove into the apartment complex. It ended up that the pack gave me
a little more than 15 minutes because everyone forgot to time me. I
got another 45 minutes when everyone decided to kick back at the
park for a while with the beer.
It was cold, but not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be,
and I noticed that the sun was melting some of the ice that was
crunching under my feet. Once out of the park, I worked through the
first of two pieces of road rage for the day, and it ended up being
here that I had to lay down my first and only dead trail because I
went the wrong way. Back at the correct intersection, I added a
check and ran for Hickory Grove Road. I looked east and realized
that I could probably cut a mile off the trail if I went straight
back to Hollow's house. But I was really curious about that
forest. Once the private property issues ended a couple blocks
west, I dove in near Shamrock Drive and found out what was inside
the tree line: briars. Lots of them. Ohhh, and Lobster a.k.a Just
Larry/Urin-8-her/Lightweight Larry would be going through here
commando, with only a kilt on. When I later saw how far up my legs
the briars got me (and got me through my tights no less) I realized
how deadly going commando could have been. About a third of the way
through the forest, the briars cleared up and it was smooth sailing
to the back of a grocery store next to the railroad tracks. It was
here I realized I lost my map, which I knew I'd be drinking for
later. Heading east, I went about half the way to Harris on the
tracks and cut up to a housing development under construction. Then
I cut right back to the tracks. After another two-tenths of a mile,
I left the tracks for good and bolted for the house.
Late-cummer Ottowa was the FRB, but by the time he got in, I had
already showered, changed and had two beers. After most of us hung
out for a while, Spitzer and I went to look for the DFL's, who were
on Harris when we found them. The general consensus was that we had
all gone about 5 miles. (And the general consensus was right… I
checked later, and it was almost an even 5.) With everyone in, we
circled up to the sight of a highly decorated RA. Lobster had on a
huge, black hat emblazoned with a silver skull; bright red, feathery
sleeves and a wooden pole topped with a hand-carved skull. It was
quite fetching. And he will only get better with age, since he said
he's going to add accessories weekly.
As for down-downs, yours truly was abused, as I drank for being the
hare, being an out-of-towner, forgetting to take off my cranium
gear, dropping my map (thanks Goth) and other random acts of super-
human stupidity I can no longer remember. The best down-down of the
batch was when Spitzer and Miss Charlotte presented me with a gift
they had been hanging on to for a couple months… an embroidered
Happi Coat with not only my name on it, but also "Adopted 2004." I
was totally floored, knowing how rare it is for an out-of-town
hasher to be adopted. Thanks guys.
And thanks to everyone who came out to roll the dice with a mystery
hare. It's much appreciated.
Until next time,
May the Hash Get a Piece
-L&F
Humbly Submitted by the Hare... it's
THE UNOFFICIAL HASH TRASH OF #585
We were almost to Charlotte before I ever looked at a map.
Slip 'N Side was behind the wheel, one of the eight (!) hashers who
had decided to represent Atlanta at the latest-greatest Triangle
Analversary in Durham. In an impressive gesture of hash dedication,
she decided to chauffer me to Sunday's trail before we motored the
rest of the way home. I was the mystery co-hare of record for
Charlotte's 585th, and we had left the hash hotel early enough so
we could do a little scouting before the official meet time. The
start was at Hollow Beaver's house.
About an hour and a half out of Durham, I got the scoop: Spitzer,
a.k.a. the other co-hare, was iced in at her house and probably
wouldn't get to the start early enough to scout much. Especially
since we had not heard from the beer meister, and she'd have to go
to the store. Having Hollow help scout was a possibility, but she
had gone to Triangle too, and left the hash hotel a little later,
and was at least an hour behind us. It looked like the out-of-
towners were going to be scouting alone, so I unfolded the map and
(gasp) started thinking.
I called Hollow when we got to her house, and only had to talk with
her for about eight minutes to figure out where the shiggy might be
in her neighborhood. Phone scouting... that's a new one. It was
12:10p, so if we wanted to do any car scouting, we'd have to make
it quick. The plan was a clockwise loop with the first big turn at
Campbell Creek Park, and the second big turn at the railroad tracks
at Sharon Amity. The length? Who knew. I guessed 3-4 miles. Ha.
The thought was to go south on Harris a little ways, then try to get
to the park by going west, even though the map said there was no
through streets. Some apartments greeted us on Harris, and would
serve as a decent place to avoid the sidewalk. Right across Harris
from where I could pop out of the apartments was a big area tagged
for demolition. With all the ice and mud on the ground, this would
make for the first decent piece of uneven footing of the day. I
jumped out of Slip's car and was running to where the GPS said there
would be a street on the other side when a football field appeared
in the middle of nowhere. At the end of the field was a strip of
non-private-property shiggy that led to a much-needed street.
Excellent. I ran back to the car, and we quickly found a way to the
park. On foot, I found a sewer easement in the park that would make
for a decent beer stop, and after a few minutes of running the park
trails, I found an exit to a street on the other side. Back to the
car again. A few more minutes of auto hashing was needed to find a
way to the railroad tracks, and it turned out there might be a
forested area to work with. Time was running out, and I had a
general idea of where I'd be going, so we got the beer for the beer
stop, hid it in the forest next to the sewer easement and motored
back to Hollow's house.
Shivering hashers trickled in as I filled my hash bag with about 12
pounds of colored flour and some toilet paper. By the time I left,
the brave pack included, in a politically correct alphabetical
order, Goth, Hollow, Inseminator, Lobster, Material Girl, Miss C,
Pussy Shaved, Shits, Slip, Spitzer and Thumb. Chalk talk included a
warning about dead trail marks, because I was probably going to have
to lay a few if I went the wrong way at any point. On Out.
Right as I was laying my first check on the corner of Trysting and
Park Hickory, I looked up to see Ottowa driving by laughing at me.
Good. One more victim. I waited until he got around the corner and
dove into the apartment complex. It ended up that the pack gave me
a little more than 15 minutes because everyone forgot to time me. I
got another 45 minutes when everyone decided to kick back at the
park for a while with the beer.
It was cold, but not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be,
and I noticed that the sun was melting some of the ice that was
crunching under my feet. Once out of the park, I worked through the
first of two pieces of road rage for the day, and it ended up being
here that I had to lay down my first and only dead trail because I
went the wrong way. Back at the correct intersection, I added a
check and ran for Hickory Grove Road. I looked east and realized
that I could probably cut a mile off the trail if I went straight
back to Hollow's house. But I was really curious about that
forest. Once the private property issues ended a couple blocks
west, I dove in near Shamrock Drive and found out what was inside
the tree line: briars. Lots of them. Ohhh, and Lobster a.k.a Just
Larry/Urin-8-her/Lightweight Larry would be going through here
commando, with only a kilt on. When I later saw how far up my legs
the briars got me (and got me through my tights no less) I realized
how deadly going commando could have been. About a third of the way
through the forest, the briars cleared up and it was smooth sailing
to the back of a grocery store next to the railroad tracks. It was
here I realized I lost my map, which I knew I'd be drinking for
later. Heading east, I went about half the way to Harris on the
tracks and cut up to a housing development under construction. Then
I cut right back to the tracks. After another two-tenths of a mile,
I left the tracks for good and bolted for the house.
Late-cummer Ottowa was the FRB, but by the time he got in, I had
already showered, changed and had two beers. After most of us hung
out for a while, Spitzer and I went to look for the DFL's, who were
on Harris when we found them. The general consensus was that we had
all gone about 5 miles. (And the general consensus was right… I
checked later, and it was almost an even 5.) With everyone in, we
circled up to the sight of a highly decorated RA. Lobster had on a
huge, black hat emblazoned with a silver skull; bright red, feathery
sleeves and a wooden pole topped with a hand-carved skull. It was
quite fetching. And he will only get better with age, since he said
he's going to add accessories weekly.
As for down-downs, yours truly was abused, as I drank for being the
hare, being an out-of-towner, forgetting to take off my cranium
gear, dropping my map (thanks Goth) and other random acts of super-
human stupidity I can no longer remember. The best down-down of the
batch was when Spitzer and Miss Charlotte presented me with a gift
they had been hanging on to for a couple months… an embroidered
Happi Coat with not only my name on it, but also "Adopted 2004." I
was totally floored, knowing how rare it is for an out-of-town
hasher to be adopted. Thanks guys.
And thanks to everyone who came out to roll the dice with a mystery
hare. It's much appreciated.
Until next time,
May the Hash Get a Piece
-L&F
# posted by L&F @ 6:25 PM 
