05 November 2005
51. Fuck, It’s Hot (part 1)
Southern Comfort H3 - 22 July 2005
This is one hound’s story of a very hot weekend. And by hot I mean Holy Sh!t My Face Feels Like A Furnace and I Think It’s Going to Explode.
This entry will serve as PART THE FIRST.
So a pack of exceptionally athletic hounds gathered at the start of So Co on the evening of 22 July 05. And it was a sausage fest. Ladies, where the he!! were you? You missed guys in tights. Anyway, Mister Crabs and Mister Port-a-Jay were our hares of the evening, and they decided to have us gather at a church, of all places. And it's amazing God didn’t make it rain all over our parade, since so many of us relieved ourselves at the side of the church property. And you would have actually been impressed, ladies... we were all discreet.
Hounds in attendance, with varying degrees of bladder control, included Mister Easy, Mister Cheaper, Mister Nads, Mister Woah, Mister Runs, Mister Development, Mister Lost, Mister Just Robert and your humble scribe.
As you can imagine, we had a Bimbo problem, but that was solved when the hares decided one of them would double back and pick up the Crabby Mobile. 7:25p, hares out. 7:30p, pack out.
There was a little street at the start. Hey, hey, hey... don’t get all pompous and start grumbling. The hares did it to quickly lay a countback 20 to fvck with everyone.
After we got fvcked, trail was easily found in a grassy, treeless area next to the assfault. And this led to the first tunnel of the evening, which was carved under I-85 and some other above-ground stuff as well, considering its length. On the east side of the tunnel, we were treated to a jaunt through a medium-sized creek. The Boys were dampened in a deep part here, which is always a good thing, since this is how your humble scribe inaccurately rates quality of trails. With this little requirement out of the way, I was able to focus on what else the evil hares had in store for us. We popped out of the water and sooner or later, made our way to a muddy mess, formerly known as Swamp. I guess Cindy and Dennis didn’t bring enough water after all. I say that, but at one point, I stepped down 10 or 11 inches into a mass of mud. The number of tiny creeks here was surprising, but they were all hoppable or jumpable, which was almost a blessing since some of them were a stagnant copperish mess.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the first check. Holy crap, I don’t even remember where it was.
Some forest running brought us to a second tunnel, this one of lesser girth, which opened up to (surprise) a new clear-cut sewer line. The power and-or fiberop/cable tubes were still above ground and stretched for an eternity. Easements of all types ensued, which had us running rather quickly in the heat. This would be the perfect time to mention how happy I was to have a CamelBack strapped to me. This little bad-boy has proven itself worth every filthy dollar I gave up for it.
At one point after the half-way point, we ran into a check in the middle of the forest where there was very little undergrowth, so you could see for quite a ways. And there wasn’t a piece of TP or a footprint in sight. This would be one of the many strategically-laid checks of the evening that allowed for multiple areas of searching. I blew through the check and unwisely kept going straight. Not more than 20 yards later, I ran into a deer, which I don’t think had ever seen a human before. I watched it contemplate me for a while before it bounded through the forest. I kept going in its general direction and ran into it again. Looking back toward the check, I realized I had run quite far, and decided to go back to TP before continuing the search. We heard a whistle to the left, and ran through a grassy area to an abandoned house that was falling apart and noticed another check in front of it. A power cut, an easement and other possibilities laid out around us. I chose the power cut and it paid off, making this the second check of the evening I had solved. Is this increased efficiency the benefit of r*nning and biking on off-days? What’s that called? Endurance? Sweet.
The trail continued uphill for a while, but my successes had energized me, and I found myself moving swiftly up, and up, underneath the powerlines to an arrow, which pointed into the tree line. The usual slowage occurred with the nasty undergrowth and deadfall, but trail opened up once again to a clear-cut area with a cell tower and the BN. A sprint up another hill led to the two hares and the On-In. Huh? Where was everyone else? Holy crap, your scribe was FRB on a Southern Comfort trail.
So there we were, watching everyone else trickle in, not too far behind. Some of us stood dazed for a moment, recovering from the exertion. At least one of us was able to literally wring out our shirt. Some with a greater fortitude just cracked a beer and started sharing their own tales of the trail.
Stories of He!! were also heard, and of scouting trails, and of the pretty wire-rimmed laundry bag that the beermeister, Mister Runs, has in his possession to collect the empies.
In keeping with the sausage theme, Mister Crabs once again brought the spicy kind for us to consume while we were inhaling our malty beverages.
Circle was very brief, but near the end it came to a screeching halt as we ran into a mental wall while trying to name Mister Just Robert. He’s from south China, and is apparently smart, since he’s getting his PhD and is moving up to Michigan (I think) to teach. Names? Suck My Dickie? Um, no thank you. Robert E. Lee? That might have worked since his last name is Li, but that was nixed. Suck My Dickie? Um, I think we said no. Li Love You Long Time was also thrown away, due to it being a reference to a non-applicable country. And we kept going... and going. Finally, 20 minutes later, the pack had an idea, but needed Mister Robert to cum back into circle to remind us whether the currency of China was actually the Yuan. Yes, it was. So goodbye to Just Robert, who shall from now on and forever more be known as Depressed Yuan. Right after circle disbanded, we realized the Chinese currency was going through an upheaval, and hashers started shouting out "Floating Yuan," as they were packing up their gear. RA Mister Crabs was heard saying "You know, we’re laid back here... whatever name he calls himself the next time he shows up is the name we’ll give him."
Back at the start, I congratulated our newest hasher, and asked him what name he was going to go with. It looks like from now on and forever more, you’ll be saying hello to Floating Yuan.
Thanks to everyone for another great Friday. Join us again next time, when Mister Port-a-Jay hares yet again, this time with Mister Development.
Oh... as for PART THE SECOND, please see Black Sheep’s Hash Trash for July 24th, cumming shortly.
May the Hash Go in Piece
May the Hash Get a Piece
This is one hound’s story of a very hot weekend. And by hot I mean Holy Sh!t My Face Feels Like A Furnace and I Think It’s Going to Explode.
This entry will serve as PART THE FIRST.
So a pack of exceptionally athletic hounds gathered at the start of So Co on the evening of 22 July 05. And it was a sausage fest. Ladies, where the he!! were you? You missed guys in tights. Anyway, Mister Crabs and Mister Port-a-Jay were our hares of the evening, and they decided to have us gather at a church, of all places. And it's amazing God didn’t make it rain all over our parade, since so many of us relieved ourselves at the side of the church property. And you would have actually been impressed, ladies... we were all discreet.
Hounds in attendance, with varying degrees of bladder control, included Mister Easy, Mister Cheaper, Mister Nads, Mister Woah, Mister Runs, Mister Development, Mister Lost, Mister Just Robert and your humble scribe.
As you can imagine, we had a Bimbo problem, but that was solved when the hares decided one of them would double back and pick up the Crabby Mobile. 7:25p, hares out. 7:30p, pack out.
There was a little street at the start. Hey, hey, hey... don’t get all pompous and start grumbling. The hares did it to quickly lay a countback 20 to fvck with everyone.
After we got fvcked, trail was easily found in a grassy, treeless area next to the assfault. And this led to the first tunnel of the evening, which was carved under I-85 and some other above-ground stuff as well, considering its length. On the east side of the tunnel, we were treated to a jaunt through a medium-sized creek. The Boys were dampened in a deep part here, which is always a good thing, since this is how your humble scribe inaccurately rates quality of trails. With this little requirement out of the way, I was able to focus on what else the evil hares had in store for us. We popped out of the water and sooner or later, made our way to a muddy mess, formerly known as Swamp. I guess Cindy and Dennis didn’t bring enough water after all. I say that, but at one point, I stepped down 10 or 11 inches into a mass of mud. The number of tiny creeks here was surprising, but they were all hoppable or jumpable, which was almost a blessing since some of them were a stagnant copperish mess.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the first check. Holy crap, I don’t even remember where it was.
Some forest running brought us to a second tunnel, this one of lesser girth, which opened up to (surprise) a new clear-cut sewer line. The power and-or fiberop/cable tubes were still above ground and stretched for an eternity. Easements of all types ensued, which had us running rather quickly in the heat. This would be the perfect time to mention how happy I was to have a CamelBack strapped to me. This little bad-boy has proven itself worth every filthy dollar I gave up for it.
At one point after the half-way point, we ran into a check in the middle of the forest where there was very little undergrowth, so you could see for quite a ways. And there wasn’t a piece of TP or a footprint in sight. This would be one of the many strategically-laid checks of the evening that allowed for multiple areas of searching. I blew through the check and unwisely kept going straight. Not more than 20 yards later, I ran into a deer, which I don’t think had ever seen a human before. I watched it contemplate me for a while before it bounded through the forest. I kept going in its general direction and ran into it again. Looking back toward the check, I realized I had run quite far, and decided to go back to TP before continuing the search. We heard a whistle to the left, and ran through a grassy area to an abandoned house that was falling apart and noticed another check in front of it. A power cut, an easement and other possibilities laid out around us. I chose the power cut and it paid off, making this the second check of the evening I had solved. Is this increased efficiency the benefit of r*nning and biking on off-days? What’s that called? Endurance? Sweet.
The trail continued uphill for a while, but my successes had energized me, and I found myself moving swiftly up, and up, underneath the powerlines to an arrow, which pointed into the tree line. The usual slowage occurred with the nasty undergrowth and deadfall, but trail opened up once again to a clear-cut area with a cell tower and the BN. A sprint up another hill led to the two hares and the On-In. Huh? Where was everyone else? Holy crap, your scribe was FRB on a Southern Comfort trail.
So there we were, watching everyone else trickle in, not too far behind. Some of us stood dazed for a moment, recovering from the exertion. At least one of us was able to literally wring out our shirt. Some with a greater fortitude just cracked a beer and started sharing their own tales of the trail.
Stories of He!! were also heard, and of scouting trails, and of the pretty wire-rimmed laundry bag that the beermeister, Mister Runs, has in his possession to collect the empies.
In keeping with the sausage theme, Mister Crabs once again brought the spicy kind for us to consume while we were inhaling our malty beverages.
Circle was very brief, but near the end it came to a screeching halt as we ran into a mental wall while trying to name Mister Just Robert. He’s from south China, and is apparently smart, since he’s getting his PhD and is moving up to Michigan (I think) to teach. Names? Suck My Dickie? Um, no thank you. Robert E. Lee? That might have worked since his last name is Li, but that was nixed. Suck My Dickie? Um, I think we said no. Li Love You Long Time was also thrown away, due to it being a reference to a non-applicable country. And we kept going... and going. Finally, 20 minutes later, the pack had an idea, but needed Mister Robert to cum back into circle to remind us whether the currency of China was actually the Yuan. Yes, it was. So goodbye to Just Robert, who shall from now on and forever more be known as Depressed Yuan. Right after circle disbanded, we realized the Chinese currency was going through an upheaval, and hashers started shouting out "Floating Yuan," as they were packing up their gear. RA Mister Crabs was heard saying "You know, we’re laid back here... whatever name he calls himself the next time he shows up is the name we’ll give him."
Back at the start, I congratulated our newest hasher, and asked him what name he was going to go with. It looks like from now on and forever more, you’ll be saying hello to Floating Yuan.
Thanks to everyone for another great Friday. Join us again next time, when Mister Port-a-Jay hares yet again, this time with Mister Development.
Oh... as for PART THE SECOND, please see Black Sheep’s Hash Trash for July 24th, cumming shortly.
May the Hash Go in Piece
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 6:30 PM 
