05 November 2005
52. Fuck, It’s Hot (part 2)
Black Sheep H3 - 24 July 2005
Shiggy, Sounds and Slop were Sunday’s main ingredients of my very hot hashing weekend. And as my weekend goes, this entry will serve as PART THE SECOND.
There’s a reason why I love doing Darkside hashes. (I know this isn’t Darkside... work with me here, people). It’s because after getting used to following a hare for 10+ miles, I have the stamina available to go to any hash and not be scared. This bravery was needed today.
The hearty pack gathered about 17 miles north of the perimeter up GA 400 to see what Hump Me Dump Me could throw at them. And he threw a lot, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the heat.
You might be saying to yourself right now... ”Self, wasn’t this the day after the AH4 Red Dress Run?” Well, you would be correct. And that’s one of the reasons we started late. Because there were people hobbling in after 2p. And every second after 2p, HMDM was obviously chomping at the bit. What wasn’t so obvious was how prepared he was for this trail, considering the only thing he had with him was a plastic grocery bag containing less than 5 pounds of flour. So at 2:17, Bunny finished blessing the Hare of Record, who took leave of the shiggy-thirsty pack with no backpack, no TP and no water… only a blistering desire to depart. As he was running away, there was the typical “You forgot your keys!!!” But someone also asked him whether there was any special instructions, and over his shoulder, he yelled... “There's a water stop a-third of the way through!”
At 2:23p, the pack gave chase, and for between 2 1/2 and 3 miles, the pack was chasing mostly on pavement. When the temperature outside is 95 degrees, and there’s 55 percent humidity, the heat index registers about 110 degrees. And most of us were out in this for between 45 minutes to an hour, due in part to the sun beating down on our craniums, and partly due to us having a problem finding marks because some of them were spread out so far. Partially helping in the effort was the fact that HMDM apparently had a hole in his flour bag, and we were filling in the pieces of trail between marks by following his Slop. Where did the pavement end? The start. Yes, loyal sheepers, we did a gigantic summer-time circle jerk.
If you read the hash trash for SoCo, you would know that I learned I’m in relatively decent shape. So you would have laughed if you saw my jaw drop open as I staggered out from between the trees and saw all of our cars, surrounded by new blobs of flour. I saw the water jugs there in the shade and immediately plopped down next to them, dazed. As I drank some H2O, I tried to convince myself that this trail was NOT only a third over while saying out loud... “The trees are coming. The creeks are coming. The swamps are coming.” They did, but there was one more big challenge.
My legs started working again. Trail went to the end of the current parking lot, where there was a giant flag pole and an unkicked check. I heard people somewhere on the other side of the street screaming “Kick the check!” Whatever else they said made me gather flour from around the circle so I could add a few marks.
I crossed the street to a large area of chest-high vegetation, where several members of our Faithful Flock were milling about. They looked confused, and I quickly learned why. There was a blob of flour leading into the vegetation, and four small strips of TP leading back out of the vegetation to a check near the street. But the check was kicked toward the TP, so I guess I could describe this as a miniature circle jerk. Dear readers, we were in quite a dilemma here, and probably looked pretty pathetic as we stood there scratching our asses and swapping stories of our search so far. “So there’s no trail on the street that way.” “Correct. And there’s no trail on the street the other way.” “OK, so knowing which way the vegetation is stomped down, why can’t we assume that trail goes into the tree line?” “Because we’ve already been in there and there are no marks.” “Yeah, I’ve checked over there already.” “And I’ve checked there.” All of a sudden we heard a whistle, and I soon figured out that Slop wasn’t going to be the only thing helping us to reach the end this day. It was also going to be Sounds. The members of our small pack kept following the whistle until by some miracle, we finally picked up trail again.
Math time. At this point, we were out for an hour and fifteen minutes, and I would finally come in at three hours and ten minutes. The FRB’s came in at around two and a half hours. DFL’s were Bunny and Circumpsychic, who came in at somewhere over four hours. So now you know how much time most of us spent on what we all considered to be the real trail, which started after this tiny circle jerk.
This part of trail was all forest r*nning, as well as some slower navigation through briars and deadfall. At some point, we saw rows of buried cinderblocks, which might have been the former foundation of some sort of dwelling. And there was abandoned crap all around. But there was no path for a vehicle, which made all of this very strange. It was here I realized a third set of clues would come in handy to fill into the blanks between marks: Shiggy of the trampled variety. So any part of the day when we couldn’t find trail, we simply turned into unprofessional trail guides, looking and listening for Shiggy, Sounds and Slop.
At the bottom of the hill we crossed a creek, did a little more navigating through the forest and then ran right into one of the deepest, nastiest swamps I’ve ever encountered. Muddy water was up to our waists at some points, and it was all we could do to keep from stalling there in the muck. Some of us were laughing out of joy. It was quite priceless. This dirty mess continued for a while, and when we finally extracted ourselves, we went back to more forest running. What will be seared into my cranium for a long time to come was when I looked ahead for the bazillionth time to see no marks, and recalled advice I had received from a wise hasher on the day of my first haring when I screwed the pack… “Turn around once in a while you’re laying trail. If you can’t see any marks behind you, you’re not laying well enough.” Wiping the spider webs and sweat from my face, I turned around to see no marks. As one hot hasher put it, these marks are actually checks.
Unfortunately, patient wankers, it was about this time that I started getting exhausted, and most details of the rest of the trail are forgotten. I do remember there was the same slow navigation through the forest, and a lot of what remained of the trail was along the side of a largish creek or a smallish river. At the two-and-a-half hour mark, I totally hit a wall. Fifteen minutes later, I ran out of water in my CamelBack and noticed I was not doing a very good job avoiding the briars and deadfall at my feet. We encountered a cleaner swamp here, and it almost required some swimming. This led to a street, which led to a tree farm of some sort, which led to a BN. And sooner or later, that led to the On-In. And sooner or later, after a little more forest nagivation, that led to the back yard of a house.
Getting to the back yard was almost surreal, after spending almost 2 hours seeing the dull browns of the forest floor for so long, among the filth and the heat. There were colors here... pastels and the bright shades of the beer coolers (yay!) and the intense green of a near-perfect lawn. And there were hashers here, not huffing and puffing and sweating and swearing; but clean, and reclining in camp chairs, taking part in one of the best pastimes ever... drinking. Sort of like Friday night, I stood dazed for a moment, not even able to talk. At least until the Terapin kicked in. Then I started getting stories from everyone else.
Swamp Thing had been the secret co-hare, and we were at his sister’s house, if I’m getting the facts right. That would be Cockodile and her husband, an unnamed gent who doesn’t seem to like getting bare-assed on ice. Circle was rather humorous, as there were humans present who were not of-age to vote, drink or smoke, or all of the above. So most of the songs were PG rated. Think S0B, but with ass cheeks.
Back at the start, there was much rejoicing as we found the brave souls who were missing from circle... Four-Inch, Hired Snatch and Captain Crash. I think there’s only one more item I need to bring up... The liquid I consumed at both hashes.
Friday:
48 oz of water from the CamelBack
48 oz of water at the on-in
12 oz can of diet coke
(about) 7 oz of down-down beer
Sunday:
60 oz of water from the CamelBack
48 oz of water at the on-in
12 oz bottle of Terapin
12 oz can of diet coke
12 oz can of diet 7-up
12 oz can of diet 7-up
(about) 8 oz of down-down beer
GRAND TOTAL: Two Hundred SIXTY NINE ounces (no kidding).
For those of you who enjoy a little perspective with their beer,
that’s 2.1 gallons, or almost 17 POUNDS of liquid.
Holy sh!t, that makes me dizzy.
OK, here’s this Humble Hound’s recap of the afternoon:
This trail was well thought out and had the correct amount of shiggy, but a couple miles of unneeded street. Trails like this take time, and the hares obviously put some effort into it. So for the hares, thank you for a memorable Sunday. And to the pack, thanks for coming out and making it fun. Black Sheep hashes never fail to impress, one way or another.
Join us next time, when Sani will be helming the Lyon Run with a number of mystery hares. Please expect a shiggy orgasm.
May the Hash Go in Peace
May the Hash Get a Piece
Shiggy, Sounds and Slop were Sunday’s main ingredients of my very hot hashing weekend. And as my weekend goes, this entry will serve as PART THE SECOND.
There’s a reason why I love doing Darkside hashes. (I know this isn’t Darkside... work with me here, people). It’s because after getting used to following a hare for 10+ miles, I have the stamina available to go to any hash and not be scared. This bravery was needed today.
The hearty pack gathered about 17 miles north of the perimeter up GA 400 to see what Hump Me Dump Me could throw at them. And he threw a lot, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the heat.
You might be saying to yourself right now... ”Self, wasn’t this the day after the AH4 Red Dress Run?” Well, you would be correct. And that’s one of the reasons we started late. Because there were people hobbling in after 2p. And every second after 2p, HMDM was obviously chomping at the bit. What wasn’t so obvious was how prepared he was for this trail, considering the only thing he had with him was a plastic grocery bag containing less than 5 pounds of flour. So at 2:17, Bunny finished blessing the Hare of Record, who took leave of the shiggy-thirsty pack with no backpack, no TP and no water… only a blistering desire to depart. As he was running away, there was the typical “You forgot your keys!!!” But someone also asked him whether there was any special instructions, and over his shoulder, he yelled... “There's a water stop a-third of the way through!”
At 2:23p, the pack gave chase, and for between 2 1/2 and 3 miles, the pack was chasing mostly on pavement. When the temperature outside is 95 degrees, and there’s 55 percent humidity, the heat index registers about 110 degrees. And most of us were out in this for between 45 minutes to an hour, due in part to the sun beating down on our craniums, and partly due to us having a problem finding marks because some of them were spread out so far. Partially helping in the effort was the fact that HMDM apparently had a hole in his flour bag, and we were filling in the pieces of trail between marks by following his Slop. Where did the pavement end? The start. Yes, loyal sheepers, we did a gigantic summer-time circle jerk.
If you read the hash trash for SoCo, you would know that I learned I’m in relatively decent shape. So you would have laughed if you saw my jaw drop open as I staggered out from between the trees and saw all of our cars, surrounded by new blobs of flour. I saw the water jugs there in the shade and immediately plopped down next to them, dazed. As I drank some H2O, I tried to convince myself that this trail was NOT only a third over while saying out loud... “The trees are coming. The creeks are coming. The swamps are coming.” They did, but there was one more big challenge.
My legs started working again. Trail went to the end of the current parking lot, where there was a giant flag pole and an unkicked check. I heard people somewhere on the other side of the street screaming “Kick the check!” Whatever else they said made me gather flour from around the circle so I could add a few marks.
I crossed the street to a large area of chest-high vegetation, where several members of our Faithful Flock were milling about. They looked confused, and I quickly learned why. There was a blob of flour leading into the vegetation, and four small strips of TP leading back out of the vegetation to a check near the street. But the check was kicked toward the TP, so I guess I could describe this as a miniature circle jerk. Dear readers, we were in quite a dilemma here, and probably looked pretty pathetic as we stood there scratching our asses and swapping stories of our search so far. “So there’s no trail on the street that way.” “Correct. And there’s no trail on the street the other way.” “OK, so knowing which way the vegetation is stomped down, why can’t we assume that trail goes into the tree line?” “Because we’ve already been in there and there are no marks.” “Yeah, I’ve checked over there already.” “And I’ve checked there.” All of a sudden we heard a whistle, and I soon figured out that Slop wasn’t going to be the only thing helping us to reach the end this day. It was also going to be Sounds. The members of our small pack kept following the whistle until by some miracle, we finally picked up trail again.
Math time. At this point, we were out for an hour and fifteen minutes, and I would finally come in at three hours and ten minutes. The FRB’s came in at around two and a half hours. DFL’s were Bunny and Circumpsychic, who came in at somewhere over four hours. So now you know how much time most of us spent on what we all considered to be the real trail, which started after this tiny circle jerk.
This part of trail was all forest r*nning, as well as some slower navigation through briars and deadfall. At some point, we saw rows of buried cinderblocks, which might have been the former foundation of some sort of dwelling. And there was abandoned crap all around. But there was no path for a vehicle, which made all of this very strange. It was here I realized a third set of clues would come in handy to fill into the blanks between marks: Shiggy of the trampled variety. So any part of the day when we couldn’t find trail, we simply turned into unprofessional trail guides, looking and listening for Shiggy, Sounds and Slop.
At the bottom of the hill we crossed a creek, did a little more navigating through the forest and then ran right into one of the deepest, nastiest swamps I’ve ever encountered. Muddy water was up to our waists at some points, and it was all we could do to keep from stalling there in the muck. Some of us were laughing out of joy. It was quite priceless. This dirty mess continued for a while, and when we finally extracted ourselves, we went back to more forest running. What will be seared into my cranium for a long time to come was when I looked ahead for the bazillionth time to see no marks, and recalled advice I had received from a wise hasher on the day of my first haring when I screwed the pack… “Turn around once in a while you’re laying trail. If you can’t see any marks behind you, you’re not laying well enough.” Wiping the spider webs and sweat from my face, I turned around to see no marks. As one hot hasher put it, these marks are actually checks.
Unfortunately, patient wankers, it was about this time that I started getting exhausted, and most details of the rest of the trail are forgotten. I do remember there was the same slow navigation through the forest, and a lot of what remained of the trail was along the side of a largish creek or a smallish river. At the two-and-a-half hour mark, I totally hit a wall. Fifteen minutes later, I ran out of water in my CamelBack and noticed I was not doing a very good job avoiding the briars and deadfall at my feet. We encountered a cleaner swamp here, and it almost required some swimming. This led to a street, which led to a tree farm of some sort, which led to a BN. And sooner or later, that led to the On-In. And sooner or later, after a little more forest nagivation, that led to the back yard of a house.
Getting to the back yard was almost surreal, after spending almost 2 hours seeing the dull browns of the forest floor for so long, among the filth and the heat. There were colors here... pastels and the bright shades of the beer coolers (yay!) and the intense green of a near-perfect lawn. And there were hashers here, not huffing and puffing and sweating and swearing; but clean, and reclining in camp chairs, taking part in one of the best pastimes ever... drinking. Sort of like Friday night, I stood dazed for a moment, not even able to talk. At least until the Terapin kicked in. Then I started getting stories from everyone else.
Swamp Thing had been the secret co-hare, and we were at his sister’s house, if I’m getting the facts right. That would be Cockodile and her husband, an unnamed gent who doesn’t seem to like getting bare-assed on ice. Circle was rather humorous, as there were humans present who were not of-age to vote, drink or smoke, or all of the above. So most of the songs were PG rated. Think S0B, but with ass cheeks.
Back at the start, there was much rejoicing as we found the brave souls who were missing from circle... Four-Inch, Hired Snatch and Captain Crash. I think there’s only one more item I need to bring up... The liquid I consumed at both hashes.
Friday:
48 oz of water from the CamelBack
48 oz of water at the on-in
12 oz can of diet coke
(about) 7 oz of down-down beer
Sunday:
60 oz of water from the CamelBack
48 oz of water at the on-in
12 oz bottle of Terapin
12 oz can of diet coke
12 oz can of diet 7-up
12 oz can of diet 7-up
(about) 8 oz of down-down beer
GRAND TOTAL: Two Hundred SIXTY NINE ounces (no kidding).
For those of you who enjoy a little perspective with their beer,
that’s 2.1 gallons, or almost 17 POUNDS of liquid.
Holy sh!t, that makes me dizzy.
OK, here’s this Humble Hound’s recap of the afternoon:
This trail was well thought out and had the correct amount of shiggy, but a couple miles of unneeded street. Trails like this take time, and the hares obviously put some effort into it. So for the hares, thank you for a memorable Sunday. And to the pack, thanks for coming out and making it fun. Black Sheep hashes never fail to impress, one way or another.
Join us next time, when Sani will be helming the Lyon Run with a number of mystery hares. Please expect a shiggy orgasm.
May the Hash Go in Peace
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 6:30 PM 
