05 November 2005
53. The Trash Invades Toronto
Carolina Trash H3 - 05 Sept 2005
The Unofficial Hash Trash of AIH’s Trash Trail #1144B
The brain-dead mixed with the dead at the start of the Sunday Trash Trail in Toronto. We were at a cemetery about 20 minutes from the Hash Hotel. From my sober-time brainiac research, I figure the area was just east of York University, next to G. Ross Lord Reservoir and Park. The trail I did the day before had 150 wanks and the circle was a mess, so this time around, I was secretly hoping for a lower turnout. And we got it. Around 55 drunks circled up in front of a long, open-air mausoleum next to one of the graveyards on the property. Obviously, the warning in the running schedule kept the pussies away:
“You will stink after completing this hash. Wear clothes you were going to throw out anyway.”
About 10% of the hashers in attendance were haring, including Buck, Shitty, Scabby, Uno ‘Night Train’ Queero and our Hogtown sweepers H2Ho and New Shoez. As someone commented at the start of warm-ups, most of the anxious herd were either Trash or Trash By Injection/Secretion/Association. Hmmm. I guess that’s what happens when you combine booze, genitals and road trips. Even a couple of old-school Trash were present; as in 1990’s Trashers who have (used to have?) bibs. Sorry, I’m bad with names.
The hares took leave of the rowdy pack, but only after warning us about a Super Nova on trail. Ahh… the FRB’s would be working today. We among the thirsty hounds took about 15 minutes to do warm-ups and spread rumors, and then gave chase.
The trash is pretty good at keeping the pack together, and the first thing they did on this trail was lay a mile-long back-check with multiple falses branching from it. Some of us missed the final curse-inspiring mark, so after a while, New Shoez took pity on us and told us which way to go. And it ended up being almost all the way back to the start. When we got there, H2Ho was available to laugh at us as we started again, the walkers and r*nners cursing together.
If any of you half-minded individuals pay attention while running along power cuts, you’ve probably noticed they’re usually outlandishly overgrown and (at least in the south) full of flesh-tearing berry vines. Well, in Toronto, there are some landscaped ones that even serve as parks. This is the sight that kicked off the trail, and what led us to the giant Super Nova. I had heard rumblings of a water crossing, so I took my chances on a trail that led down to the river. But I enventually ran into a false. By the time I heard whistles and tore my way back up the hill, I was with the walkers again. DEATH TO THE HARES
Grass and dirt trails led us to the last piece of street we’d see for the day. We cut to the right, across a small, grassy field and into some brush, which immediately opened up to our water crossing: a morbidly foul lake with shoe-sucking mud all along the banks. As the brave souls made their way across the water, I noticed one of the Brits looking rather beside himself. “Bloody hell, I don’t swim,” he said and paced in the mud. As luck would have it, there was a life preserver right where we were getting in, and I handed it to him. “No, I don’t do well in the water,” he said and looked around, confused. “You can go around,” I suggested and pointed to the area where it looked like the lake would end. He just stood there. I really didn’t want to find out later that he 1) boxed the lake and got lost or 2) drowned… so I decided on chivalry, even though I would obviously get a down-down for it later. “Well, I’m going around then,” I said and started sloshing my way around the water. Sure, our shirts stayed dry, but at a couple of points, the smell of the mud almost made me gag.
As we crawled up the hill to escape the odor, I noticed I finally succeeded in going from the front of the pack to the back of the pack. The only human I saw behind me was the First Aid Guy, who we started calling FAG. I’m sure he liked that. A little forest running led to a park and the beer stop, where we sucked down Canadian brew and laughed at the dry locals, who were sunning their dry bodies in what was near-perfect summer weather.
I’m writing this on the plane ride back to Atlanta, so I have plenty of time to shit-out a lot of detail. But I think a quick summary is in order here: Almost everything after the beer stop was a disgusting mess.
A little park grass and a tiny hill were all that was separating the beer stop from the muck. We milled around a muddy creek temporarily, while the more-energetic hounds went to search for true trial off a nearby check. It led us right to a pile of glop and our first mud fight of the day. Some of us got hit by odorous projectiles, while others either fell in, or were pushed into the worst of it. Before I rounded a corner to safety, I saw a few people getting mud rubbed into their hair and piles of it shoved into their pants. Mmm… muddy camel toes.
I describe it as “safety,” but rounding the corner just kept me away from the slop bombs. We now had a bigger enemy: one of the muddiest rivers I have ever experienced. It was actually more like tidal mud. And it stretched up the bank for yards. From what I was told, Toronto recently had one or two crippling rain storms and the lowlands were not even close to drying out yet. One of the hares had risked sinking in ooze to get out on a sandbar (OK, mudbar) to lay up the river. For a while, I worked my way upstream on the banks, surrounded by a strange, multi-colored substance that covered the mud and reflected the sunlight. I looked back to see hounds making their way to the mudbar on their hands and knees. No matter what path we took, we finally got out of the sludge and into what was a more-normal creek. But that just led to more mud. After I got out of the creek, I looked over at eye-level and saw a light coating of dry muck on the tree leaves. So at some point, the area we were running through was at least five feet under water. For a while, I actually saw dry muck higher than I could reach while jumping. (Was that nine feet up?)
Suddenly, we were back at the start, with filthy hashers carrying their dry-bags to a partially secluded area in the middle of the manicured power cut. We watched the rest of the pack come in with varying degrees of mud attached to them. The worst of the bunch looked like they took a bath in it. Their prize: An unlimited amount of cold beer, snacks and several bags of solid projectiles, also known as leftover bagels.
Buck and Scabby ran a loud, entertaining circle of a quality you would expect from the two of them. In fact, when given the option to hose off and head back to the bus, everyone decided to keep circle going until the last possible minute. For those of you who were wondering why Hedgehog looked like Pigpen after we got to the Fort for dinner, this is why. In addition to Hedgy, another honorable mention goes to Tu Tu Fairy, who got the only snare of the day, when he ran into one of the hares while shortcutting.
While on the topic of honorable mentions, at one point during circle, Buck pulled a big Yucca-type jar of sauce out of the cooler. And we all know what that means: a bibbing… or two. This time around, Night Train got a prize. And one of our Neighbors to the North got one: New Shoez has represented Hogtown well enough to get his own cloth badge of honor. Congratulations you drunk bastards.
Epilogue. I washed out my muddy clothes in the hotel shower. For minutes on end, the water filtering through them was as dark as vomit from Team Guinness.
May the hash go in peace
May the hash get a piece
The Unofficial Hash Trash of AIH’s Trash Trail #1144B
The brain-dead mixed with the dead at the start of the Sunday Trash Trail in Toronto. We were at a cemetery about 20 minutes from the Hash Hotel. From my sober-time brainiac research, I figure the area was just east of York University, next to G. Ross Lord Reservoir and Park. The trail I did the day before had 150 wanks and the circle was a mess, so this time around, I was secretly hoping for a lower turnout. And we got it. Around 55 drunks circled up in front of a long, open-air mausoleum next to one of the graveyards on the property. Obviously, the warning in the running schedule kept the pussies away:
“You will stink after completing this hash. Wear clothes you were going to throw out anyway.”
About 10% of the hashers in attendance were haring, including Buck, Shitty, Scabby, Uno ‘Night Train’ Queero and our Hogtown sweepers H2Ho and New Shoez. As someone commented at the start of warm-ups, most of the anxious herd were either Trash or Trash By Injection/Secretion/Association. Hmmm. I guess that’s what happens when you combine booze, genitals and road trips. Even a couple of old-school Trash were present; as in 1990’s Trashers who have (used to have?) bibs. Sorry, I’m bad with names.
The hares took leave of the rowdy pack, but only after warning us about a Super Nova on trail. Ahh… the FRB’s would be working today. We among the thirsty hounds took about 15 minutes to do warm-ups and spread rumors, and then gave chase.
The trash is pretty good at keeping the pack together, and the first thing they did on this trail was lay a mile-long back-check with multiple falses branching from it. Some of us missed the final curse-inspiring mark, so after a while, New Shoez took pity on us and told us which way to go. And it ended up being almost all the way back to the start. When we got there, H2Ho was available to laugh at us as we started again, the walkers and r*nners cursing together.
If any of you half-minded individuals pay attention while running along power cuts, you’ve probably noticed they’re usually outlandishly overgrown and (at least in the south) full of flesh-tearing berry vines. Well, in Toronto, there are some landscaped ones that even serve as parks. This is the sight that kicked off the trail, and what led us to the giant Super Nova. I had heard rumblings of a water crossing, so I took my chances on a trail that led down to the river. But I enventually ran into a false. By the time I heard whistles and tore my way back up the hill, I was with the walkers again. DEATH TO THE HARES
Grass and dirt trails led us to the last piece of street we’d see for the day. We cut to the right, across a small, grassy field and into some brush, which immediately opened up to our water crossing: a morbidly foul lake with shoe-sucking mud all along the banks. As the brave souls made their way across the water, I noticed one of the Brits looking rather beside himself. “Bloody hell, I don’t swim,” he said and paced in the mud. As luck would have it, there was a life preserver right where we were getting in, and I handed it to him. “No, I don’t do well in the water,” he said and looked around, confused. “You can go around,” I suggested and pointed to the area where it looked like the lake would end. He just stood there. I really didn’t want to find out later that he 1) boxed the lake and got lost or 2) drowned… so I decided on chivalry, even though I would obviously get a down-down for it later. “Well, I’m going around then,” I said and started sloshing my way around the water. Sure, our shirts stayed dry, but at a couple of points, the smell of the mud almost made me gag.
As we crawled up the hill to escape the odor, I noticed I finally succeeded in going from the front of the pack to the back of the pack. The only human I saw behind me was the First Aid Guy, who we started calling FAG. I’m sure he liked that. A little forest running led to a park and the beer stop, where we sucked down Canadian brew and laughed at the dry locals, who were sunning their dry bodies in what was near-perfect summer weather.
I’m writing this on the plane ride back to Atlanta, so I have plenty of time to shit-out a lot of detail. But I think a quick summary is in order here: Almost everything after the beer stop was a disgusting mess.
A little park grass and a tiny hill were all that was separating the beer stop from the muck. We milled around a muddy creek temporarily, while the more-energetic hounds went to search for true trial off a nearby check. It led us right to a pile of glop and our first mud fight of the day. Some of us got hit by odorous projectiles, while others either fell in, or were pushed into the worst of it. Before I rounded a corner to safety, I saw a few people getting mud rubbed into their hair and piles of it shoved into their pants. Mmm… muddy camel toes.
I describe it as “safety,” but rounding the corner just kept me away from the slop bombs. We now had a bigger enemy: one of the muddiest rivers I have ever experienced. It was actually more like tidal mud. And it stretched up the bank for yards. From what I was told, Toronto recently had one or two crippling rain storms and the lowlands were not even close to drying out yet. One of the hares had risked sinking in ooze to get out on a sandbar (OK, mudbar) to lay up the river. For a while, I worked my way upstream on the banks, surrounded by a strange, multi-colored substance that covered the mud and reflected the sunlight. I looked back to see hounds making their way to the mudbar on their hands and knees. No matter what path we took, we finally got out of the sludge and into what was a more-normal creek. But that just led to more mud. After I got out of the creek, I looked over at eye-level and saw a light coating of dry muck on the tree leaves. So at some point, the area we were running through was at least five feet under water. For a while, I actually saw dry muck higher than I could reach while jumping. (Was that nine feet up?)
Suddenly, we were back at the start, with filthy hashers carrying their dry-bags to a partially secluded area in the middle of the manicured power cut. We watched the rest of the pack come in with varying degrees of mud attached to them. The worst of the bunch looked like they took a bath in it. Their prize: An unlimited amount of cold beer, snacks and several bags of solid projectiles, also known as leftover bagels.
Buck and Scabby ran a loud, entertaining circle of a quality you would expect from the two of them. In fact, when given the option to hose off and head back to the bus, everyone decided to keep circle going until the last possible minute. For those of you who were wondering why Hedgehog looked like Pigpen after we got to the Fort for dinner, this is why. In addition to Hedgy, another honorable mention goes to Tu Tu Fairy, who got the only snare of the day, when he ran into one of the hares while shortcutting.
While on the topic of honorable mentions, at one point during circle, Buck pulled a big Yucca-type jar of sauce out of the cooler. And we all know what that means: a bibbing… or two. This time around, Night Train got a prize. And one of our Neighbors to the North got one: New Shoez has represented Hogtown well enough to get his own cloth badge of honor. Congratulations you drunk bastards.
Epilogue. I washed out my muddy clothes in the hotel shower. For minutes on end, the water filtering through them was as dark as vomit from Team Guinness.
May the hash go in peace
May the hash get a piece
# posted by L&F @ 6:31 PM 
