26 December 2005
56. They Sucked the Bah-Humbug Out of Me Like I Sucked the Holiday Ale Out of Bottles
Black Sheep H3 - 25 Decembeer 2005
This writeup will match the trail. Short and sweet. What was described as an "intimate" flock of Sheep gathered at North Dekalb Mall for the Christmas Day hash. I'm not too sure humans, sheep and the word "intimate" should be combined, but either way, here's who... um... came.
Hare/Giver of Beer: Santa Bwana
Host/Giver of Food: Chef 4-inch
Sheepers/Shortcutters/Latecummers/Bimbos (in no particular order): Wee Little Bit, Burnt Rubber, 2 Crabs, Martha Screwit, Yassir, Niplets, Head First, Red Breast, Keyless Entry, Just Jay and your humble scribe.
It was cold, but the clouds kept it from getting too bad. And it had stopped raining. Bwana trotted off toward Lawrenceville Highway and laid his first check. We found trail in some shiggy next to a random car dealership, and our brief movement through briars led us to the muddy paths of the local nature preserve. We trotted around a lake to a bamboo forest and all snared Bwana as we was going backwards on trail. He apparently was attempting a back-track and had figured we had gone through the area already. We all pointed and laughed at him, but didn't laugh too hard, since he had footed the entire tab for hash cash. Hey, we might be half-minds, but we know not to bite the hand that feeds us. After a few minutes, we took off after him again and got our feet totally wet for the first time, with the help of a shallow creek. On the other side we noticed old t.p. from our hare's previous jaunt through the area a month earlier. We exited the shiggy at a vacant house (also creatively used a month earlier) and took a short stroll through the neighborhood to the on-in.
As you probably already guessed, the ending was at 4-inch's house, and she definitely earned her Chef's hat. On the table was turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and a seasonal salad. All excellent. Liquid? Outside was seasonal varieties of Sam Adams, Sierra Nevada and others.
Entertaining topics of conversation included famous hash traditions, our picks for some of the best trails of the year, as well as the number of hashes that Atlanta had on Christmas Day: The start of Wheelhopper was 7 miles away, and the start of the new Slack Sheep was rumored to be 5 miles away. Yes, Slack Sheep. But even after several people assured me another hash has been created here in Atlanta, I still don't believe it. So if anyone was present at the on-augural of Black Sheep's slower sister-hash, please let me know.
Circle? No ice. No swing low. In fact, circle almost didn’t happen, but Yours Truly refused to shut up until the pack did at least one token song. So guess who got the full-beer down-down? Yup, if he won't shut up, stuff a mug in his mouth.
Special recognition goes to Niplets' out-of-town sister Head First, (HEAD? WHO SAID... yeah yeah yeah) who graced us with her presence while here for a Christmas visit. Also to Chef 4-inch's brother, Just Jay, who amazed us by keeping dogs totally quiet and transfixed for what seemed like an eternity, simply by grabbing his nuts.
Finally, I'm going to shed my typical Bah-Humbug spirit for a moment and thank both Bwana and 4-inch for their generosity and hashpotality on Christmas Day. It is much appreciated.
Please join us in two weeks when something happens involving a trail, toilet paper and a surprising amount of ass hair. And it's been told that members of a new hash will be among us to witness it. Um, I still don't believe it.
Until next time,
May the Hash Get a Piece
This writeup will match the trail. Short and sweet. What was described as an "intimate" flock of Sheep gathered at North Dekalb Mall for the Christmas Day hash. I'm not too sure humans, sheep and the word "intimate" should be combined, but either way, here's who... um... came.
Hare/Giver of Beer: Santa Bwana
Host/Giver of Food: Chef 4-inch
Sheepers/Shortcutters/Latecummers/Bimbos (in no particular order): Wee Little Bit, Burnt Rubber, 2 Crabs, Martha Screwit, Yassir, Niplets, Head First, Red Breast, Keyless Entry, Just Jay and your humble scribe.
It was cold, but the clouds kept it from getting too bad. And it had stopped raining. Bwana trotted off toward Lawrenceville Highway and laid his first check. We found trail in some shiggy next to a random car dealership, and our brief movement through briars led us to the muddy paths of the local nature preserve. We trotted around a lake to a bamboo forest and all snared Bwana as we was going backwards on trail. He apparently was attempting a back-track and had figured we had gone through the area already. We all pointed and laughed at him, but didn't laugh too hard, since he had footed the entire tab for hash cash. Hey, we might be half-minds, but we know not to bite the hand that feeds us. After a few minutes, we took off after him again and got our feet totally wet for the first time, with the help of a shallow creek. On the other side we noticed old t.p. from our hare's previous jaunt through the area a month earlier. We exited the shiggy at a vacant house (also creatively used a month earlier) and took a short stroll through the neighborhood to the on-in.
As you probably already guessed, the ending was at 4-inch's house, and she definitely earned her Chef's hat. On the table was turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and a seasonal salad. All excellent. Liquid? Outside was seasonal varieties of Sam Adams, Sierra Nevada and others.
Entertaining topics of conversation included famous hash traditions, our picks for some of the best trails of the year, as well as the number of hashes that Atlanta had on Christmas Day: The start of Wheelhopper was 7 miles away, and the start of the new Slack Sheep was rumored to be 5 miles away. Yes, Slack Sheep. But even after several people assured me another hash has been created here in Atlanta, I still don't believe it. So if anyone was present at the on-augural of Black Sheep's slower sister-hash, please let me know.
Circle? No ice. No swing low. In fact, circle almost didn’t happen, but Yours Truly refused to shut up until the pack did at least one token song. So guess who got the full-beer down-down? Yup, if he won't shut up, stuff a mug in his mouth.
Special recognition goes to Niplets' out-of-town sister Head First, (HEAD? WHO SAID... yeah yeah yeah) who graced us with her presence while here for a Christmas visit. Also to Chef 4-inch's brother, Just Jay, who amazed us by keeping dogs totally quiet and transfixed for what seemed like an eternity, simply by grabbing his nuts.
Finally, I'm going to shed my typical Bah-Humbug spirit for a moment and thank both Bwana and 4-inch for their generosity and hashpotality on Christmas Day. It is much appreciated.
Please join us in two weeks when something happens involving a trail, toilet paper and a surprising amount of ass hair. And it's been told that members of a new hash will be among us to witness it. Um, I still don't believe it.
Until next time,
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 2:04 PM 
04 December 2005
55. In Case You Didn't Know... We Got Muddy
Black Sheep H3 - 27 Novembeer 2005
Here's my phone conversation with a Non-Hashing Friend on Sunday morning:
NHF: So, you're going to run today?
Me: Yup.
NHF: You know it's supposed to rain, right?
Me: Yeah.
NHF: And you're still going?
Me: Of course. We're going to be chasing a Pussy all afternoon. There BETTER be some moisture.
Even if the sky cleared, I seriously didn't expect to be dry at the end of this trail. Just call it an educated guess. There were actually two hares for the St. Andrew’s Day Hash. Pussy Pilot and Bone Hole, both in kilts, decided to start at Dixie Aerospace, about a mile and a half southeast of the upcumming fifth runway for Hartsfield.
In case you didn't know... Dixie Aerospace bills itself as "The Worldwide Leader in Aircraft Bearing Distribution." So we were wrong when we thought their motto was "Hey Y'all, We Done Do Some Space Stuff."
It had been raining off and on, but before We of the Faithful Flock started arriving, the rain stopped for the day. A decent-sized pack appeared by the time the hares departed, and the first part of trail was a mile-long strip of road rage down to a major intersection and across the street to a YBF. We were trying to remember where the check was, when we spotted 2 Crabs, Urine Development and Port-a-Jay hanging out down the street at a bridge. Apparently, PP had taken some shiggy to this point, and everyone else had taken the road. The trio let PP go with double the normal lead time, and since we didn't want to hang out on the bridge for 10 minutes, we walked down to where first mark was, inside a fence. This fence happened to be an entrance to the conveyor belt system for the fifth runway's fill-dirt, so we had something to gawk at while we waited.
In case you didn't know... the amount of earth needed for the fifth runway and embankment would be enough to fill the Georgia Dome six times over. The runway is going to be 1.7 miles long and at some points, the embankment will be filled to 110 feet. That’s as high as an 11-story building.
From what I can remember, the area of the snare was the last bit of road we saw for the entire trail, so many of us considered this the actual start. We followed flour a little east and a little south, next to the conveyor belts and one of the big-ass digs that held all the rock. After a little more forest, we got to the edge of the dig and the Scotch Stop. I think the general consensus was that the Macallan was splendid.
When I mean we were at the edge of the dig, I mean the edge. The scotch and jugs of water were on bedrock next to the very end of the conveyor belt, where they take the pulverized stone and shovel it in. A look to the right gave us a view of what they were blowing up and tearing down. A look to the left gave us a view down the conveyor belt, and true trail, which went alongside.
In case you didn't know... those conveyor belts stretch for more than five miles.
After cruising along the belts for awhile, we cut right at a powercut. Suddenly, a tall, kilt-clad figure could be seen walking toward us. Was that PP? Yup. Apparently, he was finished with his part of trail and was walking back to get a much-deserved shot of scotch. As he passed by, I heard him say something like “enjoy the mud.”
Almost right away, we moved away from the powercut and found ourselves squishing in mud. I looked over and saw a gorgeous swamp stretched out beside us. We were trudging at the edge of it. This didn’t last long, so I knew this wasn’t the muck PP was talking about. I guess that would cum in good time.
Between the swamp and the next treeline was a grassy hill, which allowed us a great view of the Sheepers working their way through the swamp land. We soon came to a creek that formed a pool and then forked. I heard hashers everywhere, so apparently trail was difficult to find here. I crossed the pool toward the right fork, stood on the bank and easily saw TP on the left fork. I think that might have stumped some people here because the banks of the two creeks were so high. In fact, the middle portion between the forks would have been a real challenge to cut over. But it did make for a gorgeous scene.
I took one step off the bank and immediately dropped about five full feet into the pool, with the waterline at my chin. The frigid water immediately constricted my lungs and I started gasping so loud, everyone in the area looked over to witness the stupidity. I pulled myself back up and worked my way across the pool at a different angle, only to have a sharp branch of an underwater log rake across my shin right at the bone. Soaking wet, half-laughing, half-coughing and practically doubled-over in pain, I looked behind me for a third surprise: Burnt Rubber. It turns out he was actually r*nning true trail. But by the time I recovered and made my way to the left fork, he and everyone else had disappeared. So maybe I was just seeing things.
In case you didn’t know… Burnt is haring with Surly Temple for #400 on Dec. 11th. I just talked to one of the hares, and from what I gathered, this will be quite a trail.
That mud PP told us about was here, on the banks of the left fork. But most of it wasn’t shoe-sucking mud. It was slippery glop on top of hardened earth, so walking was nearly impossible. This went on for what seemed like an eternity, and for a while, it got so disturbingly enjoyable, it was impossible to go on without thinking back to two weeks prior, when we were slipping and sliding in raw sewage.
In case you didn't know... GE's tunnel craptacular on November 13th earned him two hash trashes. To celebrate, he stayed home on the day of #399, turned up his heat to 85 degrees and brought in 10 women dressed as Egyptian servants. They fanned him with palm fronds and fed him grapes. Oh, and when they found out what he did for trail, they washed his feet.
We finally made our way to a wide-open area of thick-blade grass that had dried and fallen on over, creating an incredibly thick bedding on top of soft earth. This large, barren area is right behind Southern Regional Medical Center and easily visible on Google’s satellite maps. It’s just one more piece of topography I’ve never seen before in Atlanta, and just one more reason I wish I owned a waterproof camera.
The last part of trail was all thick forest, with a lot of muddy, swampy, creeky areas and a lot of deadfall and undergrowth. It was dense and quiet here, and the hum of nearby I-75 had almost disappeared. The navigation was slow at times, but a great end to a great trail. Well, we did have one more challenge. The hares decided to take us through a thigh-deep mud pit and then up a hill to the on-in. Every time the beer-laden pack heard movement down below, they’d all go to the edge of the hill and look down at people slogging through the muck. Bwana’s comment to the hares ended up being the Quote of the Day. We were looking and laughing at a couple hounds who had found a waist-deep portion of the pit, when he got this shit-eating grin on his face and said “You could have taken us through THAT for two hours and I would have been THRILLED.”
The end was just west of Tara Blvd and the Sherwood Memorial Gardens Cemetery. As usual, quality beer and thirst-inspiring orange food awaited us, and we were also treated to cake, turkey, hot cider and the traditional English dessert Spotted Dick. Yes, the food that was constantly generating the most controversy, at least until Wow chips came along and warned of Anal Leakage. Ah, the joys of fake fat.
In case you didn't know... a good time was had by all. Thanks to the hares for finding some spectacular sights, and thanks to all you Sheep who came out to get your fleece dirty.
Until next time,
May the Hash get a Piece
Here's my phone conversation with a Non-Hashing Friend on Sunday morning:
NHF: So, you're going to run today?
Me: Yup.
NHF: You know it's supposed to rain, right?
Me: Yeah.
NHF: And you're still going?
Me: Of course. We're going to be chasing a Pussy all afternoon. There BETTER be some moisture.
Even if the sky cleared, I seriously didn't expect to be dry at the end of this trail. Just call it an educated guess. There were actually two hares for the St. Andrew’s Day Hash. Pussy Pilot and Bone Hole, both in kilts, decided to start at Dixie Aerospace, about a mile and a half southeast of the upcumming fifth runway for Hartsfield.
In case you didn't know... Dixie Aerospace bills itself as "The Worldwide Leader in Aircraft Bearing Distribution." So we were wrong when we thought their motto was "Hey Y'all, We Done Do Some Space Stuff."
It had been raining off and on, but before We of the Faithful Flock started arriving, the rain stopped for the day. A decent-sized pack appeared by the time the hares departed, and the first part of trail was a mile-long strip of road rage down to a major intersection and across the street to a YBF. We were trying to remember where the check was, when we spotted 2 Crabs, Urine Development and Port-a-Jay hanging out down the street at a bridge. Apparently, PP had taken some shiggy to this point, and everyone else had taken the road. The trio let PP go with double the normal lead time, and since we didn't want to hang out on the bridge for 10 minutes, we walked down to where first mark was, inside a fence. This fence happened to be an entrance to the conveyor belt system for the fifth runway's fill-dirt, so we had something to gawk at while we waited.
In case you didn't know... the amount of earth needed for the fifth runway and embankment would be enough to fill the Georgia Dome six times over. The runway is going to be 1.7 miles long and at some points, the embankment will be filled to 110 feet. That’s as high as an 11-story building.
From what I can remember, the area of the snare was the last bit of road we saw for the entire trail, so many of us considered this the actual start. We followed flour a little east and a little south, next to the conveyor belts and one of the big-ass digs that held all the rock. After a little more forest, we got to the edge of the dig and the Scotch Stop. I think the general consensus was that the Macallan was splendid.
When I mean we were at the edge of the dig, I mean the edge. The scotch and jugs of water were on bedrock next to the very end of the conveyor belt, where they take the pulverized stone and shovel it in. A look to the right gave us a view of what they were blowing up and tearing down. A look to the left gave us a view down the conveyor belt, and true trail, which went alongside.
In case you didn't know... those conveyor belts stretch for more than five miles.
After cruising along the belts for awhile, we cut right at a powercut. Suddenly, a tall, kilt-clad figure could be seen walking toward us. Was that PP? Yup. Apparently, he was finished with his part of trail and was walking back to get a much-deserved shot of scotch. As he passed by, I heard him say something like “enjoy the mud.”
Almost right away, we moved away from the powercut and found ourselves squishing in mud. I looked over and saw a gorgeous swamp stretched out beside us. We were trudging at the edge of it. This didn’t last long, so I knew this wasn’t the muck PP was talking about. I guess that would cum in good time.
Between the swamp and the next treeline was a grassy hill, which allowed us a great view of the Sheepers working their way through the swamp land. We soon came to a creek that formed a pool and then forked. I heard hashers everywhere, so apparently trail was difficult to find here. I crossed the pool toward the right fork, stood on the bank and easily saw TP on the left fork. I think that might have stumped some people here because the banks of the two creeks were so high. In fact, the middle portion between the forks would have been a real challenge to cut over. But it did make for a gorgeous scene.
I took one step off the bank and immediately dropped about five full feet into the pool, with the waterline at my chin. The frigid water immediately constricted my lungs and I started gasping so loud, everyone in the area looked over to witness the stupidity. I pulled myself back up and worked my way across the pool at a different angle, only to have a sharp branch of an underwater log rake across my shin right at the bone. Soaking wet, half-laughing, half-coughing and practically doubled-over in pain, I looked behind me for a third surprise: Burnt Rubber. It turns out he was actually r*nning true trail. But by the time I recovered and made my way to the left fork, he and everyone else had disappeared. So maybe I was just seeing things.
In case you didn’t know… Burnt is haring with Surly Temple for #400 on Dec. 11th. I just talked to one of the hares, and from what I gathered, this will be quite a trail.
That mud PP told us about was here, on the banks of the left fork. But most of it wasn’t shoe-sucking mud. It was slippery glop on top of hardened earth, so walking was nearly impossible. This went on for what seemed like an eternity, and for a while, it got so disturbingly enjoyable, it was impossible to go on without thinking back to two weeks prior, when we were slipping and sliding in raw sewage.
In case you didn't know... GE's tunnel craptacular on November 13th earned him two hash trashes. To celebrate, he stayed home on the day of #399, turned up his heat to 85 degrees and brought in 10 women dressed as Egyptian servants. They fanned him with palm fronds and fed him grapes. Oh, and when they found out what he did for trail, they washed his feet.
We finally made our way to a wide-open area of thick-blade grass that had dried and fallen on over, creating an incredibly thick bedding on top of soft earth. This large, barren area is right behind Southern Regional Medical Center and easily visible on Google’s satellite maps. It’s just one more piece of topography I’ve never seen before in Atlanta, and just one more reason I wish I owned a waterproof camera.
The last part of trail was all thick forest, with a lot of muddy, swampy, creeky areas and a lot of deadfall and undergrowth. It was dense and quiet here, and the hum of nearby I-75 had almost disappeared. The navigation was slow at times, but a great end to a great trail. Well, we did have one more challenge. The hares decided to take us through a thigh-deep mud pit and then up a hill to the on-in. Every time the beer-laden pack heard movement down below, they’d all go to the edge of the hill and look down at people slogging through the muck. Bwana’s comment to the hares ended up being the Quote of the Day. We were looking and laughing at a couple hounds who had found a waist-deep portion of the pit, when he got this shit-eating grin on his face and said “You could have taken us through THAT for two hours and I would have been THRILLED.”
The end was just west of Tara Blvd and the Sherwood Memorial Gardens Cemetery. As usual, quality beer and thirst-inspiring orange food awaited us, and we were also treated to cake, turkey, hot cider and the traditional English dessert Spotted Dick. Yes, the food that was constantly generating the most controversy, at least until Wow chips came along and warned of Anal Leakage. Ah, the joys of fake fat.
In case you didn't know... a good time was had by all. Thanks to the hares for finding some spectacular sights, and thanks to all you Sheep who came out to get your fleece dirty.
Until next time,
May the Hash get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 8:29 PM
