15 January 2006
58. Shiggy Porn or Dry Hump?
Black Sheep H3 - 8 January 06
The last time I did a Tastes Like Shit trail, it was of the insanely shiggilicious variety during our trip to Johnson City, Tennessee for the second-ever (and last) TCH3. But a month or two ago, TLS apparently got nicknamed Trails Like Shit for the “communication error” that turned his Atlanta co-haring into a mega cluster. Communication error. That’s like using the phrase “wardrobe malfunction” when your top gets ripped off by a horny guy half your age and your titty makes a guest appearance on national television.
I checked the satellite maps, and there were many possibilities for road rage. So we were going to be treated to orgasma-shiggy or forced into some twisted, temporary celibacy. Either way, I had a feeling we were going to get a workout. Something else that made us interested before we even started was that we were doubling up with the new Slack Sheep. That trail was going to split off at some point and co-hare Sani was going to give the Slackers an easier time.
For a January day, it was incredibly warm as the pack gathered for the 402nd running of the Black Sheep Hash. And holy crap, the turnout was impressive. There was close to 60 runners and bimbos at the start to watch TLS get out of his car in full Elvis attire. Maybe I should mention the day’s Elvis Birthday theme. The hare paraded around the parking lot of Nickajack Park for about 10 minutes, and then put the blazingly white costume away for later use at circle.
After an official Bunny Blessing, the hares departed, flour bags in hand. The expected YBF was found way up a hill and into some thick forest, which had many of the hounds cursing. True trail ended up down Nickajack Park Road for just a bit, then along a powercut and some random dirt to the grassy strip next to the breakdown lane on I-285. Yes, the pack ran along the interstate for a while, going northbound on the southbound side of the highway. This is where the railroad tracks started.
We went down the tracks to an Elvis-approved DS (donut stop) and cut though a little strip of shiggy to another set of tracks, which morphed into a bridge across the Chattahoochee River. This long stretch on the ties was where a number of people had little personal traumas as they tried to stifle one or more of their phobias. Some of us even kissed the ground on the other side when we finally got across. And who can forget the two face-plants.
Flour led us under the bridge, past a freshly dead raccoon, into a few steps of muddy water, and then right back on more tracks. And that brought us right back near 285 on the northbound side.
It was about this point we got off the ties and down into what was sometimes a swamp between the tracks and the river. Today it was bone dry, with the only mud in sight being the dried stuff on top of the leaves. For a mile, we trudged through uneven and litter-strewn forest with the tracks visible up above. One Ball’s translation: Spoiled Wilderness. The scenery was interesting, so we decided to continue following true trail. Between the shiggy and where the mile ended at Bankhead Highway, we ran along an access road for a powercut, where we were treated to a series of abandoned cars, complete with Bonnie-and-Clyde-type holes littering the sides. There was also a massive tire graveyard where we found ourselves among an ocean of black circles.
After a run up Bankhead Highway and through some forest, we ended back at the zig-zagging powercut, which connected us to an extra-wide easement. At the end of our lengthy trek along this little piece of sewer heaven, we finally found a little swamp; calf-deep and just long enough to numb our feet. A final easement brought us to the end, two miles from the start, and off the same street we turned on to get to the park. Length of trail: around 6 1/2 miles.
Because of ankle issues, I’m really damn slow in uneven shiggy, so I sometimes find myself among the last in. Today was one of those days. I barely got changed when circle started. During Trail Trial, most people announced they liked it, especially the mental pain of the bridge. But not surprisingly, there were a few who voiced their displeasure at all the dryness. If you need some perspective, a certain bald someone keeps track of the number of times The Boys get wet on Black Sheeps, and it happens about 75% of the time.
I decided to join the majority and be happy that we got to r*n a 10K among some pretty entertaining and impressive sights. Davey Crochet wrote the official hash trash, and he summed it up well when he thanked the hares: “If it weren’t for you, we couldn’t sit on our fat asses and complain.”
Until next time,
May the Hash Get a Piece
The last time I did a Tastes Like Shit trail, it was of the insanely shiggilicious variety during our trip to Johnson City, Tennessee for the second-ever (and last) TCH3. But a month or two ago, TLS apparently got nicknamed Trails Like Shit for the “communication error” that turned his Atlanta co-haring into a mega cluster. Communication error. That’s like using the phrase “wardrobe malfunction” when your top gets ripped off by a horny guy half your age and your titty makes a guest appearance on national television.
I checked the satellite maps, and there were many possibilities for road rage. So we were going to be treated to orgasma-shiggy or forced into some twisted, temporary celibacy. Either way, I had a feeling we were going to get a workout. Something else that made us interested before we even started was that we were doubling up with the new Slack Sheep. That trail was going to split off at some point and co-hare Sani was going to give the Slackers an easier time.
For a January day, it was incredibly warm as the pack gathered for the 402nd running of the Black Sheep Hash. And holy crap, the turnout was impressive. There was close to 60 runners and bimbos at the start to watch TLS get out of his car in full Elvis attire. Maybe I should mention the day’s Elvis Birthday theme. The hare paraded around the parking lot of Nickajack Park for about 10 minutes, and then put the blazingly white costume away for later use at circle.
After an official Bunny Blessing, the hares departed, flour bags in hand. The expected YBF was found way up a hill and into some thick forest, which had many of the hounds cursing. True trail ended up down Nickajack Park Road for just a bit, then along a powercut and some random dirt to the grassy strip next to the breakdown lane on I-285. Yes, the pack ran along the interstate for a while, going northbound on the southbound side of the highway. This is where the railroad tracks started.
We went down the tracks to an Elvis-approved DS (donut stop) and cut though a little strip of shiggy to another set of tracks, which morphed into a bridge across the Chattahoochee River. This long stretch on the ties was where a number of people had little personal traumas as they tried to stifle one or more of their phobias. Some of us even kissed the ground on the other side when we finally got across. And who can forget the two face-plants.
Flour led us under the bridge, past a freshly dead raccoon, into a few steps of muddy water, and then right back on more tracks. And that brought us right back near 285 on the northbound side.
It was about this point we got off the ties and down into what was sometimes a swamp between the tracks and the river. Today it was bone dry, with the only mud in sight being the dried stuff on top of the leaves. For a mile, we trudged through uneven and litter-strewn forest with the tracks visible up above. One Ball’s translation: Spoiled Wilderness. The scenery was interesting, so we decided to continue following true trail. Between the shiggy and where the mile ended at Bankhead Highway, we ran along an access road for a powercut, where we were treated to a series of abandoned cars, complete with Bonnie-and-Clyde-type holes littering the sides. There was also a massive tire graveyard where we found ourselves among an ocean of black circles.
After a run up Bankhead Highway and through some forest, we ended back at the zig-zagging powercut, which connected us to an extra-wide easement. At the end of our lengthy trek along this little piece of sewer heaven, we finally found a little swamp; calf-deep and just long enough to numb our feet. A final easement brought us to the end, two miles from the start, and off the same street we turned on to get to the park. Length of trail: around 6 1/2 miles.
Because of ankle issues, I’m really damn slow in uneven shiggy, so I sometimes find myself among the last in. Today was one of those days. I barely got changed when circle started. During Trail Trial, most people announced they liked it, especially the mental pain of the bridge. But not surprisingly, there were a few who voiced their displeasure at all the dryness. If you need some perspective, a certain bald someone keeps track of the number of times The Boys get wet on Black Sheeps, and it happens about 75% of the time.
I decided to join the majority and be happy that we got to r*n a 10K among some pretty entertaining and impressive sights. Davey Crochet wrote the official hash trash, and he summed it up well when he thanked the hares: “If it weren’t for you, we couldn’t sit on our fat asses and complain.”
Until next time,
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 12:32 PM 
