25 October 2006
75. The Trash Invades Atlanta
Carolina Trash H3 - 7 Octobeer to 8 Octobeer 2006
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, A WEEK EARLIER
I was stanky, dirty and covered in dried flour when I found out the Trash Invasion to Atlanta was a go. At the time, I was driving back from a successful episode of the Black Sheep Hash, hared by me and fellow Trasher Red Breast. Our own mini-invasion, I guess you can say. We would be hosting our brethren from the Motherland in six more days. I rushed home and immediately jumped into action.
My fingers became blurs of lightning-fast efficiency as I called all the necessary players. Within a few minutes, it became clear all the bibbed Trashers from ATL would be playing a role. Bagless would be around to represent during the trail on Saturday afternoon, Red Breast would play host for an on-after, and Hole would insert himself into the equation at some point during the evening. Oh yeah. Me. Um… I wouldn’t be available until midnight, so I had to think about the day after.
I latched onto an interesting fact about Sunday. Not only was House of Boobs offering crash space, she was also haring the SOB trail. SOB stands for Slow Old Bastards, and they don’t like shiggy. Maybe I could create a turkey/eagle split and add some punishment, so the trail would more closely resemble what the guests of honor were used to.
TUESDAY EVENING
HOB called me from her car. She was driving around looking for a start and a beer stop for the trail. The end would be at her house. I was at the Drunken Scientist Lair, and I jumped at the chance to scout from home. All I had to do was get to Google Maps. I told her what streets and landmarks were close and she drove around the check them out. The satellite photos showed plenty of dirt roads and also lots of shiggy. So we picked a start and beer stop that helped us both out.
Here’s a side note about house-scouting. It rocks. You barely have to budge, you can do it naked, and drinking beer during the whole process is a whole lot easier. The best part is being able to describe to the person in the field where they are, and what they’re approaching. It turns the house-scouter into something resembling God, minus the halo and bright clothes.
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
I parked at HOB’s house and walked to the start. Trail would be wherever I walked from that point, and I ended up with a four-mile trail. Total scouting mileage for the day: 6 miles. Total scouting time: 3 hours.
SATURDAY 11:59 PM
I pulled up at HOB’s house to see Trashy and OG (since bibbed; congrats, bro) sharpie-ing two newer members of the Trash family. Passed out in OG’s SUV were Just Gabriela (since named Looking for Sperm in All the Wrong Places) and Only Shoots Blanks. When you realize they’re dating, you’ll realize why she got her name. Or is that take too much brain power? Sorry, tangent. Both of them weren’t going to wake up for anything. I watched in amazement as Trashy contorted himself into the back of the SUV, surrounded by splayed-out limbs, and successfully removed enough of his clothes to create some quality photos.
In addition to these four, American Midol flew down on her cousin’s (Landing Strip’s) buddy pass. They had done trail earlier in the day, but I wouldn’t see them until the SOB on-in.
SUNDAY, EARLY
The sharpie-ing was successful. Once that was over I had to catch up for a few minutes, and not just by cracking open the 100-proof black cherry vodka. I also needed to figure out how well the day was progressing for our visitors. It seems life wasn’t sucking too bad. So we moved on to a quick recap of life in the ‘Nam and then proceeded to drink ourselves silly. The last ones standing were Trashy and Hole, and by our craptacular math, we figured they finally passed out around 6:30 in the morning.
SUNDAY MORNING
I got up around 2 hours later and started piecing things together. A bottle of Jager was gone, apparently falling victim to a high-octane game of tippy cup. There was a line drawing of a dick on the flat-panel TV, luckily created with dry-erase marker. A camera (OG’s, I think) showed Hole/Trashy involved in same gayish-looking (but hash-acceptable) behavior, and from what I was told, there might have been ejaculate on the kitchen counter at some point. There were beer bottles scattered everywhere, making the house look more like a glass forest. There’s always a sense of pride in seeing that. But I couldn’t stand around gloating at the damage for too long. We had a trail to do.
HOB and OG gradually made their way to the start to prelay the SOB portion of trail, while I got d’erections together for the bimbos.
We gathered at 1:30 and I was off at 1:45. The only people brave enough to do the shiggy/eagle trail were, of course, the Trashers.
TRASH TRAIL, CUSTOM-MADE
The start was a park south of HOB’s house, and just south of the Little River. The beginning of trail consisted of two river crossings (the water was never more than thigh-deep) and some sewer easements. A south loop included a kick-ass all-uphill hiking trail, railroad tracks and a shiggified trip downward to the river for a third water crossing. Most of everything else to the beer stop was among a maze of dirt trails, but some were swampy or overgrown, and one piece featured a trek along a claustrophobic creek. The beer stop was where the forest met HOB’s development, at a cul-de-sac where there still wasn’t any houses yet.
From there, the SOB’ers took road to the end. But the eagle loop added some hamsterland, deer tracks, lots of deadfall and another quick trip along the tracks. There were three cool things to see toward the end, ranging from surreal to cum-in-your pants gorgeous. The first was the remnants of an old bridge that used to take an old road over a creek. The second was the creek itself, lined with rocks, which wound its way underneath a greenish canopy. Finally, after a painful climb up a steep hill to the development’s west side, the payoff: A view across a huge valley to Kennesaw Mountain and the surrounding area.
The on-in included food and (yeah, like we really needed anymore) beer. Dr. Doo Doo ran circle in the typical entertaining Dr. Doo Doo style. And to his credit, he even acknowledged the Trash in a special down-down, even though after a weekend in town, some people didn’t want to see the Trash acknowledged for anything. Those of us of the Trash variety raised our mugs just a little bit higher and sang just a little louder, to show the rest of the world we simply don’t give a shit.
Since I was something of a host, and not an Invader, I would like permission to dub the Invasion a success; from the constant acts of stupidity, to the volume of booze consumed, to the fact that all of the local Trash were able to take part. From my end, the afternoon of scouting was worth every second, laying the trail was a blast and I finally got to bathe myself in the aura of CTrH3 without having to leave ATL.
On-On to Prom and
May the Trash Get a Piece
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, A WEEK EARLIER
I was stanky, dirty and covered in dried flour when I found out the Trash Invasion to Atlanta was a go. At the time, I was driving back from a successful episode of the Black Sheep Hash, hared by me and fellow Trasher Red Breast. Our own mini-invasion, I guess you can say. We would be hosting our brethren from the Motherland in six more days. I rushed home and immediately jumped into action.
My fingers became blurs of lightning-fast efficiency as I called all the necessary players. Within a few minutes, it became clear all the bibbed Trashers from ATL would be playing a role. Bagless would be around to represent during the trail on Saturday afternoon, Red Breast would play host for an on-after, and Hole would insert himself into the equation at some point during the evening. Oh yeah. Me. Um… I wouldn’t be available until midnight, so I had to think about the day after.
I latched onto an interesting fact about Sunday. Not only was House of Boobs offering crash space, she was also haring the SOB trail. SOB stands for Slow Old Bastards, and they don’t like shiggy. Maybe I could create a turkey/eagle split and add some punishment, so the trail would more closely resemble what the guests of honor were used to.
TUESDAY EVENING
HOB called me from her car. She was driving around looking for a start and a beer stop for the trail. The end would be at her house. I was at the Drunken Scientist Lair, and I jumped at the chance to scout from home. All I had to do was get to Google Maps. I told her what streets and landmarks were close and she drove around the check them out. The satellite photos showed plenty of dirt roads and also lots of shiggy. So we picked a start and beer stop that helped us both out.
Here’s a side note about house-scouting. It rocks. You barely have to budge, you can do it naked, and drinking beer during the whole process is a whole lot easier. The best part is being able to describe to the person in the field where they are, and what they’re approaching. It turns the house-scouter into something resembling God, minus the halo and bright clothes.
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
I parked at HOB’s house and walked to the start. Trail would be wherever I walked from that point, and I ended up with a four-mile trail. Total scouting mileage for the day: 6 miles. Total scouting time: 3 hours.
SATURDAY 11:59 PM
I pulled up at HOB’s house to see Trashy and OG (since bibbed; congrats, bro) sharpie-ing two newer members of the Trash family. Passed out in OG’s SUV were Just Gabriela (since named Looking for Sperm in All the Wrong Places) and Only Shoots Blanks. When you realize they’re dating, you’ll realize why she got her name. Or is that take too much brain power? Sorry, tangent. Both of them weren’t going to wake up for anything. I watched in amazement as Trashy contorted himself into the back of the SUV, surrounded by splayed-out limbs, and successfully removed enough of his clothes to create some quality photos.
In addition to these four, American Midol flew down on her cousin’s (Landing Strip’s) buddy pass. They had done trail earlier in the day, but I wouldn’t see them until the SOB on-in.
SUNDAY, EARLY
The sharpie-ing was successful. Once that was over I had to catch up for a few minutes, and not just by cracking open the 100-proof black cherry vodka. I also needed to figure out how well the day was progressing for our visitors. It seems life wasn’t sucking too bad. So we moved on to a quick recap of life in the ‘Nam and then proceeded to drink ourselves silly. The last ones standing were Trashy and Hole, and by our craptacular math, we figured they finally passed out around 6:30 in the morning.
SUNDAY MORNING
I got up around 2 hours later and started piecing things together. A bottle of Jager was gone, apparently falling victim to a high-octane game of tippy cup. There was a line drawing of a dick on the flat-panel TV, luckily created with dry-erase marker. A camera (OG’s, I think) showed Hole/Trashy involved in same gayish-looking (but hash-acceptable) behavior, and from what I was told, there might have been ejaculate on the kitchen counter at some point. There were beer bottles scattered everywhere, making the house look more like a glass forest. There’s always a sense of pride in seeing that. But I couldn’t stand around gloating at the damage for too long. We had a trail to do.
HOB and OG gradually made their way to the start to prelay the SOB portion of trail, while I got d’erections together for the bimbos.
We gathered at 1:30 and I was off at 1:45. The only people brave enough to do the shiggy/eagle trail were, of course, the Trashers.
TRASH TRAIL, CUSTOM-MADE
The start was a park south of HOB’s house, and just south of the Little River. The beginning of trail consisted of two river crossings (the water was never more than thigh-deep) and some sewer easements. A south loop included a kick-ass all-uphill hiking trail, railroad tracks and a shiggified trip downward to the river for a third water crossing. Most of everything else to the beer stop was among a maze of dirt trails, but some were swampy or overgrown, and one piece featured a trek along a claustrophobic creek. The beer stop was where the forest met HOB’s development, at a cul-de-sac where there still wasn’t any houses yet.
From there, the SOB’ers took road to the end. But the eagle loop added some hamsterland, deer tracks, lots of deadfall and another quick trip along the tracks. There were three cool things to see toward the end, ranging from surreal to cum-in-your pants gorgeous. The first was the remnants of an old bridge that used to take an old road over a creek. The second was the creek itself, lined with rocks, which wound its way underneath a greenish canopy. Finally, after a painful climb up a steep hill to the development’s west side, the payoff: A view across a huge valley to Kennesaw Mountain and the surrounding area.
The on-in included food and (yeah, like we really needed anymore) beer. Dr. Doo Doo ran circle in the typical entertaining Dr. Doo Doo style. And to his credit, he even acknowledged the Trash in a special down-down, even though after a weekend in town, some people didn’t want to see the Trash acknowledged for anything. Those of us of the Trash variety raised our mugs just a little bit higher and sang just a little louder, to show the rest of the world we simply don’t give a shit.
Since I was something of a host, and not an Invader, I would like permission to dub the Invasion a success; from the constant acts of stupidity, to the volume of booze consumed, to the fact that all of the local Trash were able to take part. From my end, the afternoon of scouting was worth every second, laying the trail was a blast and I finally got to bathe myself in the aura of CTrH3 without having to leave ATL.
On-On to Prom and
May the Trash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 5:49 PM 
24 October 2006
74. The Oil Can Challenge
Black Sheep H3 - 15 Septembeer to 17 Septembeer 2006
The highlight of this year’s Lake Hartwell campout was actually a multi-hour chunk. We were on trail and under the canopy when it started. First we were stepping on wet, grassy reeds. Then the reeds had a squishy sound from the water underneath them. Then the reeds were totally submerged. That’s when we heard the screaming from the hounds up ahead, and we knew this was going to get nasty. Right then, the canopy cleared out to a full-fledged swamp. The best (worst?) part was the deepest part, when water came up just over my navel. I looked down and saw my whistle and Camelback mouthpiece in the murky, brown mess. Luckily, the footing was OK, because if there would have been shoe-sucking mud under water this deep, we would have been swimming to get across.
I came in right after the FRB’s, and the bimbos were already prepared for the long ride back to camp. They had vehicles waiting for us, and when I came into view, they immediately motioned me toward the first car in line. As soon as my ass hit the seat, we were off. I think I was at the end about 30 seconds. Now that’s service. We got back to camp one carload at a time, most of us going right to the lake to jump in and wash off. This would be one of the rare times that circle came to us.
Bwana announced the Oil Can Challenge in circle, but I immediately dismissed it because I was already getting drunk. So it was just coincidence that I walked back to the house and saw everyone standing around the block of ice, cheering. Two uncomfortable hashers were just pulling their numb asses off the block, looking rather ill. Their times were both around a minute. As they were receiving their shirts, EverQueer walked toward the ice with a look of determination on his face. It was over as soon as it began. 14 seconds and all 25.4 ounces were gone. He actually spent more time puking it all up. He stood with his forearm on a tree, head on his forearm, hurling and dry heaving and giving everyone the finger as they taunted him. But he didn’t get too worked up over it. 14 seconds is 14 seconds, no matter how you look at it.
Two people didn’t make it in 90 seconds, but got shirts anyway. No one complained, since the obvious torture they went through was worth every second. Better still was the people who kept puking and consuming at the same time. They’d get around 5 ounces down and hurl it back up in a stream of white froth. One of the pukers was Surly… Surly Temple… King of the Wild Front Queers. He couldn’t even be bothered to lean over. He just stayed upright and let the puke shoot out of his mouth to the grass in front of his feet. Another few sips and another frothy stream. Boob Teaser, a beer-mile champion, got the non-puke award at 16 seconds.
The surprise of the day came from Hired Snatch. If he isn’t the oldest Sheeper, he sure looks it. He quietly sat down and popped the top, as the pack noticed his unsteady grip on the can. The clock began and that fucker drained every drop in 19 seconds flat. This from the guy who had a diabetic episode last year and almost died on trail. That’s one tough sum’bitch.
The peer pressure chorus got louder each time I turned down a round, until Gentry finally announced he would sponsor me. Well, hey, if someone was going to put their money where my mouth was, how could I refuse?
Oil cans are odd. They are stronger than normal cans, and the larger size gives them more weight. So it feels like you’re drinking from the pull-tab era of the ‘70’s. I pulled my swim trunks down and sat on the frozen block. Déjà vu set in as soon as I took my traditional test sip. Doing this is the same for me every time.
“GO!”
The cheering fades from my ears as my half-minded concentration kicks in. As usual, I get a few ounces down and have to pause briefly as my system comprehends what’s going on. It’s a strange feeling. I think at least some of it has to do with my stomach reluctantly starting to expand. This whole process doesn’t take long, and I start chugging. The last few ounces are always painful, but I know I have to get through it fast because my stomach tells me stuff’s coming back up. I tip the empty can over my cranium, jump off the nice and go to the edge of the circle. But I never puke. I can’t, even if I wanted to; fingers down my throat included. (Now you know why I can’t play tippy cup.) But I give everyone a few seconds of impressive audio with violent belching to get out all the carbonation.
There’s another Challenge in the can. Pun intended. The only thing left to do was to go get my Oil Can Shirt and wait for the buzz to kick in.
As with every year, thank you to Oops and Deposit Slit for opening up your house to us lushes.
May the Hash Get a Piece
The highlight of this year’s Lake Hartwell campout was actually a multi-hour chunk. We were on trail and under the canopy when it started. First we were stepping on wet, grassy reeds. Then the reeds had a squishy sound from the water underneath them. Then the reeds were totally submerged. That’s when we heard the screaming from the hounds up ahead, and we knew this was going to get nasty. Right then, the canopy cleared out to a full-fledged swamp. The best (worst?) part was the deepest part, when water came up just over my navel. I looked down and saw my whistle and Camelback mouthpiece in the murky, brown mess. Luckily, the footing was OK, because if there would have been shoe-sucking mud under water this deep, we would have been swimming to get across.
I came in right after the FRB’s, and the bimbos were already prepared for the long ride back to camp. They had vehicles waiting for us, and when I came into view, they immediately motioned me toward the first car in line. As soon as my ass hit the seat, we were off. I think I was at the end about 30 seconds. Now that’s service. We got back to camp one carload at a time, most of us going right to the lake to jump in and wash off. This would be one of the rare times that circle came to us.
Bwana announced the Oil Can Challenge in circle, but I immediately dismissed it because I was already getting drunk. So it was just coincidence that I walked back to the house and saw everyone standing around the block of ice, cheering. Two uncomfortable hashers were just pulling their numb asses off the block, looking rather ill. Their times were both around a minute. As they were receiving their shirts, EverQueer walked toward the ice with a look of determination on his face. It was over as soon as it began. 14 seconds and all 25.4 ounces were gone. He actually spent more time puking it all up. He stood with his forearm on a tree, head on his forearm, hurling and dry heaving and giving everyone the finger as they taunted him. But he didn’t get too worked up over it. 14 seconds is 14 seconds, no matter how you look at it.
Two people didn’t make it in 90 seconds, but got shirts anyway. No one complained, since the obvious torture they went through was worth every second. Better still was the people who kept puking and consuming at the same time. They’d get around 5 ounces down and hurl it back up in a stream of white froth. One of the pukers was Surly… Surly Temple… King of the Wild Front Queers. He couldn’t even be bothered to lean over. He just stayed upright and let the puke shoot out of his mouth to the grass in front of his feet. Another few sips and another frothy stream. Boob Teaser, a beer-mile champion, got the non-puke award at 16 seconds.
The surprise of the day came from Hired Snatch. If he isn’t the oldest Sheeper, he sure looks it. He quietly sat down and popped the top, as the pack noticed his unsteady grip on the can. The clock began and that fucker drained every drop in 19 seconds flat. This from the guy who had a diabetic episode last year and almost died on trail. That’s one tough sum’bitch.
The peer pressure chorus got louder each time I turned down a round, until Gentry finally announced he would sponsor me. Well, hey, if someone was going to put their money where my mouth was, how could I refuse?
Oil cans are odd. They are stronger than normal cans, and the larger size gives them more weight. So it feels like you’re drinking from the pull-tab era of the ‘70’s. I pulled my swim trunks down and sat on the frozen block. Déjà vu set in as soon as I took my traditional test sip. Doing this is the same for me every time.
“GO!”
The cheering fades from my ears as my half-minded concentration kicks in. As usual, I get a few ounces down and have to pause briefly as my system comprehends what’s going on. It’s a strange feeling. I think at least some of it has to do with my stomach reluctantly starting to expand. This whole process doesn’t take long, and I start chugging. The last few ounces are always painful, but I know I have to get through it fast because my stomach tells me stuff’s coming back up. I tip the empty can over my cranium, jump off the nice and go to the edge of the circle. But I never puke. I can’t, even if I wanted to; fingers down my throat included. (Now you know why I can’t play tippy cup.) But I give everyone a few seconds of impressive audio with violent belching to get out all the carbonation.
There’s another Challenge in the can. Pun intended. The only thing left to do was to go get my Oil Can Shirt and wait for the buzz to kick in.
As with every year, thank you to Oops and Deposit Slit for opening up your house to us lushes.
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 7:47 PM
23 October 2006
73. Dear L&F
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
We haven’t hung out in a while. I miss you. Expect a visit soon.
Love,
Coincidence
Being a quality road whore takes more than a lot of planning and an exceptionally strong liver. It takes luck, too. I made about three years before my luck ran out. More than 100 road trips. Looking back over that three year stretch, I am amazed I avoided all the personal drama that can keep a traveler home weekend after weekend. With my newly created down-time, I’ve found myself trying to figure out how the hell I did it.
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
As a big corporation that has been bought out by an even bigger corporation, I have decided that I am not Office-Space enough. The managers that run me need to be more annoying and your co-workers need to be closer to helmet-wearing retarded. I hear your reviews are accurate. That can’t happen. And what’s this crap about you not getting stuck in hours of meetings every week? You’ll also need to start working on a mind-numbing project that will consume your life for weeks, even though you will end up never getting credit for it. Oh, by the way… you can kiss your annual bonus goodbye.
As if I care,
Your Job
--Get Road-Hard
This isn’t so important if you’re driving a couple hours each way. But when you do 12-hour round trips, you can’t have your brain play tricks on you; you have to play tricks on your brain. If you’re too excited when you leave, you’ll get to the event already fried. That gets better with time, actually. If you’re the type of person that falls asleep in the car, you’ll have to learn how to stay awake. Keeping your mind occupied can work sometimes, while turning off most of your brain can work other times. I’ve written long hash songs in the car to kill time. I also have Sirius Satellite Radio, and I’ve found several channels can keep the pain away for quite a while. Or I zone out; shutting down every part of my brain except for the piece that is watching the road. For really long trips, like 9 hours each way, I try to stop every 100 miles. Overall, I can typically get to 5 hours before I start feeling like I don’t want to drive anymore. In other words, that last hour home from Fayetteville is really rough, especially at 1 on Sunday morning.
--Find a Good Road-Whore Co-Pilot
People get whiny. Or they talk too much. Or they don’t talk enough. You’d be amazed how few people make really good long-term car company. They need to be willing to drive once in a while, and keep up a conversation. Just adding those two things can really help a road trip go by faster. Also, when you have somebody else in the car, they are normally on different mood swings, so they can pick you up when you’re fading out. Good co-pilots will be willing to “hold it” if needed, or be cool with stopping if they don’t need to. Did I mention no whining?
Dear L&F:
Coincidence and I were talking the other day, and he told me you haven’t been involved in a car accident since 1994. He thinks it’s time I get some damage. You don’t need a perfect truck that bad. In fact, Coincidence says it’s just making you complacent. I’m thinking about shaking things up with some sort of traffic drama. Have you ever experienced the joy of getting T-Boned? Get ready for some fun.
Kisses,
Thor
--Never Stop on Weekdays
You’ll now leave work and get as much done as possible so you can free up another weekend. Unfortunately, Monday night’s close to a wash because you’re so damn tired. Thursday night you’ll be getting ready for the weekend because you’re probably leaving straight from work Friday. So that leaves you only Tuesday and Wednesday evenings to do everything you need to. That includes bills, shopping, laundry, home repairs and desperately trying to keep your house from looking like a toilet. I actually had to cancel my DirecTV account so I could avoid the temptation of wasting time in front of the tube.
--Learn to Not Care What Home Base Looks Like
Is your place immaculate? Does everything have a place? Go on six road trips in eight weeks and try to keep that up. You probably won’t, even if you keep yourself busy all week. Think of your new life as a temporary gift from the Hashing Gods, and that sooner or later, you’ll have enough forced down-time to catch up.
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
You’ve been gone so long. I look like hell and parts of me are falling apart. I need attention soon or I’m going to start rebelling.
Sincerely,
Your Condo
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
So I was talking to Thor and your Condo. They want a piece of me. A big piece.
Peace,
Your Bank Account
--Get Rid of Significant Others Who Don’t Like Hashing or Won’t Travel
If you have a girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband who doesn’t share in your love of The Cool Kids, how many free weekends do you think you’ll get before the shee-it hee-its the fan? Get good at breaking up. Or grab some divorce papers. Your personal life will be in shambles, but you’ll be to travel whenever you want.
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
Last time we talked on the phone, you had mentioned the shape of your condo, due to the fact that you’ve been on so many road trips. That actually hurt your Mom’s feelings, since she realized you’re away from home all the time but only see us briefly once a year. I think she would appreciate it if you used some of your vacation time and came to see us. I know you’re having fun, and it’s not like we have a foot in the grave, but she did squeeze you out, and you know how much emotion is tied to that Motherly Instinct thing.
Talk to you later,
Dad
--Know Your Limits
I don’t want to sound like your mommy, but hey, sooner or later, binging all the time will catch up with you. And not just because you’ll start getting burned out. There’s the drama linked to drinking yourself into a coma. It took me a full year to decide I needed to set a limit. That was a great year, by the way.
--Learn to Eat Well and Sleep Enough During the Week
Last mommy-type thing. I promise. You can’t have a good weekend if you’re sick. I’ve heard drinking makes people happy and happy people don’t get sick as often. (Is that why hashers are hardly ever sick?) Potential illnesses aside, how can you expect to get no sleep and eat like crap from Friday night all the way through to Sunday if you abused yourself during the week? If you’re worn down before the weekend even starts, life’s gunna suck out of town.
Hey L&F:
What’s with all this bullshit going on? And why aren’t you running anymore? At least go for a walk, you slug. Fuck this mess. I’m outta here.
Your Immune System
--Learn to Pack Fast
Sometimes you won’t have time to casually waltz around your room finding just the right t-shirts, panties and sarongs for your upcoming journey. After a while, you’ll get sick of hearing yourself say “Oh shit, where’s my mug?” or “Where did I put my tent?” I have all my tenting stuff in a bin, always ready to go. And I have extra bathroom crap in a kick-ass bag that allows me to see at a glance if I have everything. I throw my razor in the bag and I’m done.
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
The gang and I were talking and we decided that you’re too efficient. I think we need to make it so everything takes you twice as long as normal. Don’t be surprised if everyone you deal with is suddenly really stupid. And slowwwwwww.
Enjoy,
Time
--Embrace the Three-X Rule
Take the hours of your round trip and multiply it by 3. That’s how many hours you should be able to spend at the event. Any less and the drive back can get really annoying. 3x seems to be long enough to make the pain of the drive up disappear. Example: The drive from Atlanta to Fayettenam is a 12-hour round trip. That would mean we would need to stay up there for 36 hours. And trust me, leaving Friday evening instead of Saturday morning makes a huge difference because we get an extra night of partying.
--Don’t Forget the Locals
You won’t see people in town if you’re gone all the time. Don’t disappear too long. It’s really nice when you can go back to your local hash and not be called a new hasher, or an elitist.
Dear [L&F’s nerd name]:
It’s been so nice seeing you again. It looks like I’ll be around for a while longer. Hope you’re having fun.
Love,
Coincidence
# posted by L&F @ 5:00 PM
01 October 2006
72. Virgin Territory
Black Sheep H3 - 1 Octobeer 2006
Click on the photo for a larger view. We had a couple hounds ask us about the area, so here's more info than any sane person needs:
Hares: Red Breast and L&F
Length: 6 miles.
Start: Next to Mount Caramel Church, between Cartersville and Canton
End: Near New Hightower Church
------
THE AREA
Mount Carmel Church Road was carved from a ridgeline north of Hwy 20 between Canton and Cartersville. The ridgeline is quickly apparent when you start scouting the area, because getting back to it sometimes requires climbing up some lung-busting hills.
As for the church itself, it was built sometime when Jesus was alive. If you’re lucky, you can be in the area to hear the minister screaming to the congregation when church is in session and the doors are open.
Next to the church is the new Georgia National Cemetery. It lies on 775 acres that were donated by a WWII veteran and land developer. It is meant to serve more than 400,000 honorably discharged veterans that live within 75 miles of the site. Because of the work being done, the property was clear cut, and a couple miles of the old road were cleared and widened. Some connecting roads got the same treatment. In addition to the clear-cut roads, there’s also an access road on parts of the south side of the property near the treeline, which was built for drainage. Veterans are already being buried at the cemetery, although construction is far from finished.
On the other end of the road is New Hightower Church. The old church was dubbed Hell’s Church, partly because of its remote location inside the treeline. It was built in the late 1800’s, replacing the old log cabin that served the congregation. Vandals burned it down in 1990, and the “new” New Hightower Church was built in a more conspicuous place across the street from the nearby cemetery. Paranormal experts came to the area to “investigate” in 2004 and found nothing. The current church is still vandalized on occasion.
Because Mount Carmel Church Road is no longer driveable, getting between the two churches is a 14-mile drive. That means the shortest route is the old road. Heading from west to east, you have the option of cutting through the cemetery to the left of Mt. Carmel Church, or winding your way down a hunting road to the right of the church. The actual dirt road starts about a mile in, and this is where the Wildlife Management Area begins. About halfway between the churches, the road becomes overgrown or washed out in spots. And about 3/4 of the way across, the road disappears near the alleged site of an old bridge that we found no remnants of.
Interesting sites near the road are vertical cliffs, tons of creeks and a magnolia forest with leaves bigger than a toddler. At one point, the ATV trails become really narrow and look more like hiking trails, complete with a really thick canopy and totally blocks out the sun. Closer to New Hightower Church is a forestry area that the local high school runners use for their cross-country trails. As you have probably guessed, there are quite a few possibilities here.
------
THE TRAIL
For our annual trail this time around, we did something local, if you consider 40-50 miles from downtown local. Red Breast searched through a number of Wildlife Management Areas and found this one, which was far enough out so we could assume it was virgin territory. I drew the WMA map on top of my GPS map and we drove up to the area for the first time a month early.
We spent part of that first day driving around, trying to find ways to get into the area, as well as places for a start and an end. One of our first stops was New Hightower Church. We ran into some groundskeepers there, and they gave us a big history and geography lesson. The biggest piece of info was that the road we were on used to go all the way to Mount Caramel Church about 4 miles to the west, now a dirt road through the WMA and the property for the new Georgia National Cemetery. We gradually made our way over to Mount Caramel Church and found a way to the WMA from there, without having to use too much clear-cut land from the Cemetery. We scouted to the first creek crossing, but it had just rained and the creek was too deep and moving too fast to cross. We knew we'd have to walk back to the car, so we ended the day there.
For our second day a week later, we met at the end and drove one car to the start. This is the day we found the dirt mountain and decided it would be interesting to put a TP face on it. The dirt mountain was where we entered the Cemetery property, and stayed in it just long enough to make a beeline to the dirt road. The scenic views on this part of the Cemetery property are amazing, with the Etowah River valley to the south and the Blue Ridge Mountains to the north. The creek was much lower this time around, so we crossed it and thought we could cross it again to keep going east. No luck. On the east side of the creek were almost totally vertical cliffs. We headed away from the dirt road until the crossing was possible, if you call two lung-busting hills possible.
The scenery changed here a bit, as the dirt road became a little overgrown and then totally disappeared. Some parts looked like hiking paths, and the thick canopy made the area so gorgeous, it became a perfect way to bust the monotony of straight forest running. The area here is perfect ATV territory, so we ran into a few riders while we were out. One of the guys gave us another history lesson. Apparently, there are remnants of a cannonball factory nearby. The last area on trail was a straight shot to the church through the forest. There was a trail here, winding halfway up a hill. There was even surveyor's tape down the length of it.
We both did a third day, but not together. She re-scouted her part, and I re-checked mine. My last day was the day before trail, and I walked the entire thing, finding a place for a water stop and adding the TP smile on the dirt mountain. I wish someone would have videotaped me up there on the mountain, clinging for dear life while trying to find enough rocks to secure the toilet paper. Oh, and me swatting at an annoying bumblebee who decided my yellow shirt was the world's largest flower.
Here's the insane part: I ran and biked for three freaking weeks to get back in shape so I could hare this trail, and got my 10K down to 53 minutes. But I still got snared three times. Jesus. I love Black Sheep but those 5-minute head starts suck ass.
Thank you to everyone who drove so far to do this trail.
May the Hash Get a Piece
Click on the photo for a larger view. We had a couple hounds ask us about the area, so here's more info than any sane person needs:Hares: Red Breast and L&F
Length: 6 miles.
Start: Next to Mount Caramel Church, between Cartersville and Canton
End: Near New Hightower Church
------
THE AREA
Mount Carmel Church Road was carved from a ridgeline north of Hwy 20 between Canton and Cartersville. The ridgeline is quickly apparent when you start scouting the area, because getting back to it sometimes requires climbing up some lung-busting hills.
As for the church itself, it was built sometime when Jesus was alive. If you’re lucky, you can be in the area to hear the minister screaming to the congregation when church is in session and the doors are open.
Next to the church is the new Georgia National Cemetery. It lies on 775 acres that were donated by a WWII veteran and land developer. It is meant to serve more than 400,000 honorably discharged veterans that live within 75 miles of the site. Because of the work being done, the property was clear cut, and a couple miles of the old road were cleared and widened. Some connecting roads got the same treatment. In addition to the clear-cut roads, there’s also an access road on parts of the south side of the property near the treeline, which was built for drainage. Veterans are already being buried at the cemetery, although construction is far from finished.
On the other end of the road is New Hightower Church. The old church was dubbed Hell’s Church, partly because of its remote location inside the treeline. It was built in the late 1800’s, replacing the old log cabin that served the congregation. Vandals burned it down in 1990, and the “new” New Hightower Church was built in a more conspicuous place across the street from the nearby cemetery. Paranormal experts came to the area to “investigate” in 2004 and found nothing. The current church is still vandalized on occasion.
Because Mount Carmel Church Road is no longer driveable, getting between the two churches is a 14-mile drive. That means the shortest route is the old road. Heading from west to east, you have the option of cutting through the cemetery to the left of Mt. Carmel Church, or winding your way down a hunting road to the right of the church. The actual dirt road starts about a mile in, and this is where the Wildlife Management Area begins. About halfway between the churches, the road becomes overgrown or washed out in spots. And about 3/4 of the way across, the road disappears near the alleged site of an old bridge that we found no remnants of.
Interesting sites near the road are vertical cliffs, tons of creeks and a magnolia forest with leaves bigger than a toddler. At one point, the ATV trails become really narrow and look more like hiking trails, complete with a really thick canopy and totally blocks out the sun. Closer to New Hightower Church is a forestry area that the local high school runners use for their cross-country trails. As you have probably guessed, there are quite a few possibilities here.
------
THE TRAIL
For our annual trail this time around, we did something local, if you consider 40-50 miles from downtown local. Red Breast searched through a number of Wildlife Management Areas and found this one, which was far enough out so we could assume it was virgin territory. I drew the WMA map on top of my GPS map and we drove up to the area for the first time a month early.
We spent part of that first day driving around, trying to find ways to get into the area, as well as places for a start and an end. One of our first stops was New Hightower Church. We ran into some groundskeepers there, and they gave us a big history and geography lesson. The biggest piece of info was that the road we were on used to go all the way to Mount Caramel Church about 4 miles to the west, now a dirt road through the WMA and the property for the new Georgia National Cemetery. We gradually made our way over to Mount Caramel Church and found a way to the WMA from there, without having to use too much clear-cut land from the Cemetery. We scouted to the first creek crossing, but it had just rained and the creek was too deep and moving too fast to cross. We knew we'd have to walk back to the car, so we ended the day there.
For our second day a week later, we met at the end and drove one car to the start. This is the day we found the dirt mountain and decided it would be interesting to put a TP face on it. The dirt mountain was where we entered the Cemetery property, and stayed in it just long enough to make a beeline to the dirt road. The scenic views on this part of the Cemetery property are amazing, with the Etowah River valley to the south and the Blue Ridge Mountains to the north. The creek was much lower this time around, so we crossed it and thought we could cross it again to keep going east. No luck. On the east side of the creek were almost totally vertical cliffs. We headed away from the dirt road until the crossing was possible, if you call two lung-busting hills possible.
The scenery changed here a bit, as the dirt road became a little overgrown and then totally disappeared. Some parts looked like hiking paths, and the thick canopy made the area so gorgeous, it became a perfect way to bust the monotony of straight forest running. The area here is perfect ATV territory, so we ran into a few riders while we were out. One of the guys gave us another history lesson. Apparently, there are remnants of a cannonball factory nearby. The last area on trail was a straight shot to the church through the forest. There was a trail here, winding halfway up a hill. There was even surveyor's tape down the length of it.
We both did a third day, but not together. She re-scouted her part, and I re-checked mine. My last day was the day before trail, and I walked the entire thing, finding a place for a water stop and adding the TP smile on the dirt mountain. I wish someone would have videotaped me up there on the mountain, clinging for dear life while trying to find enough rocks to secure the toilet paper. Oh, and me swatting at an annoying bumblebee who decided my yellow shirt was the world's largest flower.
Here's the insane part: I ran and biked for three freaking weeks to get back in shape so I could hare this trail, and got my 10K down to 53 minutes. But I still got snared three times. Jesus. I love Black Sheep but those 5-minute head starts suck ass.
Thank you to everyone who drove so far to do this trail.
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 8:38 PM
