18 June 2007
81. LongHotHillyHard
Black Sheep H3 - 10 June 2007
Hello all you anxious alcoholics. I am your Black Sheep Hasherpa™. I bid you a very warm welcome. And by “very warm” I mean really fucking hot. So please fill your Camelbacks with ice water, or maybe delicious beer, and let’s get the hell on-out.
First thing you’ll notice are the blotches of flour we’re following this afternoon. If you didn’t see the two hashers sprinting away about five minutes ago, they are Colonel Clit and Snail Trail. It looks like they’re HEADing due west.
This parking lot we’re currently running through is for North Springs United Methodist Church, which is a few miles north of the perimeter at Roswell Road and Morgan Falls Road. See how most of the pack is taking the bait and following a couple close marks down Morgan Falls Place. Bwana and I are calling bullshit and are going the other way. Notice how we split up at Morgan Falls Road so we can cover more area. Yeah I agree, the huge amount of buzzing power lines right over the road is creepy.
Hear that whistle? Bwana found trail. And the pack has returned from their YBF or Count-Back and are following him up some strange-looking concrete stairs. There’s the canopy. So far, a creative way to get us away from the assfault.
Thick forest like this keeps the pack together because everyone’s going single-file through the undergrowth. Trying to get past everyone in this Hamsterland can actually slow you down. Another check. On-on. Looks like we’re taking the narrow trail along Bull Sluice Lake.
Yeah, it does seem like we’ve been on this path for a while. This view of the lake rocks. Just be thankful you didn’t go all the way up that crazy hill and find the YBF. By the way, the lake is 637 acres, and it helps buffer the water releases from Buford Dam a few dozen miles up the Chattahoochee. Why is that important? Lake Lanier is pretty big. In fact, it’s about 50 times larger than Bull Sluice. And flooding is bad. Sorry that your Faithful Tour Guide keeps coughing. It’s been so dry here and everything’s dusty.
That cheering you guys heard back there was because a casualty was successfully averted. The climb up from the lake was short, but very steep and uneven, and one of the hashers almost fell straight down. Luckily he grabbed a tree and probably saved himself from bowling over a few other drunks behind him.
This might be Morgan Falls Road again. And back under the power cut. We’re heading south now, in what would be one of the many strips of shiggy our hares will likely find in between non-shiggy things. For those of you who didn’t notice the sign we passed, it said Keep Out because of that massively gated power station. And the wailing siren you hear is because we set off the motion alarm. Is that a recorded voice-warning that’s going off with the alarm? We’re too far away to hear much now. Oh, who cares. It’s all worth it. Check out this forest we’re climbing down into.
No, I don’t think this is a finger lake of Bull Sluice. We’re too far south. Take a look at it quick. We’re HEADing back north again. And up a really tough hill. Hey, look, we’re at the far edge of the power station. That’s pretty much a Circle Jerk. You know, a piece of trail that can add mileage and scenery but will leave you almost right back to where you started. That guy who passed us? Barf Bag. He’s a never-ending fountain of puns. Note what he said when he saw the power station again. “Revolting.” And did you hear Boner Rooter groan after she heard it? I don’t have the brain power to torture people like that. But I can kill you with trivia. This power station is here because of the Morgan Falls Dam, holding back the lake over there somewhere. The Dam is about 1000 feet long and was built in 1904 as a way to power Atlanta’s streetcars. Now it powers about 4400 houses.
= = = = = = = = = =
Oops. This is about the place were your humble Hasherpa lost everyone. Or everyone lost me. There was a sharp turn off of the power cut that I missed. So I was by myself when I popped out of the shiggy to find a huge dusty parking lot. I was hurting so bad from the hills, and the sun was so bright that I just stood at the treeline and stared for a moment, adjusting myself to such a drastically different landscape. I ASSumed that the flowing water on the other side of the lot was the Chattahoochee. I jumped down to the dust and saw a flour arrow. Because of all the cars, I also ASSumed this would be the place for the beer stop. Jesus, the heat was insane.
I trotted to the far end of the lot, but no one looked familiar. And there were no hash bumper stickers on the cars. All of a sudden Burnt Rubber came out from behind an SUV and said something about a water crossing. Oh hell yeah. I think the people aHEAD of me at this point were 2 Crabs, Bwana, GE, Wine Ho and maybe three or four others. Butt Bob was the only person in sight in either d’erection and he was about halfway across the river. Well, One Ball was also in the water, but it was quickly obvious that he was the sole member of the Raft Retrieval Unit.
You gotta love jumping into water right downstream of a dam. It can be so amazingly cold. But I was definitely energized when I got to the other side.
The heat and the hills made this feel like a double trail, when in reality it was between 5 and 5 1/2 miles. Trail number two would have started right after the river with a lengthy jog along the wide easement created by one of the petroleum pipeline companies. There was a single path the whole way, so apparently cars never came through here. But people definitely did.
Trail suddenly cut north away from the easement and we were heading toward humanity. But before we saw any signs of life, we came upon a sign on some winding dirt road: “Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere.” Nice. There was a house or two every once in a while, but there was so much more forest to conquer. This included a few checks and some more painful hills, and then a small detour around a bunch of backyards. The last house in this row had a pool, and there were quite a few hashers that passed by and wished this was the ending.
Turns out the ending was in the same neighborhood on a street called Bayliss. And if I remember correctly, it’s owned by some non-hashers that the Clits know. Many stories were heard in circle about the adventures everyone had on trail. Because of the river crossing, Colonel Clit was temporarily renamed Commodore Clit. Too bad there was no wind-catching devices on the rafts, then Snail Trial could have been temporarily renamed Sail Trail.
Thanks to the hares for a fantastic trail and the backyard ending. Be sure to join us on June 24th, when an evil gent named Little Easy will serve up his classic version of torture in the tick-infested wilderness.
Swing Low. And May the Hash Get a Piece.
Hello all you anxious alcoholics. I am your Black Sheep Hasherpa™. I bid you a very warm welcome. And by “very warm” I mean really fucking hot. So please fill your Camelbacks with ice water, or maybe delicious beer, and let’s get the hell on-out.
First thing you’ll notice are the blotches of flour we’re following this afternoon. If you didn’t see the two hashers sprinting away about five minutes ago, they are Colonel Clit and Snail Trail. It looks like they’re HEADing due west.
This parking lot we’re currently running through is for North Springs United Methodist Church, which is a few miles north of the perimeter at Roswell Road and Morgan Falls Road. See how most of the pack is taking the bait and following a couple close marks down Morgan Falls Place. Bwana and I are calling bullshit and are going the other way. Notice how we split up at Morgan Falls Road so we can cover more area. Yeah I agree, the huge amount of buzzing power lines right over the road is creepy.
Hear that whistle? Bwana found trail. And the pack has returned from their YBF or Count-Back and are following him up some strange-looking concrete stairs. There’s the canopy. So far, a creative way to get us away from the assfault.
Thick forest like this keeps the pack together because everyone’s going single-file through the undergrowth. Trying to get past everyone in this Hamsterland can actually slow you down. Another check. On-on. Looks like we’re taking the narrow trail along Bull Sluice Lake.
Yeah, it does seem like we’ve been on this path for a while. This view of the lake rocks. Just be thankful you didn’t go all the way up that crazy hill and find the YBF. By the way, the lake is 637 acres, and it helps buffer the water releases from Buford Dam a few dozen miles up the Chattahoochee. Why is that important? Lake Lanier is pretty big. In fact, it’s about 50 times larger than Bull Sluice. And flooding is bad. Sorry that your Faithful Tour Guide keeps coughing. It’s been so dry here and everything’s dusty.
That cheering you guys heard back there was because a casualty was successfully averted. The climb up from the lake was short, but very steep and uneven, and one of the hashers almost fell straight down. Luckily he grabbed a tree and probably saved himself from bowling over a few other drunks behind him.
This might be Morgan Falls Road again. And back under the power cut. We’re heading south now, in what would be one of the many strips of shiggy our hares will likely find in between non-shiggy things. For those of you who didn’t notice the sign we passed, it said Keep Out because of that massively gated power station. And the wailing siren you hear is because we set off the motion alarm. Is that a recorded voice-warning that’s going off with the alarm? We’re too far away to hear much now. Oh, who cares. It’s all worth it. Check out this forest we’re climbing down into.
No, I don’t think this is a finger lake of Bull Sluice. We’re too far south. Take a look at it quick. We’re HEADing back north again. And up a really tough hill. Hey, look, we’re at the far edge of the power station. That’s pretty much a Circle Jerk. You know, a piece of trail that can add mileage and scenery but will leave you almost right back to where you started. That guy who passed us? Barf Bag. He’s a never-ending fountain of puns. Note what he said when he saw the power station again. “Revolting.” And did you hear Boner Rooter groan after she heard it? I don’t have the brain power to torture people like that. But I can kill you with trivia. This power station is here because of the Morgan Falls Dam, holding back the lake over there somewhere. The Dam is about 1000 feet long and was built in 1904 as a way to power Atlanta’s streetcars. Now it powers about 4400 houses.
= = = = = = = = = =
Oops. This is about the place were your humble Hasherpa lost everyone. Or everyone lost me. There was a sharp turn off of the power cut that I missed. So I was by myself when I popped out of the shiggy to find a huge dusty parking lot. I was hurting so bad from the hills, and the sun was so bright that I just stood at the treeline and stared for a moment, adjusting myself to such a drastically different landscape. I ASSumed that the flowing water on the other side of the lot was the Chattahoochee. I jumped down to the dust and saw a flour arrow. Because of all the cars, I also ASSumed this would be the place for the beer stop. Jesus, the heat was insane.
I trotted to the far end of the lot, but no one looked familiar. And there were no hash bumper stickers on the cars. All of a sudden Burnt Rubber came out from behind an SUV and said something about a water crossing. Oh hell yeah. I think the people aHEAD of me at this point were 2 Crabs, Bwana, GE, Wine Ho and maybe three or four others. Butt Bob was the only person in sight in either d’erection and he was about halfway across the river. Well, One Ball was also in the water, but it was quickly obvious that he was the sole member of the Raft Retrieval Unit.
You gotta love jumping into water right downstream of a dam. It can be so amazingly cold. But I was definitely energized when I got to the other side.
The heat and the hills made this feel like a double trail, when in reality it was between 5 and 5 1/2 miles. Trail number two would have started right after the river with a lengthy jog along the wide easement created by one of the petroleum pipeline companies. There was a single path the whole way, so apparently cars never came through here. But people definitely did.
Trail suddenly cut north away from the easement and we were heading toward humanity. But before we saw any signs of life, we came upon a sign on some winding dirt road: “Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere.” Nice. There was a house or two every once in a while, but there was so much more forest to conquer. This included a few checks and some more painful hills, and then a small detour around a bunch of backyards. The last house in this row had a pool, and there were quite a few hashers that passed by and wished this was the ending.
Turns out the ending was in the same neighborhood on a street called Bayliss. And if I remember correctly, it’s owned by some non-hashers that the Clits know. Many stories were heard in circle about the adventures everyone had on trail. Because of the river crossing, Colonel Clit was temporarily renamed Commodore Clit. Too bad there was no wind-catching devices on the rafts, then Snail Trial could have been temporarily renamed Sail Trail.
Thanks to the hares for a fantastic trail and the backyard ending. Be sure to join us on June 24th, when an evil gent named Little Easy will serve up his classic version of torture in the tick-infested wilderness.
Swing Low. And May the Hash Get a Piece.
# posted by L&F @ 6:12 PM 
