03 February 2009
102. Roasted Shit
Black Sheep H3 - 1 Febeerary 09
There was once a bird
No bigger than a turd
And he made his home in a hooooole
He paid his cash
And ran the hash
And watched the Super Booowl
Emphasis on “turd.” More on that later.
2 Crabs and Blue Ball Special stepped up to hare our pre-Bowl madness. The start was a mile east of I-85 off Jonesboro Road in Union City/Fairburn at some abandoned shop on Goodson Connector Road. Funny it’s called Goodson Connector, since it actually doesn’t connect with Goodson Road; there is shiggy in the way. Mmmm… shiggy.
On Out.
We immediately hit a large patch of forest behind the building and circled around one of the shopping centers sort-of connected to Shannon Mall. This is where the smell first appeared, but I couldn’t quite place it. It seemed to this half-mind that it was a mixture of roasted chicken and shit. Maybe it was the sewer easement we were on.
Off the easement, we hit a fire road and bordered a creek, heading south toward I-85. There were no sewer caps in sight, but the smell remained… the disturbing smell of roasted shit. The undergrowth was plentiful here, and some of us were getting bloody. Colonel was not having a good day so far. He was either getting pulled down by Basil, or he’d uncharacteristically trip over a log or hidden briar, or he’d lose his cap. Every few minutes, I’d hear him swearing.
Our shoes were first moistened when we leapt into the creek and trotted under the highway. The further we went, the shorter the tunnel got, and the deeper the frigid water got. Halfway through, my feet started hurting, and by the time we got to the other side, I was shrieking like a girly-man, trying to get Bwana and Super Suck to hurry so I could hop up to muddy land. It’s always that first minute or two in wintry water that’s the most painful. Then the numbness sets in. And we would need that numbness for later.
This is where the undergrowth vanished and the lowland began, as the creek became a wide expanse of swamp. Some of it was stagnant muck; other areas looked like a moving floor of water. I fell behind the pack at the longest stretch of swampy fire road I’ve ever seen. Back-to-back areas of visual eye candy appeared, and I slowed down out of sheer awe of the scenery.
A man-made lake was right next to trail, which looked like a 2-foot high beaver dam. Water trickled out of some thin spots and added to the mud downstream. Just ahe*d was a beautiful patch of old-growth forest and the second-to-last check. I spent maybe 10 minutes half-searching for trail and half-looking around at the landscape. This was some sort of plateau. A drop-off to the east led to more dense forest. The drop-off to the southeast led to a long swamp. And a sharp change in d’erection to the south led to a slight rise in elevation. It was here I realized I must be the last of the runners. Except for Wine Ho, who started late and appeared off in the distance, immediately finding trail to the south.
That check solved, we hit the last of the mud at a power cut and hit the last check at Lester Road. Wine Ho disappeared farther down the power cut and didn’t hear my whistle when I finally found true trail through more forest in the other direction.
Blobs of flour and some TP criss-crossed developing housing developments, rising in elevation to a Scenic View (trash at the end of an empty cul-de-sac) and went across Peters Road to what was supposed to be the On In, just west of Green Valley Lake. I was still by myself, and I got there just in time to see all the bimbos ready to pull away. The Po-Po had snared everyone. The cop was still there, his hands on his belt o’ toys that he’d use on us if anyone got crazy. Off we motored, back to the start. The walkers found Wine Ho, and Oops/Deposit Slit got them all back to the start, not too long after the runners arrived.
Circle was at the side of the building. Bone Hole was partially successful in taming the boisterous pack. At trail trial, the hares got “one boob up” from RMB, instead of the typical Black Sheep two, because of the cop. 2 Crabs arose from the ice to expose an amazingly crisp ass print. Also, Boner Rooter got her mug back, downing a full beer, helping her keep her buzz for the 27th straight hour.
Let’s not forget the smell. Turns out we were right next to a Purina Pet Food Plant. Once I found out, the roasted shit suddenly starting smelling like dry dog food. The reason the smell disappeared halfway through trail was because we were no longer upwind.
The On-After was an energetic Super Bowl party, with host Bone Hole and hostess Blue Ball Special offering a fine spread of food.
Thanks to all for a great trail and a great day. Prepare, all you Sheepers, for our next adventure on Febeerary 15th when we once again join forces with BCH3.
May the Hash Get a Piece
There was once a bird
No bigger than a turd
And he made his home in a hooooole
He paid his cash
And ran the hash
And watched the Super Booowl
Emphasis on “turd.” More on that later.
2 Crabs and Blue Ball Special stepped up to hare our pre-Bowl madness. The start was a mile east of I-85 off Jonesboro Road in Union City/Fairburn at some abandoned shop on Goodson Connector Road. Funny it’s called Goodson Connector, since it actually doesn’t connect with Goodson Road; there is shiggy in the way. Mmmm… shiggy.
On Out.
We immediately hit a large patch of forest behind the building and circled around one of the shopping centers sort-of connected to Shannon Mall. This is where the smell first appeared, but I couldn’t quite place it. It seemed to this half-mind that it was a mixture of roasted chicken and shit. Maybe it was the sewer easement we were on.
Off the easement, we hit a fire road and bordered a creek, heading south toward I-85. There were no sewer caps in sight, but the smell remained… the disturbing smell of roasted shit. The undergrowth was plentiful here, and some of us were getting bloody. Colonel was not having a good day so far. He was either getting pulled down by Basil, or he’d uncharacteristically trip over a log or hidden briar, or he’d lose his cap. Every few minutes, I’d hear him swearing.
Our shoes were first moistened when we leapt into the creek and trotted under the highway. The further we went, the shorter the tunnel got, and the deeper the frigid water got. Halfway through, my feet started hurting, and by the time we got to the other side, I was shrieking like a girly-man, trying to get Bwana and Super Suck to hurry so I could hop up to muddy land. It’s always that first minute or two in wintry water that’s the most painful. Then the numbness sets in. And we would need that numbness for later.
This is where the undergrowth vanished and the lowland began, as the creek became a wide expanse of swamp. Some of it was stagnant muck; other areas looked like a moving floor of water. I fell behind the pack at the longest stretch of swampy fire road I’ve ever seen. Back-to-back areas of visual eye candy appeared, and I slowed down out of sheer awe of the scenery.
A man-made lake was right next to trail, which looked like a 2-foot high beaver dam. Water trickled out of some thin spots and added to the mud downstream. Just ahe*d was a beautiful patch of old-growth forest and the second-to-last check. I spent maybe 10 minutes half-searching for trail and half-looking around at the landscape. This was some sort of plateau. A drop-off to the east led to more dense forest. The drop-off to the southeast led to a long swamp. And a sharp change in d’erection to the south led to a slight rise in elevation. It was here I realized I must be the last of the runners. Except for Wine Ho, who started late and appeared off in the distance, immediately finding trail to the south.
That check solved, we hit the last of the mud at a power cut and hit the last check at Lester Road. Wine Ho disappeared farther down the power cut and didn’t hear my whistle when I finally found true trail through more forest in the other direction.
Blobs of flour and some TP criss-crossed developing housing developments, rising in elevation to a Scenic View (trash at the end of an empty cul-de-sac) and went across Peters Road to what was supposed to be the On In, just west of Green Valley Lake. I was still by myself, and I got there just in time to see all the bimbos ready to pull away. The Po-Po had snared everyone. The cop was still there, his hands on his belt o’ toys that he’d use on us if anyone got crazy. Off we motored, back to the start. The walkers found Wine Ho, and Oops/Deposit Slit got them all back to the start, not too long after the runners arrived.
Circle was at the side of the building. Bone Hole was partially successful in taming the boisterous pack. At trail trial, the hares got “one boob up” from RMB, instead of the typical Black Sheep two, because of the cop. 2 Crabs arose from the ice to expose an amazingly crisp ass print. Also, Boner Rooter got her mug back, downing a full beer, helping her keep her buzz for the 27th straight hour.
Let’s not forget the smell. Turns out we were right next to a Purina Pet Food Plant. Once I found out, the roasted shit suddenly starting smelling like dry dog food. The reason the smell disappeared halfway through trail was because we were no longer upwind.
The On-After was an energetic Super Bowl party, with host Bone Hole and hostess Blue Ball Special offering a fine spread of food.
Thanks to all for a great trail and a great day. Prepare, all you Sheepers, for our next adventure on Febeerary 15th when we once again join forces with BCH3.
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 11:13 PM 
