Reservoir Dogs (Part D’uh): The Cumberland Labor Day Hash

Run #1014, September 5, 2005

Hare:  Fuwangi Bonoer

Location:  Diamond Hill and Arnold’s Mill Reservoirs, Cumberland.

Weather:  High 70’s, less humid, clear.

Present:  Dry Foot Fairy, Async, Dr WHO, Basket Boom Boom, Amish It Head, Oozing SD, SESYB, Just Dima (a little Fairy), Seamus. Visitors: Friar F*ck (BH3), Follow My Tits (Hartford H3), Gee-Your-Dick-Smells-Terrific (SFH3). Virgin: Just Kari.

 

The Run:

The hare was determined to get revenge. He was smarting from numerous insults and slights (imaginary, pecuniary, urinary and otherwise) inflicted upon him by the hash. He had tried for revenge before. But, it had failed. They were all let off with a warning. (See Run #967.) So this time, he planned more carefully. A broad daylight assault upon the water supply of Pawtucket, during a period of high terrorist alert. There was no way that someone wouldn’t get arrested this day, he reasoned. Fortunately for the hash, this hare always gets in trouble when he tries to reason.

An early start time for Labor Day ensured a good turn out. Visitors showed up. A virgin magically appeared. Dry Foot brought his kid, Just Dima. There was lawn bowling. There were Frisbees. A few beers were opened. It was all very festive. The hashers were laughing and frolicking. If only it could have ended right there! But it was soon 2 PM. The run started.

They were directed out Wollen Drive, and turned left. [Hey, what do you think? Shouldn’t it be Swollen Drive? Did they lose the S? I bet Fuwangi stole it! But I digress.] Trail was on Nate Whipple briefly, but soon turned right, into the Water Board Property off Sneech Pond Rd just before “Pentimento”, an antique shop. The pack followed marks through the woods northeast to the lower spillway access road. Most continued east out to North Attleboro Road. Oozing, Basket and WHO continued through the woods, and paralleled the road into Massachusetts.

The pack on trail, led by Amish, Gee-Your-Dick, and newcomer Just Kari, had faithfully followed trail. They were shepherded by the hare, who was looking back anxiously hoping that Basket and Oozing would not find his stingy marks. They mastered some checks in a pine grove and turned back west into RI.

In the rear for once, Async was delayed on a falsie. But he soon found true trail and thanks to his unfortunate lateness, he met up with Oozing, Basket and WHO as they came out on the road. He cursed under his breath. He joined up with the DFLs as they continued northeast on N. Attleboro Rd. A mark was seen, heading west. They quickly turned back into the woods and heard the pack ahead.

This was not exactly virgin territory. Each of the hashers in the rearguard had an idea of where trail would lead. They all independently decided to head for the spillway between the reservoirs. (See the pictures from Run #898 for happier days!) WHO, having actually set trail here, had the best idea of which way to go. So he split off from Oozing and SESYB and made straight for the spillway. There were no marks. This guaranteed he was right.

In the lead pack, Basket led the others on trail. This was a half circle dipping south to the shoreline and then turning back up hill to a short bushwhack. He could hear WHO’s whistle ahead, and arrived to find WHO stumbling around in the spillway, looking for a “B”, some beer, or at least some shiggy. They were both disappointed. As was Oozing, trying his own route down along the shoreline. Just Kari was impressed by their incompetence. Async finally climbed out on the road. He found marks leading north on Reservoir Rd. He could just make out two figures far off in the shallows of Diamond Hill Reservoir. It was Dry Foot and Just Dima! Dry Foot’s car was parked just west of the spillway. Auto hashers! But they were in shiggy!

Out of the spillway the group climbed. They ran up Reservoir Road north to a mark by the road. This mark was right next to a “No Trespassing: Pawtucket Water Board, Violators subject to $1000 Fine and/or Imprisonment” sign. But hashers in the RIH3 stop reading after “No Trespassing…”. They get bored. They are impatient. Reading is hard. [Note: the word ‘trespass’ derives from the French: ‘tres’=three, or too much and ‘pass’=to cross, or break wind. Since no one, except perhaps Bondo, ever passes through an area three times on a run while breaking wind, the hash is never in technical violation of these laws and can feel free to proceed. I think. Therefore, I digress.] More importantly, they saw a poorly-concealed cooler. At last! Beer! The cooler was seized and brought down through the woods to the shore. They waded with their precious burden through shallows and mud to a small islet 20 feet offshore.

The beer was opened. The group stood drinking. They were standing in a protected reservoir in full view of the pumping station. As well as the busy road. Brilliant! The hare’s plans were coming to fruition, or so he hoped. He hung back, ostensibly waiting for FMT and Friar. Right! Finally, the call of the beer proved too much. No one was getting arrested. He joined the group on the rock, kicked aside some goose turds and started some songs.

Just as they were finishing up, a truck with a flasher pulled up and slowed as he saw Dry Foot’s Car. He placed a warning sign on its windshield. He turned around. He finally saw the nine adults, one child and one large dog standing in the water. Having noticed him themselves, the group quickly packed out and headed for the road. Expecting arrest, Async, Oozing and WHO jogged along towards the official. They received a dirty look. The truck continued down to the rest. They got a nasty glare. And that’s it! Fuwangi’s plans went down in flames. Pathetic! Your taxpayer’s dollar at work!

Trail now was on pavement. They turned west on Reservoir Road. A check just past Wisteria Lane had some looking for desperate housewives. Others looked for trail. WHO led Gee-Your-Dick\ south into Diamond Hill Cemetery. Async led the others north on trail in the Jason’s Grant development. They quickly turned into the woods and continued north towards the old ski slopes of Diamond Hill. GYDST [Now, don’t you think someone would have re-named him: Gee-Your-Prick-Smells-Yummy. GYPSY. Get it? Must be because of the competitive hash in SF. Or maybe, I got his name wrong. But I digress!] left Dr WHO and cut through some private backyards out to Nate Whipple. [There seems to be no respect for private property in California. Not like RI! Oh, well. I’m digressing again.] WHO followed familiar trails southeast through the cemetery, crossing the standing pipes (showing the exceptional bravery and athletic prowess that we all have always associated with him. What a hasher!) and meandering through the cool pine groves out to the Park Cemetery and the Fire Station.

The main pack crossed into Diamond Hill. What debaucheries occurred, your scribe dare not describe. [Note: Your scribe in fact does ‘describe’. From the French: ‘de’=not and ‘scribe’=write-up. And while we’re on this, for Basket’s sake: ‘digress’, from the Greek: ‘di’=two and ‘gress’=to break wind. I knew he was curious.] But Just Kari may never be the same. At any rate, they waited for a while by the hare’s truck. They suddenly realized WHO they were waiting for. Off they drove, back to the hare’s home. They found FMT and GYDST playing Bocce, with Dima at high risk. Friar and Dry Foot were drinking beer. WHO was trying to find the “On-In” trail in the swamps at the end of Wollen (Swollen) Dr. They began the circle.

Ratings for the run: minimal shiggy, reused territory, pathetic weather, dry spillways, and no arrests were cited. But, in favor of the run: bimbos, multiple losses on trail, no Bondo, wet BC, etc. Final total: +0.69. Hashit: Basket. Maybe. But if not, he should have got it. The visitor was welcomed, the virgin interrogated, and they Swang Low. [Warning: Long Sentence ahead!] Food was provided by all, and they ate, drank, sang and behaved like idiots (all except Just Dima, who was above all this childishness) with heavy lawn bowling balls, and large, strangely-shaped, copper lawn sprinklers as the day wore on, the yard furniture was fractured and the spouses at home grew almost as annoyed as the hare’s parents, who had been forced by circumstance, by an act of foolish passion years ago, against all reason, defying all the dictates of common sense, to stay here and put up with their prodigal son the hare, selflessly and charitably, ignoring both him and his rude companions late into the afternoon. Oh, pity them!

 

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