Virgin Bogs in Smithfield Hash

Run #1024, November 14, 2005

Hare:  Basket Boom Boom

Location:  116 and 7, Smithfield

Weather:  Clear, full moon, temp high forties but rapidly dropping to high thirties. Water temp: 40’s

Present:  Async, Dr WHO, Dick Doc, Oozing SD, Great at Giving Head, Amish It Head, Bondo Jovi, Just Sandra, Fuwangi Boner, WIPOS, Seamus, Ben.

Prologue:

Once upon a time, in the mystical place called Hash Island, there was a village called Glendale. Glendale was in the town of Burrillville, in the northwest forest. An old, but sprightly hare lived in Glendale, in a small cabin in the woods. Now this old hare loved three (five) things: he loved his beer, he loved his big dog, Seamus, and he loved getting naked in public. Oh, and he loved singing off-key. And he especially loved setting trail around his house in Glendale. But he had set trail from Glendale often. Perhaps too often, as we shall see!

The old hare was out in the woods one Saturday. He was trying to lay trail, deciding which of his favorite three (five) crossings of the Branch River he would use, this time. Suddenly there was a mighty thunderclap! In front of his amazed eyes appeared a ghostly figure, lithe and thin, glowing as if he had been covered from head to toe in brilliant white flour! He knew immediately! This was the legendary Trail Fairy!

The Trail Fairy approached. He said: “O Basket, this will not do! You must set trail elsewhere in Hash Island, else the Hash gods will look upon you with disfavor and skunk all your beer at the beer checks!”

Basket said: ”But finding virgin trail is hard! How am I supposed to find new trail, after all these years?”

The Fairy replied: “Why don’t you try using a map, like WIPOS and Dr WHO?”

The hare shuddered and said: “Oh, I couldn’t possibly use a map!” (The Fairy didn’t know it, but the hare has been terrified of maps since childhood. As a youngster, his mother would whack him over the head with a rolled up map of Scranton, Pa. every time he would try to get naked in public. The conditioning worked, but only in one respect!)

The Fairy said: “Oh, all right! Just come over here and bend over. I’ll magically give you an idea for some virgin trail in a place called Smithfield.” Basket was dubious, but came over. It only hurt for a second and then he knew of a secret more rare and precious than the antidote to Bondo’s chili: the location of virgin trail in Smithfield! He ran home to his little cabin in the woods. After wiping thoroughly and taking a few doxycyclines (one never knows where Trail Fairies have been these days), he broadcast the news throughout Hash Island. There was to be virgin trail come Monday!

The Run:

Mondays inevitably come. And with Mondays, comes the hash. This particular Monday they gathered in the parking lot of the Central Falls credit Union, (wisely headquartered miles away from Central Falls) at the junction of Routes 7 and 116. The usuals included Async, Dr WHO, Oozing , and Fuwangi, all very dubious about the possibility of virgin trail with this hare. (SESYB is probably still laughing at the thought of virgin territory in Smithfield. She wisely chose to skip this Monday.) Dick Doc, Just Sandra, Great at Giving Head and Amish It Head arrived ready for anything, as Smithfield was ALL virgin territory to them. And then along came Bondo. Short, large Bondo. Slow talkin’ Bondo. Slow walkin’ Bondo (might be a song in that). He doesn’t believe anything is virgin territory. Except maybe Blackstone, Mass.

Promptly, lest any others arrive, they turned into the woods at the back of the lot. They were led by Oozing and Async as they briefly bushwhacked northwest towards the fabled Lost City of Rhode Island. But Hanton City is certainly not virgin territory. Fuwangi mastered the first check, which turned northeast on the Lydia Ann Trail. The rest felt a chill as they inspected a mysterious and to say the least incongruous 24’ motor boat that was lying in the woods. Just Sandra commented that she had been hoping for a trail by the ocean. But experienced members of the party knew that in this part of Smithfield, weird and inexplicable was the norm. (See Runs #826, 938.)

Back on track now, they began to realize that no hasher could recall ever passing this way before. Could this truly be virgin trail? Bondo stoutly denied this. But he has gotten lost on trail many times in the past. It is statistically likely that he had been this way before, even if not actually while following marks. Virgin or not, checks were effortlessly dealt with. Dr WHO, having injured his right leg at SESYB’s hash the previous week, had a tendency to turn left. Fuwangi, being a southpaw when it comes to wanking, turns right. Amish and G@GH were thus able to follow by going the way opposite to whichever of the two was leading.

Strange smells were encountered, as the trail became more overgrown and turned east. Bushwhacking through some minor briars and major garbage, they came out in an industrial dumping area. Crossing a parking lot, they came to and crossed Rt 116. Marks continued in the bushes as they turned more southeast, still off paths but now all together as the progress was quite slow. Oozing led, as the first sounds of a small stream were heard. Oozing noticed the clever marks. He noticed the puddles near the stream. He noticed the briars. But he did not notice the barbed wire strung, ankle-high across the trail. He went down, injuring his most prominent (only significant?) protuberance: his nose. “Watch out for the wire!” said the helpful hare a moment later.

It was soon clear to Dr WHO that there would not be any opportunity to bill for any procedure resulting from this injury. He took advantage of the confusion to cross the stream. Unfortunately he immediately found two 48” culverts draining the stream. The hare suggested the left one. Into the hole went WHO , followed by Amish and the rest. With some reluctance. The tunnel was long. And cramped. There was NO light at the end of the tunnel. There was danger of Dr WHO plugging the orifice completely. And Bondo had been drinking his beer all weekend. But they continued. The water, a trickle at first was rising as they progressed along, east under both lanes of Rt 295. As it approached mid calf, they finally emerged. Right into a curtain of thorns.

After struggling through the thorns, and climbing out of the pooled effluent (into more briars), they found that they were at the beer check! (Lucky for the hare! Just Sandra and Dick Doc had been threatening mutiny, grievous bodily harm, castration, etc. as they crawled through the 100 yard tunnel.) The beer was opened and it was enjoyed for a full two minutes before they realized that they would somehow have to get back across (under) Rt 295! The hare said: “That’s why there are TWO tunnels!” As the beer was finished Just Sandra and Dick Doc realized that the traffic was too heavy for the overland route. They bowed to the inevitable. Async led them back through the second tunnel. There was no appreciable difference in the unpleasantness of this experience.

Emerging back in the woods on the west side of the highway, Async and G@GH led on an overgrown trail headed south. Ignoring a false mark they continued on the path. As the hare seemed content to follow, the rest did the same. But there were no marks after the falsie. Trail turned west. This seemed to be appropriate, heading towards Rt 116. The hare continued to encourage the group. This prompted Async, G@GH and Amish to continue west briefly into some sand and gravel pits.

The actual path, still unmarked, curved back south. Bondo took the lead. He ignored the assurances of the hare that they would soon find marks. The path disappeared. Bondo pressed on through the underbrush. His unwavering certainty in leading prompted some singing:

“Born in Woonsocket on its largest Rock
He really loves your trail when he says: “Oh, Fock!”
Too much of his beer and you’re in for a shock!
Killed him a b’ar when he was only three!

Bondo! Bondo Jovi!
King of the wild frontier.”

or words to that effect.

Finally, Dick Doc spotted some flour. She turned right on trail. The hare rejoiced. Bondo continued straight. The rest rejoiced. Dick Doc led with the hare as they bushwhacked northwest into a swamp. Ankle-deep at first, the water became deeper and colder. But the marks were there. The group came together as they finally crossed a retention pond, waist-high in sub-40’s water. Just Sandra remarked that maybe a trail near the ocean wasn’t such a great idea, after all. They climbed out into the southern edge of the sand and gravel pits. Which led to peat mounds, harvested from the bog! More fine smells encouraged their speed as they followed trail on muddy roads out onto Rt 7 and thence northwest back to the Credit Union.

The circle was joined in the rear of the parking lot. Ratings for the run were inevitable. Virgin trail, prolonged and annoying subterranean passages, broken noses, thorns, swamps and peat bogs! But no one was lost, the weather was good, and the hare is universally considered a wank! Total: +6.9. Hashit was initially given to the hare, for the crime of losing his horn at the Red Dress Run, and having it returned by Oozing. But the Hashit award was disrupted by the appearance of a light and a figure crashing through the woods. It was WIPOS! Claiming not to have found true trail! (Actually, he had stopped for a nap in the fore berth of the motorboat. The singing of the circle had awakened him. Too bad!) Naturally, hashit was transferred to him.

They moved on to Parentes. Fine and expensive food was consumed. Behavior was fair, there were some young kids at a nearby table. And most of the hash attention was focused on the incredibly tight pants worn by all the waitresses. (The hare was watching the waiters.) The group couldn’t decide if they wore thongs or were au naturel under these pants. Considerable research was in progress. But the night broke up when Just Sandra tried to distract the boys’ attention from the waitresses’ rear ends by initiating a discussion about hospital and health-care quality control regulation. Time to leave!

Epilogue:

The old hare returned home to his cabin at the woods. As he got out of his car, there was another thunderclap! The Trail Fairy appeared and said: “O Basket! You have done well. Good shiggy, blood loss, possible broken bones, and virgin territory. And, you didn’t get naked in public! Now that you know that you are capable of it, you can move on from Glendale, and range all over Hash Island in search of creative trails!”

Basket replied, slyly: “Sounds good! I know! Let me bend over again so that you can give me another magical trail for my next run!”

The Fairy laughed and said: “Now, don’t get greedy. I have a mind to visit that Dr WHO tonight. He clearly needs some help for next week! Maybe I can get him to start from a park-and-ride. We fairies love those!”

And with a snap, the Fairy was gone! And so should you be.

The Moral: Bending over and taking it like a Fairy is not always a bad thing, when it comes to Trails!

On On