Hash with No Name (Again)

Run #1076, November 13, 2006

Hare:  Justin My Ass

Location:  Smithfield, RI

Weather:  50’s, light rain

Present:  Amish, Basket, Oozing, Dr. WHO, Seamus, Bondo, Ben, WIPOS, Eenie Weenie Dick.

The Run:

I think that the scribes of the RIH3 attempt to make our write-ups interesting to read. Fun to read. Mentally stimulating to read. And as accurate to real-life as possible. Just like Playboy. But when hares start trails in the same locations, over and over and over, it doesn’t give us much to work with. And this leads us into hash 1076, held on November 13th (a mighty damn good day if I must say so myself **), with Justin My Ass beckoning the group to Box Seats in Smithfield. You know, the one we started from on June 26th of this year. Or across the street from Effins, where we started on September 18th of this year. But giving the hare a chance on his virgin solo hash we started off with tons of optimism.

Trail led southwest out of the lot towards, what else – the reservoir. Amish went straight, Basket went right, WHO was somewhere in the rear (which makes sense, being a proctologist and all…). On-on was called northwards with Basket and Seamus leading the way. A great rain storm had blasted through town not much earlier in the day, so marks were pretty nonexistent. Brilliant! Basket continued north alone. Brilliant! Amish managed to find true trail leading counterclockwise around the reservoir and he continued following lichen, trash, whatever white marks he could find. Oozing had taken off northward and was nowhere to be found. Bondo was also nowhere to be found. Maybe this hash won’t be so bad after all!

Trail continued along the border of the reservoir and came out in the industrial complex off of 104. The last time we were here I had Cumunder screeching in the my ears “there has already been enough shiggy on this trail that I think next week I can set mine all on pavement up in Providence.” Boo. Boo to pavement, and I guess boo to no more Cumunder although our hearing is finally going back to normal. It wasn’t too surprising that we ended up in the industrial complex, again, but was surprising was that this was beer check #1. WHO doesn’t like beer? Actually, WHO does. And he and Amish were the only ones ON trail to make it here. Basket had made a u-turn from somewhere up ahead, must have smelled the beer and somehow made it back. Oozing did too. Boo, things were going downhill. What we didn’t find though was Bondo, so overall things were still OK.

Like a redneck Santa, Justin My Ass threw the remainder of the beer over his shoulder and we proceeded off, up to 104. No big surprise here. What also wasn’t a surprise was that we met up with Bondo shortly after turning north on 104. Although it was surprising to see Bondo, on a road, not on a bike, Segway, Rascal or any other device that allows old, decrepit people to move around with ease. Can I use “surprise” again? Surprise – I can! Once we met up with Bondo he was kind enough to tell us that “there was no f’in beer ahead,” and that he “didn’t see a f’in mark,” and that “there should have been a f’in beer check by now.” Ahh, the beautiful poetry that flows from Bondo’s mouth is matched by no other.

After what seemed like 10 miles we finally came to another mark telling us that north on 104 was the right direction. A check at Brayton Rd has us going uphill, past the power line trails packed with stinging nettles we hit earlier in the year to another check at Rolger Farm Rd, where right lead us to Rt 7 to another check. Check – check. Pavement – check. Bondo/Basket/Ben – check. Hash that’s rating is going down by the foot of trail – check. Boooo-urns.

Another 15miles of unmarked pavement was encountered as we headed south down Rt 7, past Parente’s and it’s wonderfully butted/khaki’d wait staff and finally to a check underneath the power lines near the Rt 116 intersection. By this time it was just Oozing, Amish, WHO and the hare, so things were looking up. After getting into the woods about 200ft we stopped for a short impromptu beer check under the power lines. As they crackled above us, covered in rain, we stood in amazement. This was not to last though and after the last of the (not so) tasty beer was finished we kept going south under the power lines. Puddles were abundant. The water felt good on our hot, pavement-pounded feet. Once we plopped out onto 116 it was obvious which direction to go. 116 to 104 back to the cars at Box Seats.

Basket and Bondo arrived late from the north. Apparently they hoped that the trail would lead through Bryant University so they could show off their r*nning skills and impress the coeds. Or maybe they hoped that an alternative lifestyle club would be present so they could express their Brokeback affection. Whatever it was, it was pathetic. Eenie Weenie Dick was standing around holding his….well, you know…having not been able to find trail. And WIPO’s car was there, but he was not.

With the incoming rain it was decided that we’d circle up behind the cars right there at Box Seats. There were many complaints. Way too much road. Way too few bimbos. Way too little virgin territory. But then again there was no Fuwangi and no Bondo at the beer checks. Mathematical total: +4.0. Hashit was split among WIPOS and Bondo, for missing most of the trail and, well, missing most of the trail. Right about this time WIPOS came back in and was informed of his award, which managed to be slipped onto the antenna of his car.

And just as we came, we left – although not as quietly – and drove across the street to Effins. The usual immature food throwing, comment making and noise creating occurred, and somehow the waitress didn’t get upset. Burgers were good, beers were good, and shirts from Chang Mai were good. After we were done a quick stop by Parente’s was made in order to inspect the wait staff. Many dudes were present, but as a part of the RIH3, this is not an abnormal site. The bartender was pregnant, but jolly while we all enjoyed our beer. Only one young lady waitress girl was present, and watching her butt eat the fabric of her pants as she walked by made us all happy in the are our bathing suits cover. Yahoo for Parente’s. Maybe hashes in Smithfield really aren’t that bad…..

**Amish started his pathetic life so many years ago on this date.

On On

Amish It Head