Labia Day Hash

Run #1118, September 3, 2007

Hare:  Justin Basket’s Ass

Location:  Burrillville Middle School

Weather:  Clear, 80’s

Present:  Dr WHO, Amish It Head, Async, Bondo Jovi, Fuwangi, Swamp Whine, Eeenie Weenie Dick, Ben. Visitors: Friar F*ck. The Fat One, Shine On, Zena, …and Ben! Virgin: Just Josh. Non-Participants: DogMeat, Just Big Sh*t, Just Summer, Just Jodi, and the as yet unnamed Basket Grandchild. And others. Maybe.

The Run:

Another Labor Day. Another Basket run. Another visit to the Burrillville Middle School.

What more is there to say? Was it different or unusual? No. Did anything set it apart from the ordinary Basket-Labor-Day-BMS run? No. About the only thing changed was the fact that the hare was even more lazy than usual, and so was forced to live-set the trail. That, and we had a virgin that was obviously some kind of Narc or IRS man or something, as he kept trying to record parts of the hash. Weird!

The hare was given a generous ten minutes, and the pack was off at about 2:05. The first half of the trail would be best related in outline form:

1. Geography: The west trodden paths behind the Burrillville Middle School are familiar to every hasher, every nature-lover, every cardiac rehab walker and every juvenile delinquent north of Providence. The Branch River makes a bell-shaped curve oriented with a northwest apex and a long southwest tail. The land to the east is high, and to the west it descends into some light swamp. There are trails on both sides of the river, with a few skip areas.

2. The Pack: Apart from Just Josh, every member of the pack has been here numerous times, and should have known better. They all know that the best approach to these trails is just to skip the whole thing, get in your car and head to the hare’s house, where the beer is colder, there’s food and the company is better. (Next time I’m with you Dogmeat. I promise!) But if one must have one’s exercise, one can still think a bit. For some reason, the hare has always fixated on counterclockwise trails. So the obvious plan would be to go clockwise, from the track on the inner path and proceed until the hare is snared. Or just stand in the river at a straight stretch until you see the hare crossing down or upstream. Why no one did this is a mystery.

3. The Hare: Here’s what he has done, would do, and will do in the future. He starts from the northeast end of the parking lot. Counterclockwise trail, multiple checks resulting in multiple river crossings, no bushwhacking. Exit point is EITHER the running track OR the miniature railroad. No Beer Check will be found. This is always somewhere else.

OK, then. Yada, yada, yada. After several checks leading to several stream crossings, and several mid-stream hare sightings by Async, WHO and Friar, trail made its counterclockwise loop and came back out by the running track. Now, onto the second part of the trail: Would the hare lead them back to his house? Or would it be to the cars? It was only this uncertainty, and the lack of beer that kept anyone following trail or even interested in the slightest.

WHO led Fuwangi and Async out of the middle school to the overgrown trolley track across the street and southwest along 102. A check had WHO headed for Bella’s; Async and Fuwangi wouldn’t bite and turned left. They crossed the Victory Highway, and continued southwest, before turning into a dirt driveway. Amish was close behind as WHO caught back up. They proceeded up the dirt paths to find the BC in a clearing.

The beer was opened as the stragglers gradually arrived. Some songs were started. Just Josh started recording. This made some of the professionals present slightly uncomfortable. The attempts at harmony were making everyone quite uncomfortable. But, Bondo was missing. Every cloud has a silver lining. They finally finished up, and the hare pointed them back on trail. They were going back to the cars. So, most ignored the flour and just headed straight back, across Victory Highway, and through the recently emptied junk yard to the BMS.

The circle of course was at 290 Snake Hill. The run was rated: several contrived stream crossings, a virgin and a few bimbos could not make up for the recycled trail, clear weather, and lack of blood loss. Total: -6.9! Hashit: Bondo Jovi. The virgin/FBI-man was questioned, and responded with a joke. The visitors were discouraged from coming again and religion ensued. Finally, a few of the desperate dipped into the frigid pool. Food was served, and vain efforts were made to entice Dogmeat to get naked in the pool. Another Monday holiday wasted.

On On

Oh, and here’s what the Narc had to say:

Wednesday October 10, 2007
Basket Boom Boom and his Merry Wankers

Running with the Rhode Island Hash House Harriers

Josh Wood, Art Director

I was waist deep in murky water when I realized two things. One, that I was glad I wore crappy shoes, and two, rocks are slippery. I had the cassette recorder in one hand and my car key in the other and held both above the surface of the water as I forded the stream. There was a shriek ahead of me and Shine On started to fall backwards as if in slow motion. I managed to keep her from falling into the lukewarm murk while saving my tape recorder from going under as well.

Shine On is a grandmother and a Hash House Harrier of a dozen plus years. She’s got battle wounds to prove it. “I’ve got still a scar on my upper right thigh. I sliced it open on a rock. I still have numbness – and that was eight years ago.”

I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I took off with the hashers behind Burrillville Middle School to the sound of a beat up hunting horn. I had read a little bit www.half-mind.com/Hashing/who.htm about the history of the Hash House Harriers running club. It was started by an English chartered accountant and his fellow ex-pats in Malaysia in the 1930s. Based on an old schoolyard game of hares and hounds, designated “hares” get a head start to mark a trail while the “hounds” track them down. Their biggest change to the game was the introduction of beer and general debauchery. The original 1938 charter harrier.net/presskit/shistory.html went something like this:

To promote physical fitness among our members
To get rid of weekend hangovers
To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer
To persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel

Since then, the Hash Houses have grown to an estimated 1,700 clubs around the world. Hares in the modern Hash Houses use flour, chalk or paper to mark a trail. A good trail has plenty of false leads, which keeps the pack guessing and keeps the hounds together regardless of their athleticism. Today’s Rhode Island Hash featured a “live hare,” Basket Boom Boom. A “live hare” means both hare and hounds were on the trail simultaneously. It’s an added bonus, Shine On explained, because upon catching the hare, the hounds earn the privilege of de-pantsing him.

It’s all a little disorienting for a virgin (a hasher’s term for a first timer). Hashing is infused with it’s own language and culture, and the hashers have handles like Amish Ithead, Fuwangii Boner, Swamp Whine, Async, and Dr. Who. The fast runners are referred to as front running bastards, the phrase “are you?” is yelled to the front running bastards to see if a path has been found, and “on-on” is shouted back when a trail is confirmed. In the course of an hour, our trail cut through rocky logging trails, thorny underbrush, industrial sites piled with palettes and odd debris, sapling-choked thickets, gravelly roadsides, streams and wet places of questionable water quality, and backyards. Nothing is truly off limits, and wild places, referred to as shiggy, is the preferred terrain of the Hash. Visiting Boston hasher, The Fat One, showed his prize from a recent hash. Both of his forearms glowed scarlet with poison ivy. Meanwhile, calls of “on-on” and “are you?” echoed from the dozen or so hashers searching for marks in the undergrowth, as I worried about how many ticks I’d picked up through the last patch of tall grass.

I’m not exactly sure how long the run was, but eventually I came to a clearing in the woods where the front running bastards had gathered around containers of homebrew, pouring the dark ale into red plastic cups. Bondo Jovi is the designated brewer. “The Rhode Island Hash started 20 years ago – I wasn’t one of the founders, actually, myself and Basket are pretty much the originals from 20 years ago.” Apparently Bondo’s basement is fitted with enough brewing equipment to keep Bavaria buzzed for the next 100 years. As runners arrived, the group distributed the beer and immediately broke out into a medley about hair, S&M and bodily functions. Shine On explains that each Hash is different, and the Rhode Island Hash has a particular soft spot for home brew and song.

I recorded some of medley, but the Hash wasn’t exactly comfortable with my tape recorder. Last week two hares from the New Haven Hash were picked up by Connecticut authorities http://www.nhregister.com when the flour they were using to set trail in an Ikea parking lot was mistaken for Anthrax. So no one was really sure if I really was just a half-assed blogger, or an agent of Homeland Security. Hashing occasionally attracts the attention of the general public. “Sometimes we just tell people we’re running for Jesus,” Shine On added.

Post run, everyone met at Basket Boom Boom’s house for the circle and the on-in. The circle is an alcohol-infused ceremony and recap of the run. The hare’s work is graded by each hound, virgins and visitors are called out, and down-downs are assigned. A down-down is the ceremonial chugging of beverages; considered a reward or penalty, depending upon your point of view. Most importantly, the circle provides an opportunity for more beer and song. The on-in follows, which is basically another opportunity for beer and song. “Interesting things happen at the on-in,” mentioned the Friar, who told of some of the legendary on-ins of the past. He wasn’t kidding.

Rhode Island hashes happen every Monday at 6:30 PM. Check the Rhode Island Hash House Harriers Web rih3.com site to try the next one. And virgins, remember to bring crappy shoes and a change of clothes. And most importantly, never, ever, pass out at the on-in.