Location: Jeremiah Hill, Foster/Gloucester
Run #: 1416
Date: May , 20th 2013
Hare: W.I.P.O.S.
Pack: Dr. WHO, Basket, Hairy, Rusty, Shemale, Bondo, Retard, Buddy the Dog, PG. Others probably, but since I spent most of the trail alone and I really have no idea who was there, I made up most of this list.
Visitors: Ginger Ice Cream, Chick-Chick-somethingorother, the short guy who’s name I can’t remember, and the Virgin who locked his keys in his car.
Hashit: PG

Like an idiot, I decided to show up to the W.I.P.O.S. do-over , even after being regaled for literally MONTHS with tales of his disastrous first attempt of this Hash. In my, albeit weak, defense, I can only say that since school is over for the summer, I had the mentality of a recent parolee and anything that didn’t take place inside cement walls sounded like a good idea. Start was from some Radioactive spot by a cell tower on Rt. 101 in Foster. There was a rather good collection of reprobates already gathered when I arrived. At the time, I didn’t realize how desolate the place was. I would have ample time to appreciate the Deliverance-style setting later. W.I.P.O.S. was almost late for the start of his own hash. Foolishly, no one saw this as a bad sign, and we headed out on down the side of the road. Soon we came to our first check, with Hairy and others continuing on straight on the road, and Basket and WHO with the rest of the pack veering right into some nicely brair- and poison-ivy-covered woodlands. I was glad I’d worn the high socks.

I was walking with Ginger Ice Cream, following WHO, when the other two visitors caught up with us. The Virgin was somewhere else, probably being “initiated” by Bondo. I decided to run a little ahead on the trail. Everyone was crashing around ahead of us, hollering and such, so I figured I was fine. Besides, there was so much flour on trail, it looked like W.I.P.O.S. had dismembered King Arthur and the Pilsbury Dough Boy.

First mistake: When I looked back and I couldn’t really see WHO, I kept going because I could still see Basket. Once I got close enough to ask if he was on trail, he was like, “Nope!!”

Second Mistake: Not really believing how little he was on trail and thinking I saw a mark a little ahead, to the left.

Third Mistake: Running towards the “mark”. Apparently, there is a lovely type of moss or fungi growing in the wilds of Foster/Gloucester that looks JUST LIKE FLOUR MARKS.

By that point, I had lost sight of Basket, as well. But don’t ever follow Basket, right? And besides, I could still hear everyone, so I kept on, thinking I was headed towards trail. Every time I stopped, listened and then headed in the direction of the horns and shouts, they inexplicably faded as I ran. I would then stop, listen and head in a new direction. This went on for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. After which, it got very quiet and I realized the pack was gone and I had no idea where trail was. I was displeased, and continued to look for trail.

Things I found in Foster Woods: a deer antler, an old cellar hole, lots of poison ivy, Jimmy Hoffa, blueberry bushes, owls, tree-frogs, deer, several toads, a unicorn, lots of thorn bushes, mud, white marks on trees that were not flour, and a pond.

Things I did NOT find: Flour. Beer.

As the owls began to call around me in the gathering dusk, it became clear that I was not going to find trail or beer that evening. I turned on the GPS I’d brought along for just such a contingency, checked my location in relation to the road, put the glowing western sky at my right shoulder and headed south. After that, it was pretty boring.

I found the road and spent the walk back to the cars being cat-called by locals from passing cars in various states of disrepair. After sitting by the cars for a good half hour, wondering if this was the part when the banjo music started and I got dragged into a pickup and killed, Hairy came running up the road to get his car because “W.I.P.O.S. might be dead.” Of course, I went along to see how dead he was. He was still alive, so we circled up, but had to do everything backwards since the Hare was changing into a new parka, hip waders, and ski cap, and we were waiting for AAA to come save the Virgin who had locked his keys in the car. To pass the time, Basket got the Virgin to run around Rt. 101 naked, while the rest of the pack pretended they were horrified. Bondo gave the run 15 “Fucks”. Then, I nominated myself for Hashit out of sheer boredom and because I wanted to shout “Way Down in Barcelona” at Rusty. Mission Accomplished.