First Hash of Spring 2001

 
Run # 776 March 26, 2001

Hare:   Async (Live)

Scribe:  Dr Who Slasher

The Start:   Snake Den State Park, Johnston

The Weather: 32 degrees F, snowing

Present: 
   (In order of arrival) The Slasher Dr. W.H.O., Bondo Jovi, Shine On, Just John, Basket Boom-boom; Latecumers: WIPOS, P.W.; Supervisors: Ben, Jake, Baxter, P.W.'s Dog-whose-name-I-do-not-know.

The hare was anxiously pacing when the first of the pack arrived at 6:15.  After a few mumbled instructions regarding the markings (which were to be in invisible ink activated only by dog urine), the hare was off, setting live trail through the fresh and rapidly falling snow. [As an aside, it might be instructive to point out the interesting fact that of the 40" of precipitation in R.I. thus far in the winter of 2000-2001, 39.5 of them have fallen on Monday nights between the hours of 5 and 9PM.]

The rest of the lead pack gathered by 6:30, and followed the alpha male Dr. W.H.O. until it became apparent that if they continued to follow him, they would become hopelessly lost as well as wet. The trail led southeast in a valley, skirting numerous fetid pools of standing water. More than once, they were confronted by the eternal quintessential choice for a Rhode Island hasher: to wade through muck, or charge through briars. A check to the left led to a stream. Basket and Dr. W.H.O., suspecting mysterious levitational powers on the part of the hare, crossed the stream several times, despite the fact that there were no footprints on the far side. Meanwhile, on the true trail, Bondo was practicing the minute waltz on his new (non-dermal) flute, while his hounds raced ahead to get to the beer; incidentally destroying all the hash marks and checks. Just John, finding his voice, announced "on-on!" at every clump of snow on a tree. Shine On held back, hoping to encounter another virgin, or at least a flasher.

Gradually curving from south to east, a field was encountered.  Bondo, thinking the field was another lake, tried to start a bonfire, but had left his blowtorch at home. Shine On, thankfully, remained fully clothed.  WIPOS and P.W. had started by this time, and sauntered along the true trail, aided by the copious footprints of the hapless FRBs. Turning gradually, a second false trail again led right to a stream. Again, the hapless (hopeless) leaders made the crossing several times, Basket declaring: "Look at all these footprints, there must be someone else out here." This seems very likely, given what a lovely evening it was for a stroll in the woods.

Back on true trail, a light was seen in the distance, hovering above the treeline with an eerie beauty, and promise of suds to come. As the pack approached, it became apparent that the legendary Rhode Island Cliff-dwellers, the Fugawi tribe, had magically returned to life, and were beckoning the weary hashers to a better world. Unfortunately, it turned out that Async had decided to set a fire on a four foot wide ledge, 25 feet above razor sharp boulders in the valley below. This masterpiece, no doubt a result of years of wilderness safety training, was soon surrounded by the pack and three large, wet and horny dogs. The dogs, disappointed that WIPOS was not yet there with their new stick, tried to uproot the tree that was the only thing keeping the ledge from falling into the gorge. They then playfully tried to knock Shine On into the fire. Bondo played a serenade on his new instrument. The rest drank Guinness and Bass Ale.

WIPOS and P.W. arrived and joined the sorry bunch.  P.W. had the well-behaved dog, so felt somewhat out of place. WIPOS had a new stick, this time crafted of space-age titanium steel, and tried to get Ben and Jake interested, to no avail. Bondo craftily climbed to the top of the cliff, and attempted to urinate on the crowd below, but the cold had shrunk his parts to the point where his stream could not clear his trousers, so he settled for tossing a few snow balls at Dr. WHO (the largest target). After a while, it was decided to move on. The fire was extinguished (no small task, given that it had been started with a small core of nuclear fuel), and the pack split, taking the low road (Bondo) and the high road (the rest) back to the cars and the circle.

The circle was joined with beer that the hare had procured from a museum in Boston, each bottle bearing the original signature, in fine quill-pen writing, of Samuel Adams, as well as the cryptic word: "Reject". It was pointed out to the hare that, unlike fine wine, beer is not necessarily the better for aging. The run was rated with a "Lovely Run" from Bondo, although most had something better than that to say about it. Bondo was trying to divert attention from his criminal behavior with the Hashit the previous week, but unsuccessfully. P.W. suggested urination on the Hare, and then again on Bondo. Unfortunately, with the quality of the beer in the circle, all bladders were empty. The unusually taciturn pack 'Swang Low', and moved to Swampys for the on-in.

Swampys was marked by good beer, good food, and a pretty bartender named Tara, who was very impressed that Dr. WHO had graduated with the highest temperature in his Medical School class. Overall, it was a fine night, and even WIPOS made it home safely without escort.


On-on

The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.