A Dry Run in the Rain Hash

Run: #837 May 13, 2002
Hare: Basket Boom Boom
Location: Glendale (Yawn).
Scribe: The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.
Weather: Ideal (Pouring rain).
Present: Oozing Syphilitic Dicktaphone, Bondo Jovi, The Slasher Dr. W.H.O., Jake, Ben, Baxter and Dog Meat
Commemorating: Buddha's Birthday (Singapore).
 

The Run:

Dimly-seen memories have been haunting the mind of your scribe, elusively just out of reach of his conscious  (semi-) mind. Much like the troubling nightmares that have caused him to wake unexpectedly in a cold sweat most nights over the last two years, these troubling memories are of a hash. A pathetic excuse for a hash. An abortion of a hash. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together based upon extensive researches into the climate charts, tide tables and Farmer's Almanac (as well as looking at the gaps in the HashTrash), he has determined that this hash took place back on May 13th. Your scribe realizes that he will know no peace until he relives and acknowledges this event despite the pain it will cause him. Thus, after using an ancient Native-American ritual involving considerable quantities of psychotropic substances (based mainly upon the common hop and barley) to invoke a return of these awful memories, your scribe provides the truncated but still sad and dismal commentary that follows.

Gathering at the fishing area at the Slatersville Reservoirs on 102, were the few, the proud, and the imbecilic. The hashers who could not let a torrential rain go past without a run. Bondo, Dr WHO and Oozing arrived and parked waiting in vain for others to join them, but unfortunately all the rest were too canny to show up for what had been billed as a virgin run in the Glendale area (not bloody likely). Basket, the hare pulled in, splashing mud over everyone. He stated that it was not to be the expected A to B, but a circular run with interesting features, fine beers, and lovely weather. One out of three is not bad for a hare in the RIH3.

The group headed off at the hare's insistence, crossing the road and moving northwest uphill. A few checks were easily dispatched and the powerlines were encountered. Knowing the effect of electromagnetic radiation upon the steel plates in the hare's skull, Oozing and Dr WHO both abandoned efforts to find the traces of flour in the many puddles, and simply turned north on the powerlines. Bondo was still struggling up the hill, tempted by the proximity of Wright's Chicken Farm. His loyal companions Jake and Ben soon abandoned him for adventures with Dr WHO and Oozing , respectively.

The powerline turned just north of west at an impressively humming junction box, whose emissions of power doubtless set off powerful reactions in the cerebral-cortical pleasure centers of the hare, as there was considerable flour scattered around its base. Oozing lengthened his stride and continued downhill to Inman Road. This was crossed and the powerlines were abandoned. Trail led to a large gate, locked and bolted. A sign on the gate read:

PRIVATE PROPERTY

NO TRESPASSING

THIS MEANS YOU, BASKET!

Beneath these letters, in a childish scrawl in red crayon someone had written: "Up Yurs! B3". Naturally, the gate was jumped and trail found, heading downhill west into some meadows.

To the south there lay woods. To the north, a veritable forest. But trail led west along a gentle downhill slope through open fields. Oozing moved further ahead as the ever solicitous Dr. WHO waited for Bondo to crest the rise and join the trespassers on trail. Down the slope they ran, Oozing and Ben disappearing into the mists, Dr WHO and Jake following more sedately and Bondo still wrestling with the temptations of Wright's Farm. At the bottom of the hill they crossed a small brook and went back uphill through more pastures until a check turned left into the grounds of St Teresa's Shrine.

Oozing being a godless heathen, moved right on through and found true trail leading to the beer check, where he, Ben and the hare met, consumed beer and doubtless indulged in a bizarre sort of ménage-a-trois. Dr WHO faithfully followed the flour into the Stations of the Cross. He walked the Stations slowly when all of a sudden he was struck by a rapture, a vision, an overwhelming religious ecstasy that left him weak and breathless. All truth was revealed to him in one moment. All questions were answered. [Note: he cannot disclose all that was revealed to him for obvious reasons. But among other things, he suddenly foresaw a future run using the same territory (in two weeks time!). He learned the secrets of WIPOS's hash armor, of Async's resistance to poison ivy, of Bondo's colonic immunity. He suddenly realized the true origin of Basket as the result of a secret postwar genetic experiment by the last remnants of the Nazi Party upon kidnapped members of the Vienna Boys Choir. But I digress.] Former GM Jake, seeing Dr WHO's hapless condition, took charge. He dragged the dazed hasher through a junkyard and a surprised property owner's croquet lawn, back to Rt 102 and east back to the start and the cars.

Bondo, sated after two breasts, a thigh and a drumstick, had already made it back and was driving out to rescue his dogs from the clutches of the evil hare. He provided some beer for Dr WHO, who drank standing comfortably in the reservoir, enjoying the rain, while Bondo set out. After a while Oozing burst from the underbrush with tales of a wonderful beer-check obviously fabricated in an effort to curry favor with the hare and avoid the hashit. Finally Bondo, Ben and the hare arrived and the group arranged to meet at the hare's home to circle and dine. The mists of your scribe's memory do not reveal much of these proceedings except that the long-suffering Dog Meat attempted to join the circle from behind closed doors, and nearly was proclaimed hashit for the same. The run was rated 0.69, positive scores only because of the weather and the 69% hashers-lost-on-trail rate.  Hashit? Oozing, of course. Why? Who cares? Food? Fine fare, enjoyed by all, even Dr. WHO (who had been given permission to run this evening by she-who-must-be-obeyed only on condition that he make it back for supper after the run. But Dr WHO is no stranger to two suppers in one evening, I can tell you.).

Now, if you REALLY want to know what happened on this run, simply read the write-up for Run #839 backwards, starting in the middle, and deleting all references to Boston hashers.

On On

 The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.