Powerline Swamp Hash

Run #870  December 29, 2002
Hare:  Async
Scribe:  Swallows My Pride
Location:  Johnston, RI
Weather:  Friggin’ Cold
Present:  Async, Swallows My Pride, Basket Boom Boom, KNO, EverReady, Bondo Jovi, Oozing, SESYB, Dr WHO
Visitors:  Jizzmopper (BH3)
Virgins:  Virgin Brian

The Run:

A respectable number for such a frigid night arrived in the usual timely fashion, complete with at least three WIPOS layers each.   We huddled together at the start, then promptly dove into the woods at 6:30 pm.  The pack fanned out, climbing snow covered hills and dodging thorn bushes and branches.  The distant sound of whistles was heard…a hasher on trail…what a glorious ending to hash year 2002 (which is incidentally the last pallindrum year until 2020).

The beer check took place on a hill overlooking a pit or quarry or something…I’ll leave that to your imagination.  I was too busy opening beer bottles chilled, perhaps partially frozen, by Mother Nature herself.  It was good beer, too, from what I can remember.  Nothing eventful at the beer check, other than Seamus trying to pee on all the RIH3 bimbos feet – who can blame him for getting overexcited in our presence?

We took off down the hill and around a corner in the trail to see the Jizzmopper slip on a huge slab of ice and fall splat on his back.  We all laughed heartily, of course.  Then the trail became truly interesting.   There were stone walls in the woods, which we hurdled over - some with grace and others with less than grace.   Eventually, we were beckoned into a marsh filled with 8 foot high reeds, smelling as though they had recently been skunked – how delightful!  No need for a machete, although that would have been nice, brute size and force were enough.  We made our way through the reeds, then across some rather thin ice patches in a swamp area.  Unfortunately, the ice did crack, but no one fell through.  At this point, we were back on road and circled back to the start.  Somehow, Jizzmopper conveniently found a turkey trail and ran a few miles off course.  We presumed him dead, laughed heartily again and continued on with the circle up.

A warm fire greated us in the woods with more good beer to warm our insides.  Bondo and Basket had another flirtatious argument during which Basket’s shorts were burned in the inferno, a beautiful site for all the onlooking coyotes.  The potent smell of burning nylon/polyester combined with leftover oils from Basket’s skin was so toxic that many of the hashers started gagging. The black rising soot could not be escaped.  But alas - Bondo’s plan to kill off the RIH3 by toxic inhalation failed miserably.  Unfortunately, everyone lived.

Virgin Brian was appropriately questioned and given a down down.  The hash songs were terrible tonight and a plea was made to go back to Hash Songs 101 next week.  And so, we wrapped it up and met down the street at Swampys for the on after.  Surprisingly, the waitstaff were happy to see us.  Good God, did they remember this group correctly?  Had they inhaled the fumes from Basket’s shorts?  The usual carousal ensued, more beer was imbibed, and a good time was had by all.

On On,

Swallows My Pride