Miles and Miles of Wickford Hash

Run #955, August 2, 2004

Hare:  Tinker

Co-Hares:  Short-Shorts, Just Kayaker.

Weather:  80’s, Humid but clear

Present: Dr W.H.O., Oozing S.D., SESYB, Basket Boom Boom, WIPOS, Seamus. Short time visitors/Backsliders: Just Evelyn, Just Donna.

Location:  Tinker’s Nest (the real one), Franklin Street, Wickford.

The Run:

Please Note: The trail herein described is a composite of all the trails run in Wickford from the last century. This write-up is knowingly redundant and unnecessary. In fact, if the enterprising reader wishes to avoid reading this tripe, he or she will find ALL areas of this trail combined in the write-ups: #793, #820, #861, #902, and #940. Thank you for your time.

The start was at the hare’s well-known abode on the tidal flats of Wickford cove. Arrivals were greeted by a worried-looking co-Hare, Short-Shorts, who was strongly encouraging water intake before starting this run. The hare himself muttered something about getting carried away. The hashers had some beer. Seamus showed his disapproval by leaving at least seven pounds of moist and steaming feces on the hare’s curb. But six-thirty arrived, and they were off.

Mile 1:  Frequent large marks led down Elam street to Rt 102 which was followed west to just past the Middle School, where trail turned left on a dirt road leading to a small neighborhood, and ultimately turned west on the old railroad tracks that have historically been the backbone of Wickford hashing. The group stayed together until the first real check, which had Basket blindly blazing ahead, off-trail, Oozing making a large circle and SESYB finding trail with WHO and WIPOS. Fortune favors the blind, and Basket picked up the marks across Rt 1 long before the others who finally emerged on true trail to cross the road just north of the Oak Hill Tavern. Marks were plentiful again, and they all ran up Haverhill, turned left on Georgia and right on Virginia (the only thing virgin they would see this night) to the road into the woods heading northwest. They rejoined the railroad tracks.

Mile 2: All the hashers were again together after a half-mile of meaningless checks. The last of these was close to the exit last used by the hare for Run #940, and WHO explored this, only to find what appeared to be an ancient or erased hash arrow on a rock at the end of the street. He was not to be fooled, and turned back. He encountered an equally confused Basket, as well as former two-time hashers Just Evelyn and Just Donna. They had been surreptitiously following the flour, reliving the wonderful times they had had with the RIH3 in the past. They provided some recommendations for the hashers. These were ignored. They were invited to join the hash again. This was ignored.

Mile 3: Finally Basket tried, against Dr WHO’s advice, and turned up the side path to Warburton Ave. Amazingly, his freakish eyesight cleared up long enough to spot some flour further up in the road. Dr WHO had missed this completely. [Note to any Ophthalmologists who might be reading this: There’s a fortune to be made if you run with the RIH3.]  They regrouped, and emerged, crossing Ten Rod Road, and running past the sheep, goats and bull that had had Fuwangi so excited the last has here.

Mile 4: Trail again led through the back of the Paul Bailey’s Ford parking lot, to the trail entering Cocumscussoc State Park heading north. Dr WHO led mainly because his need for beer was becoming acute, and he hoped that the hare would duplicate his last beer stop in these woods since he had duplicated everything else. But it was not to be. A check on the trail led to an acute reversal of direction and the trail began to bushwhack  east. Several other checks were encountered until one finally stumped WHO, and he circled aimlessly around this check until the others finally caught up with him and began doing the same. Oozing finally found trail by the simple expedient of heading for the swampiest area, looking for shiggy. There was no shiggy. But there were marks, and he called the others on turning south and east.

Mile 5: The trail emerged back on road, and continued east on Juniper Dr back to Rt 1. Oozing led across and through the police station parking lot, making sure to look suspicious and to sound his whistle loudly. His acting the terrorist as well as public nuisance was to no avail. The North Kingston police were too busy answering telephone complaints from residents whose property adjoins Cocumscussoc to even look out the window. Oozing, followed by WHO and SESYB curved around behind the police where a group of teenagers were loitering. They asked WHO what he was running for and, always anxious to corrupt minors other than his own, he replied: “Follow the mystic white powder; it will lead to beer and satisfaction.” They considered the offer, but one look and Basket and WIPOS, and they declined wisely. The hashers entered Wilson Park and followed trail on the shoreline of Long Point.

Mile 6: The trail was now in tidal marsh, but it was still possible to keep the feet dry. Oozing and SESYB were faithful to the trail. WHO took the opportunity to slip into the woods to see if he could duplicate Seamus’s feat at the start. Not a chance. Near the boat ramp, a “BN” was seen, but no marks to indicate which direction. But a fellow in a kayak hailed the group and pointed out a barely visible blob of flour on an small boat ramp across the 50 yd channel on Cedar Tree Point. An old inflatable airline life-jacket was provided for Oozing. It leaked, but not quickly enough. The hare arrived to man another kayak, while WHO and SESYB cooled off by making the swim. Basket, afraid that Seamus might drink too much of the brackish water which was well-tainted with sewage, refuse and oil, was led around the inlet by Short Shorts.

Mile 7: The landing was marked by cat-calls from the house that owned the ramp, especially when viewing the effect of the cold water on SESYB’s nipples. The effect on Dr WHO’s and Oozing’s equipment was no less profound, if less blatant. WIPOS was hermetically sealed and felt no water whatsoever. Trail led to Ocean Ave. and into the backyard of a house where a cooler stood, glowing in the setting sun, beckoning like the holy grail. After a brief prayer, the first arrival WHO reverently opened the first beer, and checked his watch. It had been two hours to the beer.

Mile 7 (cont.) The rest of the group straggled in, and the lady of the house, apparently related to the kayak guide, came out to join the soggy crew for some beer and mosquito bites. The hare, the kayaker and another neighbor also joined them. The beer was consumed, songs were sung and Eastern Equine Encephalitis and West Nile Viruses were risked. It became dark, and it was decided to continue. SESYB was given a flashlight, and they were off, much to the relief of the homeowners and neighbors.

Mile 8 &9: Trail led south and then west on a path along the shoreline of the salt marsh. The flashlight was useful for a few minutes, but they soon emerged on West Main. Marks indicated another swim to the hares backyard. All ignored this and followed Brown St around to the alley leading to the same spot. The hare provided a hose and the early arrivals showered off before opening another beer.

The circle was joined. Ratings for the run: a swim, Tinker-style checks, some bugs, a police station check, and darkness were over-ruled by prolonged running on pavement, lack of shiggy, lack of lost hashers, lack of virgin trail, and presence of Basket. Total -0.69. Hashit to Basket of course for not swimming his dog across the inlet. After religion, burgers and hotdogs were grilled and the evening ended in a sedate and seemly way. Pathetic.

On On