The Cumberland Hash That Wasn't

Run #985, Feb 21, 2005

Hare:  Fuwangi Boner

Location:  Super Stop & Shop, Cumberland.

Weather:  Low 30’s, light wet snow.

Present:  Basket Boom Boom, Bondo Jovi, Oozing SD, SESYB, Dry Foot Fairy, Ben, Seamus.

Not Present (week 8):  Who?  And Who’s Areola (#7)?

The Run:

After being curiously absent for the past few hashes, this week’s hare Fuwangi arrived at the parking lot of the Super Stop & Shop in a hoochie mamma van, obviously mistaking the hash for a cheap date with a wanker’s daughter. Fuwangi bribed Dry Foot Fairy with a beer to follow him so he could drop off the van at the on-in site.  Mistake.   Arriving back at the parking lot, Fuwangi and Dry Foot in Dry Foot’s car, Basket and Bondo knew something was up.  Oozing and Trail Hoover arrived after a fine day of cross-country skiing in the White Mountains to honor our presidents.  Fuwangi asked for 15 minutes to live hare the trail, offering bottles of Guinness and a roaming Cumberland police cruiser to keep everyone occupied.

Basket kept looking at Dry Foot to see if he will confess the location of the beer check.  Finally, Oozing told Dry Foot that he will get hashit no matter what, so he may as well confess.  Before saying anything, Bondo and Ben were off after the hare, heading south along Rt. 122.  Realizing the golden opportunity to lose Bondo, Dry Foot confessed that the beer was about a mile north.  So everyone watched Bondo disappear in the distance heading south, and Basket concluded that the trail must head up the river behind the Stop & Shop.  So everyone headed west toward the river, where an ominous tall fence greets them.  While Basket openly commiserated on how he would get Seamus over the fence, Dry Foot Fairy fortunately came to the rescue and opened the gate, allowing all to pass.

A bobbing flashlight slowly approached signaling what could only be a wanker.  Some wishfully guessed it was the hare, hoping to catch the hare no less than 100 yards into the so-called run.  To everyone’s dismay it was Bondo and Ben.  While Bondo said something along the lines of “the last check was back there,” a new bridge crossing the Blackstone River caught everyone’s attention.  Ignoring any mention of checks, the newly constructed bridge beckoned everyone to cross it, while incorrectly assuming, for sure, the hare had crossed the river here.

After crossing the river and heading up-stream for about a quarter of a mile without any marks to be seen, questions began to surface.  With the exception of Bondo, nobody has seen a single mark on trail.  Dry Foot kept asking with increasing urgency, “how do we get back across the river?” since he knew the beer check was on the other side of the Blackstone.  Basket kept reassuring that there is a bridge up ahead.  Meanwhile, the pack began to spread apart along the monotonously straight run down the Blackstone bike path with no marks, no checks, no nothing.  The usually fleet-footed Trail Hoover was sagging back due to too much President’s Day celebration earlier that day.

One mile, two miles passed.  Dry Foot was worried as no bridge was to be found.  “Uh oh, the Martin Street bridge is out,” exclaimed Basket.  He insisted the river wasn’t too deep for a wet crossing, but Dry Foot Fairy, living up to his name, would have none of that.  “Ah, it’s only ankle deep!” Basket exclaimed, failing to fool anyone.  They continued up the path, as the bike path petered out and re-started again.  Still no marks, or any sign of the hare for that matter.  Unfortunately, all was not lost.  Finally, Basket, Dry Foot Fairy, and Bondo reach the Rt. 116 foot bridge, nearly three miles north of where they last saw any signs of the hare.  Oozing and Trail Hoover lagged so far behind, that some wondered if they turned back (the only smart thing to do).

Once across the bridge and on the correct side of the river, they headed south.  Basket and Dry Foot took the railroad tracks.  Bondo had none of it (still traumatized by being cuffed in Woonsocket – another Fuwangi hash), and took his own path along well-lit roads.  Over and over again, Dry Foot Fairy tried to describe the location of the beer check.  “The parking lot of an athletic club right off of Mendon Rd,” he kept repeating to Basket.  “Yeah, yeah, it’s the Boy’s and Girl’s Club,” Basket kept replying.  Dry Foot knew it was not the Boy’s and Girl’s Club.  Basket’s not so secret sexual obsession with children seemed to overwhelm him, driving him to run faster.  Even Seamus quietly expressed concern.  Finally, Basket and Dry Foot reached the beer check (thankfully NOT at the Boy’s and Girl’s club), found the beer, and pondered where everyone, including the hare, could be.

Periodically, Basket sounded his horn, only to excite the neighborhood mutts.  Finally, a beer later, Oozing and Trail Hoover reached the beer check, along a fence next to a sand pit.  No Bondo, Ben, or Fuwangi.  The night began to look promising after all.  And then the hare arrives with Bondo in tow and spirits began to sour.  More reason to drink another beer.  Everyone complimented Fuwangi on the wonderful trail we did not run.  Except for the beer, the only positive contribution by Fuwangi was the drive back to the start in his parent’s hoochie mamma van, as the conversation turned to how many times Fuwangi’s parent’s had sex in this impressive love machine.  Everyone went to Tuck’s for the circle.  For trying to put clothes on Sponge Bob, the previous hashit, Fuwangi proceeded to earn this week’s hashit.  The wankers went into Tuck’s where the waitress immediately ordered the tap of Guinness to open up.  Brilliant!  Life has meaning after all, even though it was still just another total waste of an evening.

On On

Dry Foot Fairy