Hash Trash #1181: The dude does not abide

This week, at trail # “1181” (either we skipped a few numbers or y’all have been running double trails in the few weeks I’ve been away), the hash managed to turn its most laid-back, go-with-the-flow member, Running B’Hare, into a vindictive jerk just like the rest of us.  Leave it up to the hash to bring out the worst in an otherwise perfectly respectable human being.


The trail started innocently enough.  We started from some parking lot near where children were playing and laughing, unaware of the menace lurking nearby.  The pack made its way through some woods and along the ankle-turning rocky banks of what I’m sure was probably a fairly picturesque river, though I wouldn’t really know since I spent the whole time cursing and looking at the ground, trying not to trip over the stupid rocks.  As we crossed back towards the woods, however, I found myself longing for those precious moments worrying about turning my ankle, because at least we were on solid ground.  After taking about five steps through the mud, I joined the small crowd of people trying to dig a lost shoe out of the soft ground, including Boston visitor Just Matt, who I’m pretty sure decided right then and there to never ever hash again ever.  Which is too bad, because he is the only person, including the hares, who did anything even remotely related to the advertised Big Lebowski theme for this week’s hash.


Once all footwear was recovered and the pack re-shod, we set off through the woods and then along a super boring stretch of road, which fortunately ended in a beer check, giving us both a reward for the boring section and the opportunity to complain about it vocally, as well as ample time to speculate on what EZ Lipps and Saintly Suds were doing on trail to cause them to be so far behind the rest of the pack.


After drinking in public longer than is probably socially acceptable, the pack set off once again through the woods, popping out at a confusing intersection that appeared to send us back to the beer check.  Fortunately, though, the hare was in sight at this point, so Bobbin 4 Buttplugs just caught up to him and politely asked him which way to go.


The pack let the hare go, which was clearly a mistake.  We immediately plunged into the most viciously thorny section of trail yet, which was clearly intended as punishment for catching our Ragnar-crippled hare.  Since, unlike Under 25 to Ride, I cannot simply flex my enormous muscles and cause the thorns to shoot out of my skin, I was picking thorns out of my flesh clear through to Thursday.  Note to future self: much like in relationships, or organized criminal enterprise, sometimes when you catch someone in the act, the best solution is to pretend you never saw them.


Yet the pack persevered, straight through to a remarkably anti-climactic ending of people walking in multiple directions, confused, due to the hare calling an audible on the circle location.  We circled up away from the nosy neighbors so that we could drink beer and eat the hippie, non-orange versions of orange food that the hare picked up at Trader Joe’s without needing to involve the local authorities.  I don’t really remember what happened at this point, but I think it’s safe to assume we made inappropriate comments regarding one another’s sexual prowess and compared the extent to which various people were bleeding.


So, in conclusion, another perfectly good Sunday wasted.  But next Sunday (i.e. tomorrow) won’t be a waste – be sure to make the trek to Laurel from wherever you are to bid EZ Lipps and Saintly Suds aloha as they finally move to Hawaii after months and months of empty threats.



Something Black

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