The week of shitty cold weather had given way to bright warm
sunshine, thanks to the hash gods, who had cast their blessings on the heroic
hares. The run started at a park on the border of the fifth ward, near the
intersection of Patton, Airline, and Main streets. I noticed that two of my
triathlete friends from Houston Racing Triathlon Club had shown up. I was amazed,
since one of them had derided the hash for years, implying that the hash was "a waste
of time" and not serious enough for him. So today, I thought, I would get the chance
to run these guys into the ground, and plus watch them get dogged by at least half the
pack. But then they admitted "oh, we just came to walk, so that we could talk
to these two girls," as he pointed to High Maintenance and her friend. Fucking
wankers (the triathletes, not the girls). After the tunnel, I saved Shuttle from a dog attack in the next neighborhood. He was getting nipped at from two directions, and didn't want to run away. I ran up behind the dogs and growled, they ran off, I guess they didn't want to deal with two hashers at once. Shuttlecock and I ran alone for several blocks until a strange zig-zag in a neighborhood just after the farmer's market allowed the pack to catch up. The trail then stair stepped southward to Assgrabber's house to what we thought was the on-home, but only turned out to be a beer and barbecued chicken check. After slurping down a beer, we were back on trail. This part of the trail resembled a road race as we stair stepped southwestward, then back northward through a variety of neighborhoods until we found ourselves at the intersection of 14th and Shepherd. As far as I could tell, I had somehow managed to become FRB at this point. I remembered that there were several good places to end hashes nearby, especially along White Oak Bayou. What I didn't know was that the hares lived about two blocks away from where I was standing. There was a check right down the street from the house, but instead of running into the on home, I managed to run right past it down to the next intersection and out to the Bayou. Suddenly, I found myself alone. I ran up and down the Bayou, remembering that upstream there were some good clearings for ending a hash. While on my extra loop of 3 miles or so, I ran into ex-Space City Hasher Mark "Aardvark" Janzer walking his dogs. I didn't recognize him at first, and I asked him "have you seen a group of people running?". He replied, "oh, do you mean hashers?" That's when I noticed his H4 sweatshirt (the old dark blue with the hood). After speaking with Aardvark for ten minutes
or so, it was back to hashing, It was starting to get dark and cold. I used the
"close the box" method to attempt to find trail up near 16th st., but I ended up
running back to the same check that was right near the on-home. This time, I made
the right choice and found the end. Amazingly enough, I was still not DFL. The
rest of the evening was spent chugging beer, sipping brandy and Jagermeister, chowing down
on half-cooked rice and burned stew, and then debating about the merits of large vs.
small breasts (after examining the hares fine collection of porno mags). My
hat is off to the hares for stepping in at the last minute to lay trail, and doing a fine
job at that. |
The GROG JOG SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 16th,
1997 RUN # 981 HARES:
"HAND CREAM" , "PEE PEE", "PANTY
BOY" & "STEAMING BUSH"