Note; what follows may be one of the longest (and best) write-ups in the history of the hash; just ask the hares...
Ahem...
It was a dark and stormy night... no wait... it was a dark and stormy...oh...well...,
OK... How about this...
Dark, angry, rain clouds were threatening the eastern sky as Cocker and I left for the Hash on Sunday about 2 PM. It had been raining most of the day but acting on the theory "the best hashes often happen in the worst weather" we saw the darkening sky as a good omen for what promised to be a muddy, slimy, shiggy run of fantastic proportions.
Weiner’s parking lot certainly didn’t look too scary as we pulled into a vacant space next to a bunch of cold, wet, Hashers sporting body-clinging trash bags. The parking lot lights, fooled into thinking it was dusk, clicked on as cold pelting rain drops began beating on my car’s rooftop. I figured it was too early to stand out in the cold waiting for the start so I pulled the handle on the seat and settled in for a nice nap as the temperature just beyond the window glass dropped another 15 degrees in thirty minutes. Finally, the hares, resigned to a turn-out of 35 Hashers on a truly raw afternoon, announced the direction of the start and off we went splashing and sliding; to the astonishment of the local shoppers who cowered beneath the shopping center’s overhanging roof waiting for a respite in the storm to make a quick dash for their cars.
The first check was almost too good. After squishing through a muddy construction lot (complete with naily boards) the pack took off north on the rain slick asphalt following a long false trail made even longer by the front of the pack missing the “F” off to the side. The front runners continued on another couple of blocks as the slower runners single-filed on the shoulder of the road while the main body pushed for running room against bewildered motorists who tried in vain to figure out what all these people were doing in the road on such a cold rainy day. Someone was having a football party and all the guests came out on the porch to see what was happening. “What are y’all doing?” someone shouted. “Trying to stay warm!” several Hashers hollered in reply.
Finally, most of us figured out there was no flour in the direction we were going and the pack began to retrace its steps back to the check. Several people were saying there was a check back on the side of the road, someone else said it was a back check. Pausing to consider this I saw Gonad coming right by me, “Why are we going this way if there’s a check back there?” “Because there’s a check down here!” Gonad said as he splashed by. Well, sounded as good as anything to me, so off we went past the first check down the slippery black asphalt to yet another check on a little bridge.
Knowing Huey’s love of dank, dark, wet places on his trials I knew he’d be in love with the culverts beneath I-10 which were off to our left. So, despite no sign of trail, I hit the stream bank with all the speed I could (being completely soaked and making “pisst, pisst noises with every step) and began shoving through the thick grass and weeds which were very heavy with water. In a minute or two something like trail appeared on the other side but I waited until I could be sure. Uh-oh, where’d it go? By now people are hollering, “Are You?” Danged if I could tell with all the rain and mud! Finally, I got to the I-10 feeder and saw trail again. Whistling the “On” I noticed it wasn’t flour at all put a splash of white paint...Whoops! “But, I know there’s trial here somewhere!” Glancing at the approaching pack I slip down the muddy bank and see a washed out arrow pointing into the culvert...Yeeeesssss!
What a cool culvert too; three big box-like mommas going completely under the freeway. Dark though; very dark and full of cold water. I can see the dark grey mud in there and I can see the darker black water. Somewhere up ahead water is falling out of a large pipe (you can hear sort of an echo) and at the end you can see a tight square of light where the culvert opens out again into the world. Carefully, but in haste, I slide and push mud with my cold shoes trying to keep a good footing. In the gloom I avoid a rotten log, large chunks of broken concrete, a rusty shopping cart... Almost half way there! Getting really hard to see... Careful! With this thought I realize I’m falling but have no idea why or into what...
As I quickly formulate my epitaph my right knee hits something with a “crack.” The pain is quite impressive. My left hand slides on something as it takes the weight of my falling body and I can feel bits of flesh being torn from my hand. My breath goes bubbling into the dark water as my chest and stomach crash full force onto solid concrete. My right ear rings from the impact of six inches of water which slapped it so suddenly. As the cold dark water rushes in all the crevasses of my clothes I hear gurgling in my ear. Seeking to restore the breath that was knocked out of me I take a short breath. Eeech! Tastes like nasty, stinky mud (which it is) and stinky bus tailpipes! Ehhh-yuck...
I’ve fallen only a couple of feet into vault of some sort that normally helps the water from the freeway culvert speed creek run-off down stream. Only a second or two has passed. Remarkably, my head isn’t hurting at all and I get up right away. Damn! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Things hurt, but I can’t stay here... The rest of the culvert is much easier to navigate. Coming out into the rain the mud runs off and the cold helps the hurt dissipate.
Struggling up the rain-slick grass and mud of the creek bank I make it up onto a wide grassy road and see the next check. Boy, am I suddenly stiff and cold... Pausing for a moment to listen to the raindrops thump onto my head and shoulders it occurs to me that someone else could fall where I did. Sigh... Nothing for it but to go back. A third of the way in it occurs to me that nobody else is taking that route. In fact, Hashers have now come out one of the other culverts and are making for the check I just abandoned. Oh well. How much can you do? Back to the Hash!
Estrus and Gonad “Y” off at the check and I speedily limp down the creek bank following Gonad. He stops to “water the forest” and I continue on; slowly but surely. Reaching Market Street I consider that the Hare can either run us through some neighborhoods or keep us in the shiggy by the creek: no brainer... Yeeesss! A blob of dough by the side of the road and then another... “Houston... we have a hash trail!”
Silent Pee and Such a Puss are the lucky Hashers of the moment. They don’t see any trail but are clever enough to follow me as I get lost trying to figure out where the melting blobs were leading. They spot floor and toilet paper in the shig and vanish in the down pour taking several Hashers with them. I stay on the road up the hill and soon find a muddy road cut into the woods. This short cut takes me to Estrus and several FRBs who are looking about for trail in the road cut as I approach. They’re having quite a conversation but I see a nice little path right behind them and skip off happily on my own personal hash trail; no flour, but what a lovely place for a run! Or, a limp, even...
After a while with no flour I figure, “O.K., you’ve had a good time, now; back to the Hash!” But, I bumble across a check! No flour dots, but an unmistakable check; neat! Thinking quickly, I know I have hashers on my left and right. Which way is true trail? Who cares? What a nice piece of woods! I go straight just for the heck of it and realize there’s no flour, just an inch or two of water and lots of grass clumps. Whoa! Another check! Neato! This time I figure if I’m not really on trail at least I can confuse the heck out of somebody. I whistle and go straight again. Man; another check and this time a clear trail. Somebody hollers, “Are you?” and I whistle as I think, “Yes, I are!” Splash, splash, splash, splash, splash, splash,... back check! Uh-oh... Now which way to go?
A moment of silence as the rain falls on the leaves all around me. No sound of anyone towards the road. Off in the woods the sound of several hashers struggling in the shig. You can hear their questions and responses being forced from bent bodies as they twist and turn. Sounds like they’re going away from me. “Are you?” I holler towards the silent Hasher near the road; only raindrops splashing in reply. The thought comes to me that I’m either on a “dead loop” which the pack has by-passed (in which case I’m way behind) or I’m very far ahead on a zig zagging trail with no real idea which way is “true.” My solution? “Run back to the last flour and take the first bit of trail you see no matter which way it goes.” On the way back to the check I see paper on my right and go for it.
Without knowing if I’m running the trail backwards or not I press on through the shiggy. And, it’s real shiggy too. Thick stands of skinny five to ten year old trees and occasional thick thirty and forty years olds with dark dark trunks. Anywhere there’s room between them smaller saplings battle for nutrients with berry vines, “wait a minute” bushes, and a hundred varieties of sticker bushes. Underfoot, millions of leaves; all in shades of brown and dark brown looking like millions of little tree corpses decomposing in the cold rain.
Trail is extremely well marked. The toilet paper is tattered and transparent yet still visible in the green branches where the hares must have spent days marking their trail. Splashes of flour on tree trunks, branches, broken limbs, and leaf piles are still highly visible despite being soaked yellow and gray by the persistent downpour. “Kind of nice, really,” I think to myself as I hunt for direction in the gloom. The trail goes on and on and I follow wondering still if this is backwards and hit a check in this least desirable of all places. Fortunately, the hare is kind and trail picks up again quickly. Going slow, I start to get cold. Man, parts of this are hard: in some places you have to push against branches; in others you have to crawl. Finally, I hit what used to be a path and the pace picks up. Now, I’m able to more or less run again but it may be in vain because occasionally I hear hashers far ahead of me and nothing behind me. Oh well.
The trail vanishes, then reappears, then vanishes for good. Damn. Back tracking, I find a check at the base of a large tree. Flour goes straight up the tree. Yeah, right... Still, a pretty good gag. Checking, I go back to the trail and enter an open area. Alright, paper! OOPS, what’s this? I’ve come into a flood rise area between two bends in the creek. As far as I can see in the woods white plastic tatters hang in all the trees and saplings about three feet off the ground. “Oh hell,” as Geek would say, “What do we supposed to do now?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone. Occasionally, I still hear something like the Hash further away in the woods. I give the entire area a quick survey. If there’s trail here I can’t find it. Getting disgusted, I reflect that I never heard anything more from the Hasher near the road. Perhaps I’m doing this backwards. Well, I can’t find trail so I circle around in the direction the check hoping the hare might have crossed the creek; going forward or backward on the axis I’ve been on doesn’t gain me anything. Time to guess.
The water in the creek looks pretty deep and it’s moving fast. If the hare went that way how would he cross? Bushwhacking, I find nothing. There are no paths here and I’m traversing gullies hoping for a break. Tough going. Hey, what’s that check doing here? I can’t see much in the poor light. Did I miss this on the way in, or, am I guessing correctly? Not sure, I continue on without any trail. Someone says, “On-On” nearby and I hesitate; am I paralleling the inbound trail backwards? If so, saying something would screw up anyone running true trail correctly. I wander about some more. This trail, if it is THE trail, isn’t making a lot of sense. Damn, another check, but where’s the trail? I press on; still no trial. I see a light green “shimmering” ahead and decide to make for it. “It” turns out to be uphill through some nasty sticker bushes. (What-a-day-I-am-having.) Still, no trail. I come out of the woods onto a grassy path leading east-west. I pick east. Later, I find out most of the Hash was held up in the same section of woods which I found so puzzling. They missed the check which I found by accident and came out of the woods the same way I did; by persistence.
The path becomes an abandoned road which leads to an abandoned bridge. What the hell? What’s the bridge doing here? In the middle of the bridge I realize the creek has come up a lot and it really looks like a small river. Where the hell are we? The road leads uphill and I notice that the water running past me down the hill makes a distinct tinkling sound as it runs between the grass shoots and over little twigs. Ah, nature... Slog, slog, splash, splat, slog, squish, clump, splash, squish. It’s stopped raining and suddenly I sound like two buffalo heading uphill to dinner. Oh yeah,... I blow the whistle but doubt there’s anyone close enough to hear it. Surely, I think to myself, the end is near... Yessssss! A power line easement. Beer near! Splash, splash, splash...SNAKE!
Wait a minute... What’s a snake doing out on a cold day like this? Since when do water snakes in this part of the world coil up like rattle snakes? Cute Hare. The snake has an interesting bend in his body just behind his head. Gotta be dead. Still... aw, fuck it! Splash, splash, squish, splash, slide, stop: back check! Splash, splash, squish, slide, turn, slog, slog, slog, groan... a long easement downhill through the grass and mud with a very big check at the bottom. Oh! Oh! Oh! What to do? Getting tired; already hurt; moving slow; cold; wet; tired. Hmmm. I got it: cheat!
Fuck the hare. Take the easiest path; down the hill, up the road and on over the next hill. If I’m wrong the pack will catch up and let me know which way I’m supposed to go, or, I can probably catch up with whoever is leading the pack. Whew. I have to run a long way to get where I think I should be. Where the hell is everybody? Uh-Oh. The road I’ve taken turns into a peculiar intersection of several grassy roads and a paved road. Damn. Now I’m probably lost for good. Too many choices. Time to circle the wagons.
If I’m really lost and God is watching the best I can do is look busy. The road offers easy running so I start back in a big loop sort of the way I came. Up ahead some kind of noisy gas plant or something with a big fence around it. “Great,” I think, “not only am I probably lost, now I can’t hear anything but this damn plant!” Looking for the source of the noise (so I can quickly get away from it) I see Estrus pulling his feet out of the mud on the opposite side of the plant. “How about that,” I think, “the rotten bastard is out here running around by himself and doesn’t say a damn thing!” Offended, (imagine somebody (else) doing that) I take the high road to good manners and I shout, “Are you?” He sees me and says something that sounds like, “Maft ftet eates quarkeset fillet’em!” Uh-huh.
He makes his way around the plant while I pretend to wait impatiently. Actually, I’m pooped and walk a few steps to look busy. Hey, what’s that gigantic check doing here? Etrus comes up babbling about following trial, the mud, the fact that there are so few planes around here, and a car he saw once on TV. “Is that a check?,” he asks as my eyeballs see white blobs of flour going down the right side of a street towards some weird looking buildings. “Well, it was..” I say running away from the check following the flour that probably leads to a false. “Are you on?” asks Estrus. “Wait a minute,” I think, and turn around thinking that this sounds just like the conversations I have at home with Cocker. “Yes,” I say, with undisguised impatience, “I’m “On,” that white stuff is flour and since it’s in plain sight it’s probably a false; but, since I came in that way and I’m going this way on a false... that way there (I point) is probably true trail. Why don’t you run that and I’ll run this, O.K.?”
Following what turned out to be a well marked false I realize I’m running in the old armory that my Dad insisted on taking the family too when I was about 10 years old. He thought it would be a cool thing to see, not realizing the government would take EVERYTHING out of the place before they let the public into it. I was way off trail by now but it was neat to see the place 30 years later all grown up in weeds with the doors hanging open. Last time I saw it it was neat as a pin with street signs, building markers and everything. At the end of the road I turned left figuring I’d find Estrus and the hare sucking beer while I was touring the grounds.
But, no Estrus and no hare. Now what? It was raining a bit again and there was a light breeze beginning to blow. Great, is it going to get cold again? I run back down another road the way I came and hit a check. Trail came in from the left on toilet paper. Where’s Estrus? Probably been here and gone. Which way? I look this way and that. Hell. I thought from what the hare said at the start that he’d probably picked one of these building to park the beer in; must be close. I go back to the check. Incredibly, Estrus appears far down the road about where I saw him last. I can’t really see him without my glasses but he’s dressed all in red and waving his arms. I signal check and he stops waving and runs towards me! Huh?
Figuring he is coming in on trail I decide, as weird as it seems, that the trail might go back in a quick turn to one of the many building sitting about in the armory. I follow the trail through the shig to an arrow pointing the way I came. Not great news but it helps. I turn around and start back to the check as Estrus gets to it. “Are you?” he’s asking. “Arrow,” I keep saying. We both keep asking and answering the same thing. I’m out of breath when I get back to the check but Estrus keeps asking me if I’m on and if I know where we are...
I’m trying to figure out what we’re doing and Estrus launches into a history of some pipeline company which leased the armory for pipe storage after the government took their stuff out. I can’t figure what this has to do with the Hash and try and ask him what he was doing since I last saw him. He’s says something about trying to follow trail and goes back to his story.
I hear someone shouting, “Are you?” and “On-On” and try to shush Estrus. “Hey, did you hear that; somebody out here is hollering On-On! “Oh, I didn’t hear anything,” he says, and by now he’s gotten to the Houston Oil Boom/Bust of the 80s with his story. Looking around without my glasses I interrupt him to ask, “Hey, look over there. See that light spot behind that black building? Isn’t that somebody; are they yelling at us?” Estrus, concentrates for a second and says, “Well, it could be...but I think this company’s name was BSI or BST and there was quite a debate for some time about...”
Now, I hear a faint “On-On” from the way we came on trail and I realize we’re probably very close to the end with the entire pack somewhere nearby. Estrus is saying, “Yeah, there was pipe all over this place...” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” For a moment complete silence. “Look,” I say, “I’m going this way. I came from that way; the trail came from that way; you came from that way and this is about all that’s left. Estrus comments, “Yeah, but I don’t see any trail THAT way.”
“Geeez,” I think slogging down the cold muddy road bank and into colder muddy water that’s streaked with oil, “he’s really a nice guy and seems to follow trail pretty good but he talks just like my wife!” Half way across this low open area I happen to think that this oil probably is part of some superfund cleanup that got left behind and here I am wading in it. (Such-a-day-I-am-having!) Now, I’m thinking, if Estrus wants to chat why didn’t he remind me they used to keep chemical and biological warfare weapons in places like this and I’m currently going across the only area in the armory that has obviously been savagely dug up and hauled away.... “Wife like,” from the road where I left him, Estrus shouts, “Hey, that was somebody yelling at us and now they’re running this way.” Great, now he tells me.
Turns out it’s one of the hares, Baby Huey. “Hey, what’s with you wankers? I’ve been yelling at you for five minutes!” I’m tired and harassed. I whine, “Estrus was talking so much I couldn’t hear you; what’s the deal? Huey relates that there are arrows in the buildings indicating true trail. Oh. And, he volunteers, the end isn’t too far away. Oh..., very good!
Estrus comes across the mud and Huey goes to hunt the main pack. Estrus and I do the last part of the trail and find the end (?). Oops; it’s a beer check! All Wet Bush and Horney Dog are passing out canned beer. Not wanting to get cold again I find the “out” trail and keep going. Wonderful stuff, these woods, very pretty and much easier running. Many more abandoned buildings and very overgrown roads. I almost make it completely out of the old armory and onto the Beltway when I hit another back check; Crapola! Good hare... What is this four or five? I piddle around a minute and head back towards the last check.
Gonad and Tuna Helper, catching up at last, find trail down another over-grown armory road and we run half the length of the armory again. Very nice, but it’s getting late in the day. Trail hits the woods once more. More checks and falses. Blowing through a false and hopping a rusty barbed-wire fence I get on the Beltway right of way and run to a high bridge and start up. Just then I see Mad Maxx and some walkers walking under the bridge. The On-In was uneventful. The hares had told everyone how to shortcut at the beer check. Nice for them, I guess... Oh well, everybody had a great run!
The On-Home under the bridge seemed warmer than it should have been. We were on trail for over and hour and a half and the front had blown completely through. Behind the front was another front which brought warmer air. Lucky us! The hares had plenty of beer and good munchies. The beer wasn’t freezing cold and went very well with the cookies, bananas, and chips the hares brought. Yum-yum. We hashers are such culinary snobs.
Gonad served a fine turn as RA and everyone did extra downdowns. The whole thing was a lot more fun with a smaller group. Someone said they were hoping Austin and Little Rock would take away a bunch of hashers more often. The crowd cheered the suggestion.
Good trail, challenging weather, more than enough beer; what a great day to be a Hasher!
Thanks, Baby Huey and All Wet Bush, for a great Hash!
On-On!!!
P.T.