Mostly dressed in red, white and blue, the pack met off Hwy 290 on this sunny Sunday afternoon. Remembering my newly-found talent for missing water checks, I filled my water bottle with ice from the keg to prepare for the trail. Will-he-Peter agreed this was acceptable since the keg got to ride in the air-conditioned van. They sent us off, only to find a false about 300 meters away (metric for this UK theme). I didn't see any check, but no matter, we'll just TURN AROUND. Trail was found down the street, and flour led us into a challenging shiggy field, complete with briars, sharp grass, and ankle-twisting dirt clods. At the next check I believe the marked trail went behind some warehouses towards a poison ivy infested railroad track, but I didn't. Twirly Man & I took off down the street towards Hempstead Hwy., where we found Ass Grabber claiming a Bald Eagle spotting. You see, although the hares insisted that the on-home was not at the Peppermill Drive abode of Dickless Tracy, we felt it would be damn near to it. Ergo, a passle (sp?) of us, including Saran Crap and Estrus heading south and 'lo & behold, we found flour! After this point, the checks were fairly soft so the small pack of us had little difficulty (the heat not withstanding) in finding trail & sticking together. The trail was fairly pleasant, we navigated teh neighborhood down tree-lined streets, lots of concrete bayous, past several obligatory barking pooches, and yes, the bane of a short-cutter's existence, I did miss the water check, as I predicted. We followed trail into a power line easement that I remembered from the Hangover Hash on January 1, but they had added a chain-link fence to the spot where we were to cross into the next field. Ick. Ass Grabber & I reached the on-home with great celebration! Yes it was a familiar spot, where they ended the november '96 Hard Dick Run, basically across the street from Dickless's house. The usual socailized and comparison of our hash wounds commenced. Boy George & I reminisced about the singing of patriotic songs during Saturday's fireworks display, and whether or not "Dixie" was appropriate in the shadow of the now-demolished Allen Parkway Village. After the pack came in & we chased off all of the mountain bikers, we circled-up & duly battered up Red Snapper with flour for her virgin hare experience. I supposed that the forthcoming frolic in the hot tub would be a kind substitute for a deep fryer. No successful namings and very few accusations came from this circle; but the keg was running low, and I think the hash was salivating over the brisket, baked potatoes & other treats provied by the hares at the on-on-on. On, & they explained the beer shortage with a beverage they had purchased to accompany our meal, Pimm's number 1 cup, another English treat. Despite Muscle Phart's whining about such a decision, they went and bought more beer for us to enjoy in the hot tub. Another holiday weekend drew to a close, and another successful hash in our memories to take us thru the coming work week...on, on.. XXOO, gaslight |
The Escape from England Run Sunday, July 5th Your Hares: Dickless Tracy, Red Snapper, & Rowdy