Hash # 1,041, Sunday March 7, 2004
Hares: Shana & Daniel
Start:: 106th & Riverside Drive
On-In: Broadway Dive, 103rd & Broadway
GUEST Scribe: Jesse
The Wild, the Innocent, and the 125th Street Shuffle
It was an inauspicious start, though most hash starts are. Jean says I’m too angry. I think it’s just that I’ve been hashing longer than her. I’ve lost hope. She still has some. I think that’s cute. Anyway, a cursory glance at the receding hareline told me a start at 103rd Street and Broadway. Nothing. Nada. No marks as far as the eye could see. Plus, no cell phone, no quarters, and no watch led to more anxiety. My “f@ck-it go home” instinct was kicking in, but then fortune smiled, sortof, and Sideshow Bob was seen ambling towards me. With more complete information, we wandered to the start at 106th and Riverside Drive, where a rather large pack had congregated already. The sun beamed down at us, burning off the rust of winter and hinting at the coming spring.
“Gutentag” said the tall German. “You have nothing to fear.” My god, we’re done for.
The trail headed off straight into Riverside Park, and within moments the first check sent the pack to every compass point. While I diligently supervised the checking, it took only moments to realize the trail was gonna be a cluster f@ck. Hashers could be seen in every direction, with a universal look of exasperation. Finally, improbably, trail was picked up heading north. Well, not really trail. One mark pointed north, and then once again we were on our own.
We headed up the Riverside paths and off them, running (and falling) over gates and hillside shiggy when the hint of trail was exhausted once again. Another ten minutes of bitter checking discovered trail heading North through the park above Grant’s tomb, and a fairly acceptable trail led somewhat clearly up to 135th street, with marks cleverly hid under homeless men and inside dumpsters. The scattered marks then turned back South through St. Nicholas park. By now the pack was fractured into separate unhappy groups, ready for a fight.
It was around this time that Kyle, running with a posse of pretty virgins, was detained by New York’s Finest. Matching the description of an obvious sociopath threatening the neighborhood with a gun, and in his black running pants and white shirt, already looking suspicious, Kyle was questioned about his motives and alibi. With witnesses attesting to his whereabouts, no charges were filed and he was allowed to finish the trail.
It was a little before that time when a New York hash virgin named Tom was hit with mango peels thrown by an elderly woman trying out for the Mets (I hear she’s got a shot). In justified rage, he naturally responded by promising to return with his badge and gun. And witnesses remember that he promptly returned his attention to the trail.
From there it all becomes murky. Overcome by fatigue and hopelessness, a bastard of a check at 122nd and Adam Clayton Powell Blvd was the endgame for most, and Verizon’s cell phone relay towers crashed as innumerable hashers called the hotline. From there, only the strong made it, and those dumb enough to forget their cell phones. Roy and Ewa ran it too. The trail meandered towards Central Park before heading towards a tiny dive with the clever appellation “Broadway Dive.” If the trail was spread out and open, the bar was just the opposite. Every square inch was absorbed by sweaty hashers thirsty for a beer.
The funny thing about the hash, there is a certain justice to it all. Good hashes get forgotten, but bad hashes live forever in infamy. So this trail, a WTOTY honorable mention, and its vicious hares, were dealt with harshly. Shana and Daniel drank their share and gracefully accepted blame, three times. Two on-trail wipeouts, Steve and myself (accepted by American Dave #6) were noted, and Tricia Hoffman’s new shoe abuse was acknowledged as well. Virgin Erin was welcomed, and visitors Tom and company drank for moving to NY, and being idiots in general because they didn’t know whether they were visitors or virgins. Finally, Tom accepted his well deserved AOTW for starting fights in Harlem and leaving Kyle to take the fall.
Then, pizza came, chicken wings arrived, the beer ran out before the food, Peter whined, the women ran off with Tom Jones, and the rest of us went home.
Philosophical question of the day: Would Tom Jones be allowed to keep his hat on in the circle?