Start: Lorimer Street (L) and Metropolitan Avenue (G)
On-In: East River Bar
[Author’s Note: a slight smirk crossed my face when I realized my last write-up also involved a Lorimer/Metropolitan start. Apparently, I am now the (un-)official scribe from this start. Williamsburg hares, you are hereby put on notice.]
We gathered at the start, some of us resplendent in our bright orange Brooklyn Half tech shirts (what a bunch of race-ists…). After totally obscuring the rear window of the bag-hagging vehicle with our copious amount of gear, we set out in search of hash arrows and the mysteriously intriguing “art check”. The trail wound its way under the BQE, up towards McGuinness Boulevard, then down towards the Williamsburg Bridge. The “art check” ended up being a place called the “Secret Project Robot” art gallery, which coincidentally enough was not home to robots, but to a fair-sized colony of wild cats. We encountered it on one of our pair of jaunts down towards the East River waterfront. A few turns later, we found ourselves at the foot of the Williamsburg Bridge, at our on-in. We enjoyed the outdoor seating and some delicious pizza before we were called to order for the following down-downs:
– Hedgehog, for haring a trail that the pack seemed to generally enjoy
– Visitors: technically two, Sandy Syphilis and Barf Fly, who were heartily welcomed back to the BH3
– Technically Foul, who is now a proud Master of Defense Against the Dark Arts, or as the Germans call it “Psychologie”
– Doggie Erectus, whose sexy tan lines really brought out his lobster-esque glow, and brought out an ode to his nipples courtesy of Ding!
– Rack N’ Roll Her, who so prizes funky hashers that she didn’t want Screaming O to change
– Just Mika who, puzzled by the aforementioned Rack-and-funk game, changed in the DJ Booth, and she was also subsequently acknowledged as a visitor, from the great state of “her couch”
– Speedo Gonzalez, who Axe body sprayed not only himself, but Axed out the entire bathroom as well, in a vain attempt to clear the air
– Eager for Beaver, who outclassed us all and wore a suit to the on-in. Really?
While some troops stayed behind and continued on, a mini-pack of hashers, myself included, trekked to the G train, and hilarity ensued, as often happens when you combine drinking with an admixture of running, in that glorious pastime we call “hashing”.