NYCH3 # 1061

NYCH3 #1061, July 21, 2004

HARES: Mike Bahamonde and Karen

Start: Lafayette and Houston

On In: Patriot

Scribe: Mean Jean

Trail n.

    1. A marked or beaten path, as through woods or wilderness or Chinatown.
    2. An overland route: the hare’s trail across southern Manhattan.
    1. A mark, trace, course, or path left by a moving body.
    2. The scent of a person or animal: The pack lost the trail of the hare.

Hare n.

Any of various mammals of the family Leporidae, especially of the genus Lepus, similar to rabbits but having longer ears and legs and giving birth to active, furred young.


Clusterfuck n.

  1. A group of the same or similar badly devised elements such as a trail and a hare gathered or occurring closely together; a bunch of crap. The hare laid a clusterfuck of a trail.

Just try and get the image of Mike Bahamonde giving birth to “active, furred young” out of your head anytime soon!

These things always start innocently enough. A group of runners standing on a street corner, the only thing standing between them and the sweet taste of carbonated hops and barley are a few miles of chalk arrows and one man’s version of suitably interesting  checks. The scene is made all the more poignant by the large number of virgins and visitors present. A pig-tailed Lisa was entertaining a few virgins. Norma and Leo were working their way into position as new hash regulars. As always, we enjoyed a welcome guest appearance by prodigal wise-ass Jim Leary. Scooter Gleason, old- married-fart Rich, Dave Too Long, Patrick Too Drunk, and Doug Too Many Women, Too Little Time were at the ready. Numbnuts was off the boat and even Stacey and Dara were in the mix.

Mike Bahamonde and helper Karen soon arrived to send us on our merry ways. We were introduced to a new mark:                           



Apparently this mark was a cross between a YBF (You’ve Been Fucked) and an actual mark as its purpose was to send you back to the last mark and then make a left or some such. At any rate, off we went. North on Lafayette, then east towards a check at Cooper Square. The pack got stuck around Astor Place and St. Marks while FRBs rooted out every false trail. When Patrick (the sober one) and I mentioned passing an arrow going in the completely opposite direction of trail back on Bowery, we got going again. Back on Houston heading east to the Allen Street park where down around Rivington on the west side of the park, we encountered our first “Bahamonde Special” mark which sent us back to Houston St and a check in the middle of the northernmost part of the park. The pack took off east again on Houston following a false trail cleverly marked F behind a construction site. Back to the Allen Street park and this time along the east side til Delancey. I’m only being this detailed so you can get a sense of the giant Jackson Pollack-like squiggle this trail was turning into…you can just see the Cheshire Grin on Mike’s face as he concocted this madness.


Oh, it’s not over yet. The largest circle jerk on record, encompassing about 3 city blocks, brought us to a stand still near the entrance to the Manhattan Bridge before Burke, Dave Long, Numbnuts and Scot basically ran a square mile radius to find us some trail, any trail, which we quickly lost again before a stomp into Chinatown  (appearance by late-arriving Scottish Andrew; how the hell did he follow that mess of crossed out and otherwise dubious pack marks? And by the by, who’s giving chalk to virgins these days?), toward Seward Park, through the courthouses and over to the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge where even the most die-hard hashers had had just about enough when the trail pointed across the bridge. Another one of those Bahamonde specials surely awaited us somewhere over the crest. Scot, Lisa, Leo and company stayed put as eager Norma set off in search and the rest of us began trading assumptions of where the on in might be. Eventually the sea of angry hashers parted and LA Bruce, like a vision of the burning bush, spoke to us: “I was late and saw the On In marked at the start.” Off through City Hall Park on our way to find the Golden Calf at the Patriot, hallelujah!


At least the Patriot always brings comfort and joy to a trail-weary pack and indeed, we muddled through on the wings of bodacious barmaids, loud country music and plentiful beer and pizza.  Civilian attendees included Kyle, Junior, Mastercard and MJ’s Scottish cousin Elaine and her boyfriend, Jamie. Our work-weary JM, Got Wood?, got down to the business of trying to make sense of this mess with suitable down downs:


  • Hares Mike B and Karen
  • Mike B was asked to stay behind and Got Wood asked Scot to come up for some color commentary on his next down down; Scot’s position was that Mike didn’t deserve anymore beer for that trail
  • Patrick Too Drunk was next for using one of the many checking breaks to pop into a bar for a, um, pop
  • Mean Jean for falling from a standing position at the start
  • V&Vs: Miryumi from Japan, Wolfgang, Doug, Art, Brian, and Son of Shit visiting from SFH3
  • Despite her painfully slow down down style, Got Wood had to keep Miryumi up for running on trail with her little purple clutch purse; American Dave (the wacky one not the Fast one) took over the down down, donned the purse and downed the beer Miryumi-style
  • Patrick (the not-so-drunk one) was one of two shiny new pair of shoes in the pack; he took his shoeful like a man but complete and utter asshole guy, Lou, refused to drink out of his show. This led of course to the obvious question: “Well, you don’t like the shoe but how do you feel about drinking out of a plunger?”
  • But, the AOTW was a far, far better asshole than one could imagine for he dumped all the plunger contents on the bar floor; we let Dave take this down down and a big kick in the ass to Lou. We look forward to never seeing you again!


The usual Patriot shenanigans ensued into the night. The barmaids poured loosely whilst the male hashers hoped that wasn’t the only thing they did loosely. The female hashers fought the urge to dance on the bar successfully (maybe because the Poster Child for Restrained Behavior in Bars–me, that is–was present). And even Timmy was behaved! Trail be damned, still a fine night for hashing.



    1. Used to indicate actual motion toward, against, or onto: jumped on the bar.
    2. Used to indicate figurative or abstract motion toward, against, or onto: going on midnight; Kyle came on strong with the barmaid.


  1. In a direction away from the inside: Let’s go out and suck face.
  2. Away from a usual place: uncharacteristically stepped out of the bar.
  3. To exhaustion or depletion: The beer has run out.
  4. Into possession of another or others; into distribution: putting out.


  1. Unconscious: he passed out from all the beer.
  2. No longer existing in one’s possession or supplies: I can’t offer you beer because we’re out.


  1. Informal. A means of escape: Stopping drinking was my only out.