NYCH3 # 1069

NYCH3 #1069, September 15, 2004

HARES: American Dave, Steve, Rudy, Junior

START: Broadway & Lafayette

On In: Cody’s, Hudson & Spring

Scribe: Mean Jean

I may be wrong but I believe the Book of Revelations foretells that the end of the world as we know it shall be preceded by a series of events including, but not limited to, a Republican National Convention coming to New York City, a series of devastating hurricanes and the unlikely event that American Dave, Steve and Rudy would be allowed to set trail again.

 

Well, perhaps not the end of the world but for the second week in a row, hurricane spurts and farts played out on our little hash. But while last week we only suffered mist and humidity on trail, this week we got pissed on for the duration. Overcast all day, the clouds opened up just as the bulk of the pack was arriving at Broadway & Lafayette Street. About 20 of us huddled against the wall, under the mistaken notion that a 3 inch overhang was going to help us in any way, shape, or form. American Dave #whatever was going on and on about a glorious trail set in magic waterproof chalk, that there was a beer check just steps from the On In, that monkeys would fly out of his ass, that Bush would keep the White House, and other great untruths (though the monkey part wouldn’t surprise me). Just as the chalk talk was finishing up and my wet t-shirt was securely cemented to my skin, a second pack, let’s call them the “smarter” pack, emerged from under the full awnings a block away on Crosby. This made us about 40 strong and we were directed to follow the swift and sure-footed Rudy to the beer check. Now there was absolutely no sign nor remnant of a trail but naturally our quick-footed, slow-witted FRBs still raced out ahead of the pack and Rudy to the east only slowing at about Elizabeth Street when the realization they had no idea where to go caught up to their fast wheels. Of course, those dolts never seem to know where they are going anyway so… Rudy seemed to shift into fifth gear as he headed south and poor l’il me had to motor on to keep up lest I be left wandering the streets of Little Italy with nary a mark not beer in site. Lisa, Andrea, Ookie Cookie and I kept pace at the back and Dave Too Long kindly bridged the gap between the two disparate-speeded packs (though I daresay in his best interest to do so if he had any hope of getting any that night!).

 

Hard to tell in the rain and dark but I think Rudy loop-de-looped us a bit round Chinatown to add some oomph to an otherwise uninteresting, unchecked trail until lo and behold we arrive at the park where the beer check was. For some reason, beer check Carol Marrill Junior shouted us into the park when he was clearly standing outside of it leading some of our more buff and studly (read stupid) types (ummm, could Patrick have been one of them?) to climb the 7-foot fence rather than walking the 20 yards round. I’m sorry to say the fairer sex was represented in this group by Mastercard who got stuck at the apex of said fence, crouched and shivering and ready to become a Kim Kebob as the boys all shouted useful things such as “throw off your t-shirt and jog bra and I’ll catch you” and  “jump, jump”. With a little prompting from the more problem-solver oriented among us, a human step ladder was formed and down she came to enjoy her well-earned, warm Coors Light. 

 

At this juncture, one assumes one is no more than a few minutes away from the On In and given the weather conditions you can understand the crowd’s malaise when told the On In location was clear across the island on Spring and Hudson.  Never fear, beer is (somewhat) near. So the FRBs form their little we-run-so-darn-fast pack and raced off. And after fixing my position with my GPS system (Junior), I took Ookie Cookie and we headed for a leisurely run to the west side stopping along the way for cash and some shopping.

 

The On In was a dear favorite, Cody’s, site of the 1001st r*n of the NYCH3. Anyone who hashed that trail will tell you tales of probably one of the most memorable On Ins ever. It featured the song stylings of the venerable Ian Cummings (gotta love the Little Birdie with a Little Asshole song!); love spats between Kyle and Cree over 1000th R*n Weekend mascot, Heart On, the Bear; full frontal nudity by Ian and Liam (still in therapy since that one); the then-Kim getting her toes sucked by a visitor; the depantsing of, and subsequent debut of, Tripod; and I could go on.  Suffice to say we were happy to be back at Cody’s after a long absence. And indeed they came through as usual with free-flowing beer (how often do you get to enjoy a Lowenbrau in the city anymore?!?!?) and their extra yummy pasta dishes.  Even though the place more resembled a giant clothes line than a bar, we settled in and made our way into dry clothes as Bottom made a killing on “warm, dry” haberdashery. Last week’s virgin Joanna was back; it was also nice to see a not-often-enough visit from the Saint; the British cadre holding court in the corner included old timer Doug Gooley (spelling?) along with Roy, Burke, and the Body, and was likely lamenting the loss of the days when the sun never set on the Hash; Mike Bahamonde, Dr Steve  and Cockstar were civilian-style.

 

JM Dave Long was solo at the circle but in rare form. First up were the Hares, Dave, Steve, Rudy, and Junior for another downtown fiasco. Junior stayed up for calling the pack inside the park when he—and, more importantly, the beer–was clearly outside the park. The Hares all up again, this time to alert them they were frontrunners for worst trail and worst non-trail of the year so far. Dave stayed up again for positioning the beer check so far from the On In but once up there everyone agreed it was better to give him a down down for that ugly shirt instead. Virgins & Visitors: one Virgin, six-foot stunner Karen, (who though probably dry since the run was now getting drooled over by our esteemed JM) and of course, Roy Dogface Gilbert, visiting us from Hong Kong. Karen had to stay up to relate her on-trail jog bra crisis (what jog bra? She was wearing a bikini top!).  Long absent Kyle, still on the disabled list since the freak trampolining accident in the New Jersey suburbs, was called up to be officially named, Jumping Jack Gash. And finally, the AOTW, quite naturally, to Mastercard for fence-climbing non-prowess.

 

I’m told the die-hards kept on until the wee hours, but with the end of the world coming, I played it safe and high-tailed it home where my duct tape, flashlight, gallon of water, and D batteries were waiting and would be of absolutely no use.

 

On out.


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