NYCH3#1180

NYCH3#1180
Sunday (!), October 1, 2006
Start: 110th and Broadway
Hares: Dave Hardy and YankIT!
On-In: Roadhouse (Amsterdam and 101st)
Scribe: Jenn


 

It had finally stopped raining and the sun was shining. A small pack for such a lovely day and off we went.

We skimmed through Riverside Park, went uptown and uphill to 135th St. and then went downhill into Morningside Park. As any NYC hasher can tell you, once you go down the 14 flights of stairs in this park you will eventually be tortured with even more going up and we were. The trail must have continued for a while but some of us just kept going on Amsterdam, either knowing or assuming we knew where the on-in was.

My hot blonde friend Ilene was our only virgin (and no I’ve never made her c*m before) and there were no visitors. Molly, who’s been using a yelp/squeal/chirp on-on call for quite some time, was given a down-down for it again. She was confused as to why but then admitted to hearing someone else on trail responding in almost a mating-call type of way to her which egged on her on even more.

Only Heather and I were foolish enough to r*n both the half-marathon that morning and then actually r*n the hash. Cockstar wanting to the hash to be equal-opportunity race-ists also called up the hashers who had r*n in the torrential downpour of the morning but more intelligently skipped trail. These included Lesley, Wet Connection, Kara, Lisa, and Joe Pennsylvania.

The hares had led us down a “dirt” path just west of 12th avenue leading north to 125th street. Each successive step down was like another level of Dante’s hell. The first few steps had empty condom wrappers (well at least the city crackheads practice safe sex, right?). Then various drug paraphernalia. On we descended until the final levels which no one should ever have to speak of. Except that Smashmouth, while attempting to hurdle the last metal gate, to escape the lowest level of hell, slipped and fell in some, er, poo…which probably wasn’t from a dog.

And for our FRB goes A*shole of the Week. Alice, lost on trail, wandered right to the on-in. I hear the bartender had to use the house defibrillator on Fast American Dave when he came in a close second.

Pizza and a couple rounds of nachos kept the beer in our bellies company while inappropriate touching or the suggestion thereof occupied us for hours.

And the Mets won again.

On-out


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