June 6, 2007
HARES: Crawlaholic and Hot Rod
Start: 53rd and Seventh Ave
On In: Circus (9th Ave. and 44th)
Scribe: Mean Jean the Down Down Machine
Once they brought Roger “The Rocket” Clemens back to pitch for the ailing Yankees, it was inevitable that I would be called back in to service by the new committee. Okay, so it was just Blackout looking for a scribe but my ego decided to aggrandize the request just-the-same.
Walking up to the start at the corner of 53rd and Seventh Avenue, I encountered a large, swarming pack, probably 60 or so, on one of the first nice-weather-Wednesdays of the summer season. Ah yes, I remembered that well. Wrangling a loud and unruly crowd to circle up in some un-air-conditioned, too-tiny-to-move-in bar…nope, I wasn’t going to miss that! Giant smile on my face! Contrast that with the sheer panic on the faces of Crawlaholic and Hot Rod, our hares for the evening, and you get a pretty good picture.
“I think I know about 6 people here,” said Dr. Bruce, “and one of them is my dog.” (Did this doctor pass the Human Anatomy course??) That was about the average comment from the likes of Lauren, FMIG, Lesley, Too Long, Dave Hardy, and the other stalwart hashers. Probably a dozen virgins and visitors and a mess of what I’ll call “tweeners” (been to the hash a few of times, heading to “regular” status but not quite there yet; we’ll start trying to remember your name if we see still see you in August…) rounded out our pack. We were instructed that it was a relatively simple trail; a bit of chalk, a bit of flour, an eagle trail thrown in for good measure. Our pile of hash bags resembled the Arthur Kills landfill and thusly a few committee members stayed behind to help our hares get them into the cab(s).
We were sent off north on Seventh Ave and made haste into the Park where the first check at the foot of the stairs near the pond gave me time to catch up. Mastercard and I later lamented how this damn fast hash was getting damn faster still. While most of the pack headed west, true trail lay east and around the paths heading towards Wollman. Up a few craggy rocks and down and around and we wound up on the Fifth Ave extension leading to the East Drive. Crossing over said Drive, we went toward the mall. I got a nice contact high r*nning toward the Barbados Tourist Board event happening in the tent overlooking Bethesda. Could have used some munchies at that point but we headed west and up into the rambles where I met my new friends Nicole and _________ (oops, sorry, can’t remember name—will you still be here in August?). They were very sweet and waited for me and helped me ford a stream or two thinking it was my first hash. But being nice doesn’t pay—more on that later. Once out of the rambles, we left the park around 79th street and headed west around the Natural History Museum; was the usual Crawlaholic on in of Bourbon Street in the offing? Oh no, that crafty girl had other ideas and westward-ho (who you calling a Ho!?) we went. The chicken-eagle split came on Broadway and possibly for the first time in history, I willingly took the eagle trail which brought us a lovely extra mile along the river in Riverside Park. Up and out of the park at the giant staircase at 69th (who said 69?!) and over to Lincoln Center where r*nning through the dispensed graduating class of some-fine-institution-I’m-sure made finding trail a bit tricky but a lot more pleasant than what was to come: a crazy straight shot, about ¾ miles worth, down Ninth ave, save for some far-too-late-in-the-trail street crossing shenanigans. Ah well, at least it wasn’t Bourbon Street again.
Circus it was and it was indeed a “circus”. Yes, another un-air-conditioned, too-tiny-to-move-in bar! A narrow bar with a small back room and great outdoor space that….uhhhh, wasn’t open to us! Uh oh. Yes, the 58 minutes I was on trail had done nothing to calm the panic-struck faces of our venerable hares who were working their little pony tails off serving pitchers and collecting hash cash. A tight squeeze to be sure. And after contemplating a coup d'état to bring the pack to a larger establishment, I was soon reminded that like Fluffy getting into his stretchy r*nning shorts on a hot summer day, hashers have a way of squeezing themselves comfortably into any bar known on the planet Earth.
Down downs commenced with FMIG and Lauren leading the show. Hares were harassed for various offenses ranging from not enough stairs to too big an on in. Visitors next, I think just a couple including a girl who has just moved here (see me in August for her name). Virgins, far too many but as they were mostly chicks, FMIG still insisted on getting everyone’s name. Fast American Dave drank for exclaiming after going wrong at a check, “There goes my lead!” I was called back into action (“and now pitching for the New York Yankees…”) to regale the crowd with the story of Nicole mistaking me for a Virgin on trail (damn, what an ego I have, huh?). I believe Nicole was heard to utter, “that’s what I get for being nice”—another cynical New Yorker created! Chris and new Alice (pig tails?) had to drink from new shoes. Alice was suspect of the whole thing and, in a pean to Gia, began to refuse the down down. FMIG faked a beer tossing and we went to slow motion instant replay of last November’s heralded girl-on-girl bout, but then Mighty Mouse was there to save the day as Wil took her sneaker and showed her how it was done. AOTW went to Salt Lick [insert favorite annoying Salt Lick story here].
Pizza arrived. Old farts Burke, Peter, and Hardy set up shop in overheated back room where they proved that if you warm up an old fart, it’s as gaseous as ever. (Okay, Lesley, Wet Connection and I were there too but fart jokes just not as funny with girls). Young Guns Jeremy, Mark, and Drew perched atop a banquet in the front room and kept watch over all the action as the pizza arrived and all was well with the world.
108 pitches, 69 strikes, 349th W… all-in-all, not a bad return to action.