BH3 #471

BH3 #471 – Tour de Brooklyn, Leg 5 – Buh Bye Blackout

Hares: Dogface and Headlights

Start: Sheepshead Bay Road

On In: 773 Lounge in Midwood

Scribe: Technically Foul

This one might take the prize for least interesting trail of the year.  It was a dank, hot evening in late July when the pack met at the Sheepshead Bay stop for the fifth leg of the Tour de Brooklyn.  The hare informed us that due to potential rain, the trail would have minimal checks, and 1 mark meant you were on.  Oh and as the start and finish were 4 miles apart, this would be a 6 mile trail, enjoy!  Poor running conditions, easily solved checks, few zigs, and a couple of zags, it was an unfortunately boring leg of the tour.  But the pack persevered, in search of beer.

We eventually arrived at the bar and were greeted by miniature bottles in the way of bud lights and heinekens.  I do like that the tiny bottles make me feel like a giant, though it is an odd Brooklyn trend.  Fortunately, there was also “better beer” on tap.  Pizza was consumed (rather viciously – have we no manners?) before the circle, as also seems to be the new trend in Brooklyn. 

And the down downs were given:

The hares, Dogface and Headlights — for their shitty trail.

Visitors – Epicenter and a hasher from Colorado who was decked out in patches. (“Patches?  We don’t need no stinking patches!”)

Bulldozer and Richard – for being visitors from Manhattan.

Babooon Ass — for wanting to fuck the virgins.

Tony — for his new shoes (and his original headpieces, no?)

The Colorado visitor — for wanting the virgin to drink out of her new shoes (poor form).  She paid the price by having to drink from the virgin’s shoe.

Epicenter — for bringing an overly ambitious virgin who ran trail and then ran back to the start to retrieve his car.

Yours truly – for reportedly “assaulting” someone on trail.

FMIG and Sari – for being whiny racists.

Blackout – for leaving, for being an FRB, for anecdotes, for leaving…we’ll miss you!

An unnamed hasher – for riding his bike to the start and returning to retrieve it after the on in, despite living in the neighborhood where the bar was.  

As the night went on, the pack drank through all the kegs at the bar (this is the second time, isn’t it) and was again reduced to miniature bottles until hash cash ran out.  Splat amused with foul songs, Garmins were compared, the Mets won and the subway ride home was once again the place to be.


Technically Foul