Hare: Just Dave
Start/Prelube: Lincoln Park Tavern, 49 Lincoln Rd (btw Ocean Ave & Flatbush)
On In: Greenwood Park
Date: Aug 4 2014
Brooklyn Hash #734
Scribe: Eager for Beaver
There was a time at the hash when we had – nay, enjoyed – an overabundance of Just Daves. Hash naming probably adopted by New York City just to make it easier for the Daves to know which of them was being referred to, probably. One by one, the Daves would each do something stupid – set trails that were ‘Too Long’, pull his shorts down at the on in to reveal his ‘Tripod’, etc. – to earn hash names. Naming solved the problem – at least until we had to start all over again when we got a wave of Erics. Our hare tonight hasn’t dropped trou or set terribly long trails – yet – so for now he’s still Just Dave.
The prelube – yay for prelubes – was Lincoln Park Tavern, which looks like a pretty serviceable place for an on in, meaning that it is horribly run down and smells like cats. Unfortunately for the bartender, this was only the start for us, so he was stuck serving ice water while we waited around for the show to start.
Paranoid Just Dave thought ahead – perhaps, overthought ahead – posting urgent messages for bag help despite arriving with a civilian and a truck to take bags. Guess the hare won’t be needing any help after all. He did fail to warn the pack to bring proof of age, as the on-in would be carding us. This worked out for Cheeky Bastard, who just got his drivers license. Those of us who might not have brought ID had to depend on the ravages of time to smooth our entrance to the on in.
Along with the virgin in the pack, we had a visitor from Arkansas. She introduced herself as White Trash, to which we responded, yeah but what’s your hash name? White Trash hadn’t heard that one before.
Where did the trail go? Well, that’s always a great question to ask someone who was paying attention. It was hot and humid, so when I heard the hare announce that I had over 5 miles to look forward to, I didn’t spend a lot of effort checking out the sights. I do know that we did some running around Crown Heights, then did some distance in Flatbush, then found ourselves running up that trail-ish hill in Prospect Park that everyone remembers to tell you is the highest elevation in the park. That’s where we found Just Dave armed with 5 or 6 liters of some awful liquor/drank concoction that tasted a lot like really old Tang. We hung out there for some time, apparently deciding that choking down this bitter brew was preferable to choking down the rest of the trail. As the pack ran ran back down the hill to pick up the trail, both Terminally Anal and Doggie Erectus independently commented that “it is all downhill from here – metaphorically”, instantly depressing the hashers they were each running with.
I’d like to take a minute to praise the recently renamed Scooter Douche, formerly Slow to Blow. He zips along on every trail on his Razor; yelling at civilians, drivers, and other hashers; and, despite being on wheels, not solving a single check. At the Drink Check, we all noticed Scooter Douche not only trail-blocking a civilian runner with his little vehicle but then start his wind up to yell at the guy for being obstructed by him.
Scooter Douche also spent some time on trail negotiating to buy what he thought were water pistols from some street kids. When the gang responded that they weren’t loaded with water, SD thought better of the whole idea and rejoined the pack.
Unfortunately, the drink check was at the trail’s halfway point, so there was a bunch more now-boozed up/upset stomach hashing left. Trail took us to Windsor Terrace and, eventually, the on in at Greenwood Park.
Yours truly and our RA Cheeky handed out down downs. A virgin whose name has been lost to the ages got his; White Trash gave us a complicated song that only Cheeky knew the words to; Scooter Douche and Blackout for trying to steal toys from children; Terminally Anal for window-shopping at a CVS, and Just Chris for impressing her with “I flipped this property 15 years ago”; T.A. and Doggie for bringing the mood of the pack down – metaphorically; Just Dave (damn, there’s another Dave already) for telling us about his past loves, including one very special 7 year old; guess who complaining about the drink check (Smashmouth) and guess who else still drinking it at the on in (Terminally Anal); and Scooter Douche for off-road scooting. In recompense for getting called up to every circle for the past month or two, Scooter Douche received a random abuse of power down down, which he very appropriately gave to Whoremaster.