Come on the Record's 1700th R*n Extravaganza @ George Winter Jefferson County Park
Hash Trash:
It is with heavy heart I write here my recountings and living nightmares of the trail that ensued on the day June the 8th in the year of our Gispert, 2022.
When the Kennel had been assembled upon the banks of the George Winters preserve they had made circle and had steeled themselves for what was purported to be a most pugnacious and irredeemable trail that offered little glory and much heartbreak. The offending Hares, to little fanfare, had prescribed to them a set of warnings in what at the time was seen as an act of bravado and cocksure gesticulations but, upon further reflection can now be seen as an act of mercy.
After much delay the inexperienced motley of regulars took to the column in a smattering of hoops and hollers, betraying their green horn inexperience, or mayhaps as it was, a sign of their own I'll placed arrogance.
The road to the beer stop, at first, was paved. A long stretch of winding, shoulderless, pavement. Little sign was left to guide the Kennel and they marched forward, ignorant of the sharp turn into the park. When a scouting party consisting of one Whiney Bitch, an experienced Hashers who would often boast of over 800 trails, and Wet Spot, who in her own right had Hashes that also numbered well in the triple digits though within another regiment, found trail into the woods, the hearts of column sank. The elasticity of shiggy socks were tested in the direst of poison ivy afflicted bramble and the resolve dwindled with the setting sun.
A hash halt was made by the offending Hares and all the kennel was stalled and regrouped to move as one mighty force. It was then that Lock Nut Monster, bearing the uniform of an entirely different kennel arrived to much fanfare. They continued, but upon the banks of the Meremac jutty the company quickly lost all courage. Any vessels of transport that might've aided the kennel were gone either by fire, sinking, or never having existed at all. With taunting pose and gray uniform, the hares stood opposite the column demanding that they ford the river and take them presently with all haste and reckless abandon. It is at this time that the company broke with Rudy and Quarter pound me leading the way to route the hares back at the Circle and reclaim the beer there for future re-supply. A cunning move.
Upon the banks of the river the kennel, sopping wet and shiggy socks weighing up on their ankles like shackles, availed themselves to the sweetest of warm Busch lights. It is here that Sweet Ho, a regular called in from Alabama, regailed the camp with tales of Ms. Marvel, Marvelous Ms Maisel and other alliteratively named heroins. The hares, now in their grasp, took advantage of the moistened group's revelry and slipped off among the beached flotsam into the briar of the park. Despondent the company rallied behind the single craniumlamp, borne by Roadkill, to march single file through the woods with a scouting group to assess signs for their pursuit. Upon this trek is when Sweet Ho was felled four separate times by the untamed wooden bestiary.
Another beach, this time a craggy and pebble firmed bay, was the makeshift highway for the unfortunates. The warm beer now faded from memory, they clung closely together for warmth of body and of soul. After summiting the last of the precipices the kennel was able to smartly deduce the camp and with almost a ravenous fervor they made for the camp in an all out move of desperation. Here they were rejoined by Pound me and Rudy for a blitz over sloppy crags and tangled vine. Tripping and galloping.
It is with bittersweet words I tell you that the kennels foes we're, at last, accosted and tried in a court of Hashial Law. The offending Hares we're found guilty in a unanimous verdict of the high crime of Shitty Trail. ~ Vomit Comet
Directions:
🎺 🎺 🎺 hiphop horns hype alert 🎺🎺🎺
An incoming out-of-towner requested an awful, no-good, terrible trail next Wednesday so the two grumpiest hares in the world, Ashby Tyler und I, are set to oblige her. South of 270 area. Tell your boss you gotta jet early and that’ll you be late on Thursday. Seal up open wounds. Hydrate. Bring your water wings. See you on the beach!
😘 👋 🏃♂️ 🏃♀️🏊♀️🏊♂️🏝🍺🏊♀️🏊♂️🏃♀️🏃♂️🍺🤮🍺🍕😴
$7 hash cash
George Winter Jefferson County Park SOUTH LOT https://goo.gl/maps/vqdYWqmkmEGFWfZ66
