OH3 #380 - Louisville

A stone's throw from the Platte River on Hwy 50, lies the bustling metropolis of Louisville, Nebraska. The center of commerce within Louisville is Main street, which features tens of businesses, including a locally owned soft-serve ice cream kiosk called the "Dari Creme". It was to the Good Times Bar that we headed, in order to meet with our fellow hashers, and enjoy some pre-trail beer.

...And beer was enjoyed! Chalk Talk then commenced. Woody Wouldn't Pecker introduced the hare for the day's trail, and .Cum explained the markings that we would be seeing. Most were the typical markings you would expect, but there was the addition of an N inside a circle, which was to represent the "Naughty check." A hasher, upon reaching this check, was to stand there and bend over and wait for another hasher to give her a whack on the backside so she could step off the check. (The final person in line is expected to whack himself off, of course.) .Cum also admitted that he had done no scouting, and would be winging it for this trail.

Woody blessed the hare and sent him on his way, and the pack returned to the beer garden to drink more beer. Mile-High Motherfucker had another Jack&Coke as he is wont to do, but since they don't have a Jack&Coke garden, we shared the beer garden with him.

Once the beverages had been finished and our internal hash clocks told us that it had been more or less 15 minutes, we struck out in search of the first markings. The markings led us to the Naughty check, right in front of the bar, where presumably-tough people had parked their motorcycles.

As the pack got into finding trail, I began chatting with the only virgin in attendance, No Name Megan. Clearly a brave person, she had decided to find us based on a recommendation from a friend in another state who was a hasher. She did some research online and found us, and brought herself out to the middle of nowhere to hang out with a group of strangers, without a sponsor. Since I did the same thing for my first hash, she earned a special place in my heart, so I began briefing her on the hashing traditions so that she could avoid some of the newbie pitfalls.

The trail was almost entirely shiggy-free, and after only a little initial meandering through a residential area and over some train tracks (where a fantastic picture was taken of Marvin GayPal, Mile-High Motherfucker and Woody Wouldn't Pecker getting pelvic with a "No Humping" sign - I want a copy!!) it pretty much went North toward and over the Platte river. We crossed the bridge over the very full river, which churned brownly beneath us. Many dead things lay before us on this road. There were at least two squished snakes, a non-squished but clearly expired goldfinch, an undamaged but supine dragonfly, and both of the feet of what was probably a turkey. Other items found on trail included a condom wrapper, some munched carpet, a bicycle wrench, and many assorted items which were too cumbersome to carry with us for the sake of a joke.

On the North side of the river, we stopped at a bar with a lot of outdoor seating in a prettily shaded riverside area. The owners had a very friendly German shepherd romping around, and many hashers played fetch with him, much to his delight. Marvin GayPal left his prescription sunglasses in the bathroom accidentally, and they were gone a few minutes later when he went back in to find them. (I hope the prescription is only slightly off for the thieving bastard, so he'll get migraines.) After we'd had our fill of beer and fetch, we set back out on a trail which essentially Zen'd back to the Good Times Bar. Marvin GayPal was a few minutes behind us because he did one more sweep to look for his glasses and left his number with the bartender in case they showed up.

Back on Main street, 50 feet from the door of the bar, was another Naughty check. Thinking that MGP wouldn't be that far behind, I waited there. Then I waited, and waited... and waited. Remember that "Dari Creme" I told you about? MGP had decided to saunter over there and get a cone. He eventually showed up with his ice cream cone, smacked my ass and then his own, and we went into the bar. After I had glared at him for a little while, he went back and got me an ice cream cone too.

Once MGP returned, we circled up. We introduced ourselves, gave penalties to backsliders, fully welcomed our virgin, and opened the floor up for violations. People drank copious amounts of beer, Jailbait had to do a dead bug, and announcements were made about the upcoming campout/tubing trip August 27-29th in Ashland.

After circle was closed and we sang a few versions of Swing Low, .Cum led the group in serenading No Name Megan with the hasher version of Alouette. She was absolutely adorable and a great sport, and I look forward to her hashing again and again with us. I am pretty sure she'll come back.

MGP and I left at this point, but most, if not all, of the rest of the hashers were talking about going to hang out at Woody and Jailbait's campsite at Louisville State Recreation Area, so any further hi-jinks will have to be reported by one of them.

In attendance were:

.Cum
Spawn of Satan
Jailbait
Woody Wouldn't Pecker
Sex Toy Story
Mile-High Motherfucker
Marvin GayPal
Bush Beer on Tap
Hand Solo
No Name Megan

June 5 Trail recap from BBOT's perspective

OH3 #379

The trail from my perspective was essentially:

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck, hey, a Brewsky's."

Hand Solo always lays brutal trails. I know this. I have been under the weather for the past couple of weeks, and was therefore starting out in much-less-than-top-form. I know this, too. So why did I elect to participate in the June 5 hash? Because I am a hasher, goddamnit.

Also, because I was just elected RA, and I wanted to get that particular cherry-popping over with.

So I went, and I suffered.

The long and the short of it is that I finally crested a really, really steep hill which kicked my ass (and the asses of everyone else in the pack, but they recovered much more quickly). At several points on the hill, wheezing and whining and cursing silently because I didn't have the breath to do it audibly, I got light-headed and almost tipped backwards, which would have resulted in a long fall and possible impalement on deadfall sticking out at sharp angles. Upon reaching the top and collapsing on the pavement at the side of a major street, I contemplated the choices in my life that led me there, and began doubting my decision-making skills.

Once I had enough breath back to resume movement, I crossed the street and followed the pack through a parking lot. Off in the distance, I saw some packmembers climbing another steep hill. "Awww, hell no," I said. I looked to my left, and 20 yards away was a Brewsky's, glinting in the sun. A choir of angels was singing and blowing trumpets. Out of the side of my mouth I requested of one of my packmates that they send someone back for me once they reached the end of the trail. I didn't wait to find out if I was heard, but I assume so, because they did send someone back for me.

Later I found out that the hill I'd seen was actually a false trail, and had I continued on, I would not have had to climb it because they would have determined its falseness by the time I caught up. I did, however, miss the necessity of wading waist-deep through a creek some distance past it. Of course, I drank for my short-cutting infraction later, but the ability to forgo potential parasite infestation more than makes up for that.

Upon my arrival at the on-in, I officiated at my first official circle, and from all accounts I did a passable job. Then we adjourned to join up again later at the Jolleys', and there was hot-tubbing and pizza and camaraderie.

In the final analysis, I'm glad I went to the hash. However, I am also very glad I decided to recognize my limitations and have a refreshing iced tea instead of a disgusting trip through a creek. My faith in my decision-making skills is now restored.

On-on!

Bush Beer on Tap