Date: Wednesday, May 24, 2000
Hares: Scot Gleason and Cuff
Start: Christopher Street on the 1/9
On-In: Off-the-Wagon
Scribes: Christine and Heather
If the trail marks from the Christopher St. subway station leading us to our gathering spot were any indication, we were in for it. While it’s not all that often that a hare will even give you arrow marks out of the subway, these were exceptional. Starting at Village Cigars, they pointed across the street to a small park area. At that point, there was another mark, leading across to the newsstand, whereupon I was redirected to go back across where I came from or try again to my right. Two paces forward and another arrow in a different direction was marked “false.” All this waste of good chalk and we hadn’t even started yet.
At first I was surprised at the sight of such a small pack, but given the aforementioned chalk marks, we probably lost a few who wisely decided to go home given all the pre-hash mess. Upon pondering further, I realized that the real reason we didn’t have much of a turnout was because of the hares…
As many of us know, Scot (sic) and Pat are a dangerous combination. Last year, these two individuals were both in the running for being at least half responsible for setting the worst trail of the year. Pat’s run got the vote for the worst, but it’s only because she’s cuter. Scot’s infamy will live on forever, because, like Avis, as much as he tries harder, he just can’t ever seem to get it right. Still, it appeared that this might be a thinly veiled attempt at starting anew. Would this be a sort of “redemption run?” I think not…
The trail set us off on a run that, for the most part, had us winding all around the West Village. It was pretty well done, how we kept getting twisted and turned and almost coming back upon ourselves, but there was something missing…could it have been the chalk? For some reason, nearly every check was impossible. It’s not that the group was lazy this evening. I mean, we were really working for our beer, yet at one of the first lousy checks near 14th Street, it took us a good ten minutes to find the damn trail. Pat offered up the explanation that a high wind gust blew the chalk away at the exact moment that she set that part of the trail – but she’s tried this one before and it wasn’t very believable then, either.
Further along, the trail went back and forth from east to west between the West Side Highway and Greenwich Avenue. There, Lesley and I got our thinking caps on and let Crofty, Peter and Devo do the dirty work for us. They blindly ran the trail as we ran along parallel to them, making up some time and effort that we’d have to invest in another killer check ahead, we were sure. At Spring and Varick Streets, we came across the other check -- where the trail must have blown away to be sure. It took some seven experienced hashers, including Crofty, Devo, Peter, Lesley, Steve, Fluffy and myself some serious checking before the trail marks finally came into sight. In this case, I think maybe Pat was right. That little arrow of hers must have gone aloft just like plastic bags blowing in the wind in Springtime. In fact, I may have even spotted a random trail mark stuck in a tree above, but I’m not sure.
We continued our meandering through parts of Soho, and as soon as we figured that the On-In would be at Off-the-Wagon all bets were off, and bee-lined it to the bar. Only to run smack into a solid wall of post-frat boys. Fortunately, the hares had thought to chalk “On-In and UP” on the sidewalk, so the dimmer bulbs among us would still be able to find the pack. Once upstairs, we were treated to loud music and smoke, along with extra frat boys from downstairs seeking a better view of the game. Geoff Baldwin was well into his third beer by the time that Bahamonde came in, even though HE was a solid five minutes ahead of the rest of the pack. Certainly a cause for suspicion… The rest of the pack trickled in, and once everyone had a chance to change right out in the open, JMs Gilbert and Trunfio somehow called the pack to order over the deafening music.
After drinking for haring the run, Pat and Scott drank again for not totally fucking everything up. I ran both of their trails last year, and can personally vouch for their deserved entry to infamy. Not only that, but I know of at least one eminent hasher who boycotted the remainder of the summer based on Pat’s Seinfeld hash. Then, Ewa drank on behalf of Ariane as hareraiser for allowing those two to set a trail together. Early the next morning, when Ewa finally finished her beer, Geoff got his plus the rabbit ears for flagrant cheating. Then, the only virgin (I can’t believe its summer! One virgin?!?) Leigh, of the bare midriff adorned with belly ring, drank with Devo, who made her come. Then Todd, a phony visitor from Orlando, came forward to drink. Bahamonde downed a beer to an extra-enthusiastic chorus of “fuck you” to celebrate his entry into the Masters running division. Finally, the coveted AOTY plunger was given to Devo for bringing a virgin, then abandoning her at the first possible opportunity in a race to get the rabbit ears. I know that sometimes down-downs get a little repetitive, since we only know two songs, but in this case, I had the special privilege of standing next to DB2, who saw fit to insert his own verses into our down-down tunes. (My personal favorite was “He may be a joy to his gerontologist” in honor of Geoff.)
Even though no one could hear Roy and Peter call the pack to order, everyone seemed to hear the rumor that food was near without any difficulty. Though I am not certain that the sliders served by Off The Wagon actually count as “food”, per se, they did disappear with alarming speed. Knowing that an early morning hill-repeat session awaited me, I headed off for the West 4th subway station at this point. However, no nudity or carousing was reported, so I don’t think I’m remiss in ending the reportage here... On out.