We started at Moe’s Alley and should have stayed there for the music rather than subject ourselves to another shitty trail.
But seriously it was a blissful trail…only a few measly miles compared to our recent death marches. Apparently the Eagle trail wankers were treated to some cold, frosty delicious drink called a mudslide. I suppose it was worth it as the turkeys got nothing except some twisted ankles and a lot of complaining from a few disgruntled walkers.
I am not sure what these whiners want out of a hash….a custom air conditioned stretch limo with unlimited beverages and a servant to wipe their ass when they have to take a crap? Grow some balls people otherwise stay home munching cheese doodles and chips from the comfort of your lazyboy.
There was a lovely beer check at the home of stub rub and summer’s yeast plus an opportunity to share in the coveted mudslide libation and use the indoor plumbing.
At Religion, which was preceded over by our infamous Accuprick, we welcomed yet another virgin, Pedro, from Argentina. He showed us his ass…no big deal, but thankfully we were spared a lousy joke.
We had some backsliders…such as TestaCoil, Steamy B and Stub Rub. Just Foot Pussy, playing the beer meister and jokester role, tried to pull the cooler from underneath CumFartZone’s ass just as she was settling in to scribe.
Luckily she has quick reflexes and a medical emergency was diverted. Dog Breath had blood on trail as did Just Foot Pussy…we are calling his injury “wounded knee” in honor of his heritage. Perhaps we should carry a first aid kit on trail. Some lucky wankers got to hear and see owls. See, it pays to do trail and not sneak off early. Many thanks to Steamy and Stub for a wonderful trail. I especially liked the crackling of the power lines above my head.
Well, I was late to the party…..but thanks to Courtesy Flush I was able to find the start location. And
I was able to find an older couple standing guard by Bacon Queef and the entrance to the woods. They seemed miffed. When I showed up they lectured us that we were on private Soquel Water Company property….blah blah blah….Whatever!!….then they noticed the chalk arrows………Cripes, Am I under arrest here?? I am seriously late and now I am being detained by private citizens who are overly nosy. I compose myself, smile and explain nicely that my friends left me a sign and an arrow so that I could find them in the woods….since I was fucking late!
Finally I am released to the dark recesses of the forest….but I am not sure which way to turn. So I am wandering around in poison oak for a while till my beer instincts kick in and off I go…..But I have no idea how far ahead the pack is and I am running out of daylight.
I see the famous “Advocate Tree”…laying on it’s side….so sad…toppled by the ferocious winter storms of 2017.
I march on, lamenting the tree but searching desperately for another sign, a mark, an arrow, a pile of poop, anything…..and I finally come across the Turkey/Eagle split.
However the turkey is not well marked so I am in a quandary as to which way to go. I make the fatal mistake of taking the Eagle trail only to find myself faced with one of my little fears…..Crossing a huge giant log that stretches for what seems like half a mile over the stream. My backpack is laden with a full liter of some nasty LC liquid, plus my own provisions. I am dreading this log crossing but I have no choice. I am all alone and the light is fading, along with my cell phone service. I take a deep breath, try to steady myself and climb on up as if I am mounting an eager lover. Using calming self talk I guide myself slowly, one foot in front of the other, across the massive tree. Surely Bear Grylls is waiting for me on the other side. I pretend I’m starring in his reality outdoor adventure show and I can not fail. That is not an option.
When I successfully manage to make it to the other side, there is no cheering, whooping it up, fist bumping or high fiving. Only my heavy breathing interrupts the forests silence. Nobody witnessed my greatest feat. Kinda like being the guy whose once in a lifetime fish gets away….Darn it.
Suddenly my private fantasy celebration is hijaked by MacGayver and How much dick do you need. They appear out of nowhere like a desert mirage. MacGayver is furious as he found stinging nettles rather than the proper trail. He is now covered in welts from those nasty weeds. She fared better by not following him blindly into the open field.
But they still do not know the way out of this maze. By some miracle Courtesy Flush appears and offers to lead us back to beer check. We waste no time in hightailing it outta there.
When we finally reach Beer Check aka Religion there is some scuttlebutt about someone(MacG??) not picking up their trash/beer bottles. Bacon Queef is not pleased.
There was a hare snare by Timmy, I think.
Dog Breath came from behind and Bakers made it to the Beer check first ( I never saw no damn Beer check!)
I got some flack for not following up on my promise to Bakers after my last rescue mission.
Well, these questions and more were answered robustly last Thursday evening.
It started innocently enough at the outdoor range bar. A large pack showed up in force causing the mere mortal golf patrons to shake their heads in disbelief that we were actually going down into the woods….away from the alcohol on the patio and into the bowels of DeLaveaga. They have heard the rumors. They were afraid for us. They begged us not to leave the bar. But alas, Timmy and Puff spiked our drinks with the magic Kool Aid.
Cum you will not also spiked the gummi bears, which she passed out to everyone. They tasted horrible but we obediently slurped them down. Thump Thump put away a bazillion of those colorful bears. His checks were
bulging with all the red and green ones. Saving up for Xmas I suppose. Maybe he thought they were nuts! That and the Kool Aid made for an interesting trail.
It was a hot and sweaty trail with way too much humidity for this neck of the woods. Felt like we were back east in some podunk town crawling with mosquitoes and bar flies. But no, we were still in SC – surf city that is. Crawling with hobos and junkies. Passed some interesting camp sites along the route. Tried not to linger too long wiping the buckets of sweat off my head.
There was a liquor check with not one but two gruesome bottles of overly sweet wine. I am not sure that qualifies as “liquor”. Things are certainly going downhill at Surf City H3. What happened to the fireball? Or the peach schnapps or the Plum Slivovitz hailing from Eastern Europe which christened my very first hash??
Somewhere along the way things got dicey….too many checks, too much cheap wine and too many lost souls.
CumFart Zone bailed after 2.5 miles and snagged a ride with Chewie and HangsLoose. Broke Bench followed in his pimped out ride. Occasional and Hangsloose actually bailed 2 minutes after the start upon spying a sprig of poison oak.
They high tailed it back to the bar. Mr Poison Oak aka Vag Repair Kit bailed before the start by staying home under the covers, far far away from the dreaded PO. CumFart,not wanting to be made fun of anymore for getting PO in her ass crack, dressed in white plastic trash bags, affording her a false sense of security and making her look like an utter fool. She ditched them at the homeless encampment with wishful thinking that they could perhaps be used for accumulating trash…..which seems to accumulate around homeless encampments. Wishful thinking.
Back on trail most of the hearty ones made it up some crazy steep hill and then proceeded to watch the sunset. One other was hopelessly lost and put out a distress call. Her valiant father, co-hare and half mind, Tiimmy, went charging after her to bring her safely home. Welding only a flashlight he succeeded in his mission to retrieve his lost daughter, the effervescent Pinky. Safely back at the Beer check the crowd cheered, then booed, because Puff forgot the vegetable platter in his frig. But he did bring some tasty shrimp, and some cold beer. So all is forgiven.
Apparently there was a hare snare by Junk Puncher, Dbased and Dog Breath. Something about a deer sighting or a “dear John” letter.
A red wagon was found on trail and dragged back to camp by Curtesy Flush, Bakers D, Snake me anywhere. They most likely stole it from the homeless camp along with my white trash bags. Pinky pointed out that Bakers also found a rather large chalkboard during wharf to barf, and that is still occupying precious space in her van. So she is not thrilled to have yet another trail treasure take up residence in the work vehicle.
We had a virgin, Thaddeus, who did not get the memo that this is a RUNNING GROUP….and thus we wear RUNNING shoes….NOT sandals! We are not a Biblical reenactment group nor a Ren Faire group. We actually run….in these things called sneakers/trail shoes/Nikes/Pumas/Reeboks/Newtons. We DO NOT run in sandals/flip flops/Tevas/Birkenstocks. Buy a fucking pair of sneakers for next weeks RUN or just stay home in your slippers and fuzzy robe.
And speaking of next weeks RUN/Hash…I heard a rumor that it is Hangsloose’s Birthday hosted by Dog Breath’s hash. Let them eat cake! Or kibble.