Most, if not all of you, survived Red Dress Saturday the seventh. A substantial percentage of you looked a little worse for the wear by the time the pack was dismissed but hey, we buys our ticket and we takes our chances.
The assembly process, incidentally without the benefit of any instructions, began far prior to most of us arriving. Rat Pussy came up short of a necessary piece required for the keg to operate properly so he was off to Scotts Valley at the height of a Saturday commute. Wicked Retahted had his first stint as a real Haberdasher and was assailed by dozens of ravenous hashers and he flourished under pressure. Fap Jack, whom we barely got to see all day, was knee deep in food preparation for ungrateful hashers. Accuprick was up before dawn cooking meat for you and then carefully packing it for the trip from Seacliff to London Nelson. Cumz Out My Nose played Latino and prepared rice and beans for 75 people long before we were awake on Saturday. Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Dung-Fu Grip and Baker’s Dozen’t pitched in as assistant chefs. Cumz Out My Nose was assigned the unenviable job of checking people in and chasing down the thieving dogs that tried partying without paying. Shallow Hole, who doesn’t even live here anymore, was conscripted to take in the money for the raffle and make sure nothing kinky happened with the ticket dispersal. Steamy Baanorrhea stayed after most people were gone to clean up the mess left by eighty piglets. Broke Bench Mountain had nothing more to do than hold this entire thing together and answer questions for which the correct answer was as of yet unknown. Apologies to any I missed as I occupied myself with dodging responsibility so I did not witness everything that transpired.
We need not dwell on the fierce socializing that can transpire between six dozen hashers. There were many salacious stares and provocative suggestions thrown around, of that much I am aware. I do not know the acceptance percentage but by the time the pack was dismissed I noted the many of the animals went two-by-two.
Let’s move forward to Instructions of Trail being issued by co-hares dBASED and (second) wife Occasional Rapist. They were standard fare due most likely to the premise that no one would listen anyway. I did take note, however, that a valid ID would be required. I did not know if this meant we would be entering a bar or if it was simply meant as insurance against unnecessary police harassment. Fifty people in red dresses may attract the attention of local constabulary even in a town as weird as Santa Cruz.
Broke Bench Mountain then thanked everyone for their attendance and gave his sales pitch for purchasing raffle tickets and reminding everyone this is a benefit for women undergoing treatment for cancer as much as it is an opportunity for us to consume all the beer we can pour down our pipes. Circelup for Introductions was staged on the playground behind London Nelson Center due to the size of the throng and elicited some open-mouth stares from those around us as names were announced. On-out time.
Trail went on-left from the Washington Street exit from London Nelson and on-left again on Laurel Street to Center Street where the Turkey/Eagle split was observed. Six miles in a red dress and a stiff breeze does not intrigue me, I’ll take the Turkey option today, thank you. Eagles continued along Laurel towards Pacific. Turkeys took an on-right onto Center Street and took great pleasure in passing by the police station unimpeded. At the traffic circle with Pacific Avenue and West Cliff Drive, Pacific was chosen and when Pacific ends we continued south. This took us onto the wharf. Incidentally, at 2745 feet, slightly more than a half mile, it’s the longest wooden wharf on the West Coast and the longest drive-on wharf on the West Coast as well. Sorry for the digression.
This half mile jaunt would eventually have us climbing some stairs and arriving at Vino by the Sea. Once you negotiated the walkway that was unprotected from the stiff breeze, you would find yourself in a cozy little establishment and one that still offers pitchers of beer. This gave rise to an extended social event. Many hashers signed the guest register…using their hash handles! This must have given the proprietors a good laugh as they read them later. Eventually though, as must happen to all good things, it ended and we outed back to land and took an on-left on-up the Beach Street hill and transitioned onto West Cliff Drive.
We formed a blockchain along West Cliff until we reached the Surfer Statue. Here the obligatory gestures were made: the ever-vigilant surfer was draped in red and clambered upon by innumerable harriers and harriettes.
After pushing this public display of debauchery as far as we felt comfortable with, we moved on. We went directly across West Cliff onto Pelton Avenue. Liquor Check was on-left in Lighthouse Field, but sadly, it was missed by many. One block later we went on-right on Eucalyptus Avenue then on-left onto Avenue A and the next on-right onto Lighthouse Avenue. We can fast forward many blocks until finally arriving at Bay Street where an on-right was indicated. Bay was taken until the parking lot for the Dream Inn through which we short-cutted to West Cliff Drive and over the Howe bridge built in 1918 (rehabilitated in 2000). We took the steps on-right and on-down to Pacific Avenue and circled on-right around the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary Visitors’ Center and into Depot Park. From there it was a quick trek up Center Street and back to London Nelson.
The face-feed occupied the next half hour or so and was a welcome relief from a serious bout of doing trail and drinking.
Once most were sated, Dung-Fu Grip and Accuprick fired up their RA machine. Here’s a partial listing of down-downs, justified and unjustified, issued by our duo RA’s: Virgins were welcomed, visitors were welcomed, hashers that wore the same dress were chided, volunteers were thanked and of course the hares were punished for shitty trail.
Following Religion, the raffle was held. Cumz Out My Nose and Shallow Hole conducted this part of Red Dress quite successfully too. Everyone appeared happy with their winnings and good money was secured for WomenCare as well.
This pretty much provided a climax to the day’s proceedings. Then came the task of making the place clean and respectable for it’s next group on inhabitants. After this many hashers headed to nearby Lupulo’s and points beyond such as The Asti and the Jury Room. This lasted until last call. No one rose early on Sunday I dare say.
RDR 2022 is in the record books and was more successful than anticipated as we still are in pandemic mode. This gives us a good base to expand upon next year and we greatly appreciate the efforts of all that attended.
The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story.
A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.
By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty ‘G’, this Hash Trash has been compiled and printed by permission of no one other than the author at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the eleventh day of May in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.
Submitted with all respect due,
Magic Drag Queen
Surf City H3 Scribe