Well, I was late to the party…..but thanks to Courtesy Flush I was able to find the start location. And
The trough beckons thirsty hashers
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.
Drink it down down down
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.
Things are getting pretty sloppy pretty early…
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.
You can’t ride in my little red wagon
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.
Lotsa pups!
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.
Someone’s having a good time!
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.
Night time antics
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.
The weather was unseasonably humid thanks to monsoonal moisture so it didn’t take long for a glistening glow to appear on our skin. Huge beads of sweat traced a vertical descent through rac*ist t-shirts and tiny thongs culminating a sizable puddle on the sidewalk. Everyone had something to say about the sticky situation and we were not talking about The Human Pube, Unicrack or TestaCoil!
Fuck you too
After sufficient imbibing of colorful cocktails at the most delightful outdoor cafe/bar/art venue and after receiving our coveted shiny new orange whistles – THANK YOU REAL BORING BITCH – we all set off through down town Santa Cruz only to be stopped in our tracks by a check, and then another check, and another. Grrrr, I could have just stayed at the cafe, co-mingling sweat and a civilized summer gin and tonic while pretending to be suave and cosmopolitan.
But no, I was pulled in by group peer pressure to stay with the pack.
Just waiting around
By the way, the hares, Pinky and Fap, left a big tattered brown bag of chalk at the cafe. On said brown bag was a little map of their planned route that Thump and Rat Pussy so cleverly discovered. It was marked with stars and strange notations, however Thump deciphered it and knew exactly where beer check was going to be……….NOT!!!
Nevertheless we obediently followed all the wonderful marks and false trails which lead us to Neary Lagoon.
For those who need to know – from the santa cruz city’s website…a few fun facts about Neary Lagoon:
“Abundant wildlife viewing. Peaceful place for a walk. Interpretative signage and information available on site. No dogs allowed in wildlife refuge area. ( Guess we missed that memo)
A magical unicrack spotted as part of the lagoon wildlife
Neary Lagoon is an important part of the urban watershed for the City of Santa Cruz. A drainage area of approximately 850 acres empties into the lagoon, and from there, out to the ocean.
Wildlife inhabiting or visiting the refuge include mallard and wood ducks, pied billed grebes, a multitude of coots, the world’s meanest geese, several varieties of fish and the occasional great blue heron or hawk.
A wooden pontoon walkway and trail system was recently added to the refuge, allowing a complete circuit around and through the refuge. The walk is under 1 mile, and is very popular with families with children. “
Just waiting around
That being said…..it is also quite popular with Hashers….as we have visited this site many times this past year. It is a wonderful 1 mile circuit for some lunatics with beer bellies to gaze upon the resident wildlife, to help little kiddies feed the ducks, despite the signage saying otherwise, and to try to run so fast so they don’t smell the stench coming from the adjacent water treatment plant!
Lovely artwork
Seems that little tidbit is missing from the city’s literature!
Anyways, after the requisite wildlife viewing we headed back into the seedy city…..the eagles were treated to some outrageously steep up hill climb and then some, while the turkeys merely sauntered to the upper deck of the parking garage for beer check.
the eagles came in late….just in time to head to the final parking garage for religion.
Wicked Retahded surely earned his name
Pinky put on here RA hat AND her teachers hat in an attempt to exert some control on this rowdy bunch.
We believe that most of this trail was a pre-lay….go figure. Who the hell was going to go running in 100 percent humidity? For sure it wasn’t going to be our hares.
As to the pre-laid trail and the map left behind as evidence there was some confusion regarding marks on trail. Bacon Queef and How much dick do you need were overheard bantering on and on that there was a mark on the trail, and it was the official mark, not be be confused with the OBVIOUS mark of a trail. HUH?? WTF?? SMOKE WHAT???
Yep confusing to us too.
And the hares
Teacher…..we need another lesson in chalk talk please.
So, once again, for those not in the know……our group tries not to use flour in downtown Santa Cruz, on school grounds and near Capitola Mall. We try to use chalk marks instead. WHY you ask? Because it is often confused with a deadly white substance whereby the SWAT and HAZMAT teams are called in to investigate.
We break many rules while hashing and so tonight I heard from a hasher that his friend, a defense lawyer, says that we should not break more than 1 rule at a time while intoxicated. Pretty good free advice if you ask me.
So, I’ll stick with drunk in public, rather than being arrested for terrorist activities.
We did find Jesus on trail tonight…..and Timmy reminded us, in chalk, in front of Progressive Missionary (a not so popular sexual position) Baptist Church, that “Jesus saves but he can’t go hashing”. It’s a catchy song…we’ll sing it for you someday soon.
Moving on we had poop on trail – thanks to Vag for picking it up, we had backsliders: Human Pube, CuntJungle, Occasional Rapist and Twat did you say. We had a analversary of 25 runs for Real Boring bitch…get a life. And a whopping 100 for CumFartZone who wants you to put a ring on it….the C word.
We had a runaway dog on trail….just jenny the dog….who also left us a deposit on trail.
Urine Cider
And then we had a memorable naming of Just Pat….who despite being a street artist, a triathlete and a connoisseur of fresh produce, body hair and fine wine, and who french kisses his dog, he can’t differentiate behind apple juice and human urine. Thus he will be forever known as “UrineCider”.
After religion, an art work extravaganza ensued. Bodies were outlined in chalk, folks were spread eagle on the pavement, sexual positions were pondered. What the hell was in that beer tonight?
The party continued at Woodstock pizza, late into the night with trivia and fat raindrops.
Friday night in the city…..well not exactly the big apple…..as we are in Santa Cruz…..poised to leave our mark on the steamy, seedy haunts of a surf crowd gone wrong. We are ripe for adventure and some will be rewarded at midnight with a dip in the cesspool known as Kiva.
Yeah, well fuck you too!
The evening begins at Callahans with pitchers and pitchers and the most elegant hashing attire I ever laid eyes on. I guess I did not get the memo. Who knew you could actually slink into a little black dress for this pub crawl. Darn it…………I could have worn my custom patent leather thigh high boots instead of my stinky sneakers. Next time please email me with the dress code.
Once the pack was sufficiently lubed up….they headed out to the mean streets of Santa Cruz and right through the middle of the homeless encampment. A quick stop for jello shots delivered like homeless meals from a big, blue Ikea shopping bag before the local “gendarmerie” indicated in a stern and forceful manner that we should move on.
Hope she feels better after that fart
FYI AND FUN FACTOID – Gendarmerie is a military component with jurisdiction in civil law enforcement. The term “gendarmerie” is derived from the medieval French expression gens d’armes, which translates to “armed men”.
Doesn’t he know that we are not your usual suspects, not your doped up street people. We are respectable drunks with day jobs and comfy beds to sleep in at night.
Vag Repair Kit’s face scares me
Guess not, so we move along peacefully to our next drinking establishment…..Rosie’s…..where even the old farts had to show an ID. I had to vouch for one of our Monterey Senior Citizens who alas did not have his ID on him. He was dressed in a toga with no pockets. A little too eager to get to Kiva I suppose.
There was a required pit stop at El Palomar with beer, margaritas and tacos galore.
I am sure there were other places along the way but I gracefully bowed out before the midnight hour.
I have no idea what happened at Kiva. Kinda like Vegas. Lips are zipped.
You will have to do your own investigation and interrogation if you want more dirt.
Technology on trail!
I need my beauty sleep as I have a big day of cornhole planned for Sat.
What a great trail to start of WTB weekend. We set out from the Blue Lounge and headed down to the harbor.. It was an easy stroll and the visitors and newbies were quite chatty. After a brief stop at the public head all signs pointed to the water taxi so all aboard.
Hare Triple Racist Threat
I am sure that the “captain” of this little floating pontoon was happy to see all of our drunk asses get on his boat. He probably regretted not calling in sick today. Just what he needed….more inebriated beach-goers barfing off the back of the boat. All for a two minute ride across the harbor.
We were told that we had time for ONE drink at the Crow’s nest Beach Party so we all raced in for a cold one with a stiff price tag and some ass wiggling dancing.
They’re on a boat motherfucker
Surprisingly we met up with some hashers who were not officially on trail. Guess that crappy reggae band was more important that running amok with your real friends!
Trying to herd our crew back across the harbor was akin to herding turtles, or cats or gerbils.. Some folks simply would not leave the beach, others (CumFart and Taco Tramp) got stuck in a stall in the women’s bathroom and missed the boat. And they totally missed the beer check. I guess cutting in line to pee in a real toilet inside a fancy restaurant was more important than a cooler full of FREE beer.
Cheers!
The pack sent out a distress signal and smoke signals from their raging fire in order to get them back on track towards religion.
Accu as the RA was his usual jovial self. We had a few virgins thanks to bakers….and more than a few bad jokes….thanks to bakers friends.
Apple bobber got in 75 hashes. Way to go kid.
The visitors from Arizona and Texas were “interesting”. Hmmmmm.
But the most disturbing yet mildly amusing portion of the down downs was the challenge to drink from visitor IHOP’s leg…the .artificial leg……….the leg that has replaced his real leg. We are not talking about merely taking a swig out of a new running shoe…..NOOOOOOO…….we are talking about a gruesome plastic leg that this bloke runs on, sweats in and god knows what else happens in that thing. But like lemming lined up on the edge of the cliff, we all assumed the position and closed our eyes and sucked some pale, viscous fluid from what I will now call “THE THING”.
Wankers around the fire
Besides a possible case of dysentery we were rewarded with the infamous “IHOP” patch.
I ask you all….”was it worth it?”
The hares, Shallow Hole, Ho to Housewife and Cock Throbbin, were perfectly praised for their Thursday night adventures on the beach. and for deviating ever so slightly in order to provide us more entertainment for our hash dollar.
With lots of wood and old itchy poison oak we had a grand time.
Looks like these ladies have a foot fetish…
Additionally, Dung Fu, who was MIA for his own hash trail last week, managed to scale El Cap and return a hero to SCH3. He will be MIA yet again as he is setting off on another grand adventure in the wilds of Colorado. He will be missed and we will wait with baited breath for his FB and Instagram updates. Safe travels dear friend.
On On On,
It was billed as his farewell hash, it was set in a cemetery and the hype was real. The trailer promised an over the top event. The enthusiasm to give Dung Fu a proper send off was unprecedented. It far exceeded the Jack O’Neill memorial paddle out. We had the press (Steamy B), we had cake, flowers, cards, banners, skywriters, balloons and a lovely parting gift.
But alas, he was a NO SHOW.
Quite the run out for Dung-fu’s funeral!
We got some last minute sob story via FB about tourists, plane tickets and bears in Yosemite.
The crowd was dejected. They did not think they could go on. They sat on crumbling gravestones and wept. They popped the balloons, shot RPGs at the sky, tore up the cards and ate all the cake……………..and then they got up off their sorry asses and marched along following the shittiest, lamest excuse for a trail ever because Timmy and Puff decided they could be a viable replacement for Dung Fu. I think not!
The scene was set for an ominous trail
Because of them – F*CK THEM – I have poison oak on my ass. Seriously I have poison oak ON my ass…Just let that sink in…..I also have poison oak IN my ass crack and its creeping to other nether regions. I will NEVER forgive them. Plus they owe me $27.69 for the new bottle of Technu and the soothing Calamine lotion. And they owe Vag Repair Kit a few psycho therapy sessions cause he is the one who has been applying the anti itch lotion to my bu tac al hemisphere. He is scarred for life now. He saw things in there that no one should ever see. And now he can’t sleep at night.
But at least I got my favorite butt plug back.
🙂
Gorilla beer check at the golf course
So we did some sort of a trail with our fake hares.
We ran through a big green playground with lots of little balls scattered about. Someone did not get the lesson about picking up their toys.
After endless rounds of foraging in the woods and bathing in copious amounts of poison oak we managed a Gorilla Beer check at the newly opened outdoor bar. Pitchers of golden nectar were ordered, $20 bills were flying faster than at a lousy strip joint, and birthday boy managed to get in a few top shelf shots.
The bartender, aka THE golf pro, seemed a bit dazed and confused as to how these untidy and unruly ruffians all showed up at his bar at the same time….and where did they come from………..and they certainly were not his average golf patrons. Maybe they were disc golf players…….NOT!! In between keeping the pitchers topped off we filled him in on the inner workings of our group. Now he gets it…………and he wants more. He takes our picture and asks for autographs. He even invites us back! And Thump Thump wants to hold AGM there. A match made in heaven……….or in DeLaVeaga.
Deez nuts
Stay tuned for upcoming details.
And now back to trail……….which ended in a hilarious van ride back to the start. Mr Toads wild ride with drunk ass, half naked sweaty poison oak infested wankers. Lots of fondling going on and some confusion as to fingers and toes and orifices.
Vag was the big winner as he dove on top of unsuspecting van mates and became the instant boy toy for the ladies.
Religion was a sad affair back in the cemetery hosted by Accu.
Twat did you say got a patch for 100 hashes…..she said some poignant words about commitment and marriage and all…..break out the tissues.
We had some virgins…..one who has an aversion to beer but brought her own vodka….good thinkin missy.
Are we there yet?
Real Boring Bitch and Just Foot Pussy had no idea what the symbols mean and had a hard time with the simple circle.
Cold Smega Kamikazi preferred the company of the homeless encampment rather than stay on the perfectly marked trail and wander aimlessly with his friends.
Vag still has no idea what a wallaby is….despite our efforts to educate him about marsupials.
Dog Breath had many down downs for the usual stuff….and Six O Nine made an appearance at the end….he gets the annual NON RUNNER award.
Puff forgot his flashlight and there should get down downs next time.
So who speaks first?
Speaking of next time………..next time will be just in time for WHARF TO BARF….the greatest event of the ages. Four days of debauchery, four days of trails, four days of beer and Tito’s – which spells tits without the “o” and the apostrophe.
And only 9 more days till CumFarts Birthday…July 25th if you all want to know! Which will be celebrated during the 4 days of WTB. Shameless plug by the venerated scribe.
Maybe my butt will be healed enough by then for the requisite birthday spank tunnel.
