ZH3 Hash #1115: don’t know what I’m doing
Hare: Tall Balls
RA: Asphalt Liquor
Scribe: What cums in Vega stays in Vega
Life rarely presents one with stark choices. This trail was an exception. As the pack raced merrily down a smooth and wide hiking trail in the mountains towering above triemli, a check-back led the pack to a point that asked hashers to leave the relative security of said smooth and wide trail, and descend down a formidable 50% slope consisting of mud, covered with loose leaves and hidden twigs and twines. Faced with this life-or-death fork in the road, the pack sensibly chose to spare life-and-limb. Except, that is, for a handful of daredevils who were subsequently rewarded with down-downs for their foolhardy election.
This suicidal shiggy run was the highlight (or was it the lowlight?) of this otherwise uneventful r*n (well mostly uneventful, but more on that later). It began in quite fair weather and broad daylight on a lovely green patch between a parking lot and a concrete underpass. The hare hastily drew some random circles on the grass to describe the trail markings, which made complete sense to veteran hashers and no sense whatsoever to the lone virgin.
Presently, the pack set off and was right away presented with an uphill climb. The climb culminated in a checkpoint that led part of the pack to fearlessly cross the railroad tracks of death, only to find themselves misled. Just as they prepared to cross back and rejoin the true trail, the gates of the crossing of the railroad tracks of death descended, and nearly decapitated an unsuspecting “smoking member” of our tribe. Rest assured, dear reader, that though he escaped unharmed on this occasion, he nevertheless faced the consequences during the circle.
The trail bobbed and weaved and descended and climbed (though it mostly climbed) through a bit of pavement, a bit of trail, and a whole bunch of shiggy, until the pack practically made its way to the top of Uetliberg. The hare won a lot of plaudits (angrily expressed throughout the ordeal by most of the pack) for leading us on this effortless journey.
At the end of the day, everyone miraculously made it back (though not everyone chose the path ambitiously laid out by the hare). Much merry was made at the circle, helmed by erstwhile and intermittent RA Asphalt Liquor. Cavity Search and Climbidia did a fine job as beer bitches.
Slippery Digit: For Cunning Linguistics Involving a Canine.
Smoking Cock: For not dying by railroad crossing gate
Grab My Sack, WCIVSIV, Just Scott: Suicidal Shiggy Run
Squatty Potty and WCIVSIV: Due to the former accusing the latter of running like a gazelle (and then recreating the alleged long springy graceful strides for the benefit of the encircled assemblage).
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up.