Half-Mind Weblog

You’d of asked me yesterday afternoon, I’d have said “what hazards?” What could possibly go wrong with a pre-laid trail?

Repossess Me and Leave It to Beaver and I laid two trails yesterday, Repo & Beaver for the harriettes of Desert Divas H3, me for the harriers of Pima County Traditional H3. Our idea was to have the girls and guys start and end together but hash different A-to-A trails in opposite directions (picture a sideways figure eight). My trail was about four miles long; the girls’ closer to three.

I mentioned earlier I’d been worried all week about being up to haring on Sunday . . . I’ve always hated hares who bail at the last minute, and here I was in danger of doing just that. But Sunday broke brilliant: I felt great, the sky was blue, birds were chirping . . . it was even warm enough to think about hashing in shorts and a T-shirt.

By the time I showed up at the park to mark my trail, blue had turned to solid gray, the wind was blowing, temps had dropped to the mid-40s, and it was spitting rain. Oh, well, at least I was up to snuff. The wind and rain steadily worsened; as I reached the halfway point of my trail Repo called to say they were changing theirs to end at Leave It to Beaver’s house, only a mile from the start. Not an option for me: with a fenced-off eighteen-hole golf course in the middle of my trail, I was committed to the full four miles.

By the time Repo, Beaver, and I got together again at the park and hashers began arriving, it was raining sideways and even colder. We — three hares, eight harriettes, six harriers, three dogs — huddled under a park ramada and voted to minimize our misery. Fuck my trail; everyone — guys, girls, and dogs — would run the harriettes’ one-miler and end up at Leave it to Beaver’s.

Our two trails started together and overlapped for the first 200 yards, then split, with the harriettes’ trail going right and the harriers’ trail going left. We explained about the split, pointed the pack toward the start, and yelled “On On.” The pack took off and we hares hopped in our cars and drove to Leave It to Beaver’s.

An hour later: “Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

Let’s go back to my pre-laid trail . . . my trail started by the edge of a soccer field, went south, then east, then north, then west back toward the start, ending at a public restroom a few hundred yards north of first flour. Both points were visible from where the pack huddled under the ramada. You know what’s coming, don’t you?

Right. When we pointed the pack at the start, we didn’t stay around long enough to see where they actually went. They zenned straight to my last flour, not my first flour, and wound up doing the four-mile mens’ trail backward. They then all went over to Didya Bite My Penis & S&M&M&M’s house, our original on-after location. We eventually figured out what had happened and joined the pack for on-afters, where I was thoroughly castigated.  As well I should have been!

Note to self: when pre-laying, quit marking at least a quarter-mile before the end. Once the pack leaves, then finish marking the on-in.

In spite of bad weather and me screwing up the trail, we somehow managed to have a pretty good time, and even though no one had planned to run my trail, it was at least a good trail with decent shiggy.

You know, hashing is a lot like sex . . . even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.

And here we are.  From left to right: huddled under the ramada in the rain, at DYBMP’s (where Pickle Packer shows us how to pack a pickle), our cooks (Stick Me Anywhere, S&M&M&M, Gummee).  Click any photo to enlarge.

I’ve been stressing all week about tomorrow’s trail.  As in whether or not I’ll be able to hare it.  Monday night I came down with post-nasal drip and a sore throat.  That doesn’t sound so bad, but trust me, it’s been dreadful.  This morning I found I could swallow again, and the volume of snottage is down by half, as measured by Kleenex consumption.  In fact, I felt well enough today to write a haiku and post it on Twitter:

Kleenex by my bed

Kleenex on my office desk

A tree dies for me

Twitter today?  Hare tomorrow!  See, Virginia, there *is* a G!

Reference tomorrow’s hash, although my co-hare and I announced it (and posted to the Tucson hashing calendar) three months ago, it apparently escaped the notice of the local hasher who earlier this week scheduled a conflicting event.  He wrote me an angry email, accusing me of not checking the schedule and thereby “causing another large rift in the hash.”

I’d feel bad about it, except for two things.  One, he’s the guy who didn’t check the schedule, not me.  Two, he’s thrown that “causing a large rift” thing at other hashers he’s had disputes with, so it’s hard to take him too seriously.

Any anyway, whether twenty, ten, or two hashers show up tomorrow, I’ll have a trail for ‘em, and I, for one, will have a good time.

- Flying Booger is feeling someone else’s oats.

An interesting comment from the blog of a serious runner:

Ok where was I? Oh yes, I also wanted to mention that I met up with the Lagos Hash House Harriers last night and got in 4.25 miles. To be honest, I have always avoided the Hash because it has never really sounded like my thing. And I am still not sure that it is my thing. I am just happy to be running with others.

They were a great group of people and I enjoyed myself but I find that there is a lot of wasted time. What happened to the days of showing up, running, then meeting at Panera Bread when you are done (if nothing else just to make a public appearance in your short shorts)? But with the Hash it takes all night just to run 4.25 miles. If I were anywhere else in the world I probably would be bothered by that. Since I have nothing better going on, I think I shall make a habit out of meeting them.

I was a serious runner when I went to my first hash. The thought that it took all afternoon and part of the evening to run four or five miles never entered my mind. All I could think about was what a blast it was and how I couldn’t wait for the next hash.

You get it, or you don’t.

Oh, well, at least he says he’ll be back. Maybe in time we’ll make a hasher out of him.

- Flying Booger is Spartacus!

And why, you ask, would Major Update weaponize an ass?  To bring you, harriers and harriettes, the latest news of hash events around the world.

Hash event organizers sometimes fail to respond to diplomacy.  In such cases, the only option is to threaten them with overwhelming force.  Cowering in fear at the destructive power of Major Update’s experimental radio azimuth-slaved ass-mounted all-terrain bazooka*, hash event organizers around the world have surrendered previously-secret information to assist you in planning attendance at hash weekends and interhashes.

To start planning your next hashing road trip, click the button labeled “Half-Mind Events,” study the calendar, and go forth into the wonderful world of hashing.

If, in your travels, you become aware of hash events that are not listed on the Half-Mind Calendar, click the button labeled “Submit Events” and send a SITREP to Major Update . . . before he turns his mighty ass bazooka in your general direction.  On On, road warriors!

* No asses were harmed in the making of this calendar update.

Must.  Scout.  Trail.

I’m haring next Sunday, and all I’ve done so far is decide on a start point, a park in southeast Tucson.  Normally I’d have scouted trail twice and had all the details worked out by now.  Getting lax in my old age.

Speaking of getting lax, I’m scouting on my mountain bike.  Matter of fact, when I pre-lay trail next Sunday, I’ll do that on my bike too.  Pre-lay?  Yeah, you heard me.

When it comes to trails and how to lay them, American hashers split into two hostile camps: live trail and dead trail.  Internationally, not so much . . . Mother Hash and most of her direct descendants are still dead trail, as are the majority of hashes overseas.  In the States the balance tips the other way, with more live trail than dead trail hashes.  You wouldn’t think this’d be a big deal, but live trail hashers hate dead trail hashers and never tire of telling them what pussies they are.

Well, I say it’s time we dead trail hashers take pride in our tradition.  We represent at least half the hashers in the world, and if pre-laying trail was good enough for G, it’s good enough for you.  And I say we start calling dead trail hashing what it really is: zombie hashing!  And I say it’s time we zombies wear our blood-soaked rags with pride!  You wanna run my trail?  Then mind your own damn business how I lay it!  Zombies rule!

Must.  Scout.  Trail.

Then.  Eat.  Brains.

- Flying Booger says send more paramedics!

Pedalfiles Bash, 2/21/10: Copulator, Stick Me Anywhere, Deep Dish, Appendage, Flying Booger, Bimbo by Day, Redheaded Woodpecker (sitting), Citizen 69, Trailing Dick, Yoda, Pick'n'Flick. Not visible: Gummee & H.M.Ho

And here we thought the Pedalfiles H3 was dying!  Citizen 69 and I live-hared a short town trail this morning (13 miles if you didn’t fall for the bad trails, 15 if you did) riding from our favorite mosque* to the University of Arizona and back.  I’m delighted to report yet another injury-free bash.

We were shocked to learn that a fellow hasher, Joystick Cowboy, had come a-cropper at last night’s jHavelina hash: he slipped on an elevated drainpipe and fell onto rocks below, sustaining broken ribs, a punctured lung, cracked vertebrae, lacerations & cuts, etc.  As soon as we finished on-afters at the mosque a bunch of us trooped by the hospital to visit with him, staying until the doctors came to chase us out.  He’ll be there through Tuesday and probably won’t be running trails for a while . . . but he should be able to drink beer again soon,  so he’s at least got that going for him.

I love bicycle hashing, but accidents and injuries are a constant worry.  We’ve had four serious accidents in the Pedalfiles to date, two of them requiring 911 calls, emergency response, ambulance rides, and hospital stays.  Deep Dish, third from the left in the photo, experienced all of the above when she went over the bars two years ago, breaking both arms.

But people get hurt doing regular hashes too, and Joystick Cowboy’s fall isn’t the first for the jHavelinas . . . about a year ago a jHavelina named Napoleon shattered his tailbone in a fall from a fence he was scaling.

We told Joystick he should join the bash now that he’s pre-qualified, and maybe he will.  It’s interesting that this happened right on the heels of the California hasher getting slashed at the Las Vegas hash last weekend.  Hope it’s not the start of a trend.  We joke about dying on trail and even have a funny verbal shorthand for it, as in “I’m D.O.T. today.” Sadly (and probably inevitably), over the years a small number of hashers have taken it literally . . . please G, don’t let it happen here!

- Flying Booger bought a Slap Chop and got a Graty thrown in.

* The mosque in the background is really a steakhouse that used to be a belly-dancing place.  The owners tolerate us and even let us sing down-down songs.  We bashers may throw a lot of anthrax around, but we’re not jihadists!

Update (2/22/10): I was wrong about Joystick falling onto rocks. He fell into a concrete-surfaced drainage ditch, a drop of 10 to 12 feet. That would do it, all right.

. . . from the May & September romance between younger and older hashers. Witness this, from a recent email exchange on my local jHavelina hash list:

Betty Ford; Jhavelina Run #?

The updated “who’s cummin list” is posted and there are more Jhavelinas Rego’d for Betty Ford Hash XXIV then Humpin Hashers!

RE: [jhavelinaH3] Betty Ford; Jhavelina Run #?

I know this email was penned to elicit a response from me, so here goes.

[ . . . ]

Betty Ford is not only one of the most expensive hash weekends on the West coast, it’s slowly but surely gaining a reputation of “Spring break for the geriatric set”. Even if (and I know I’ll get an email back to attest to this) the reputation isn’t true, it’s still the reputation. Conversely, Humpin’s demographic tends to be young Marines (Hoorah, indeed!). Young Marines tend to like cheap, easy, local fun. (Yeah, yeah.)

[ . . . ]

On, enjoy your geritol, I’ll be at Bar 2 Bar the next weekend in my jammies, on

I suppose this was inevitable. The old husband can’t get it up much any more; the young wife is getting restless.

I wasn’t planning on going to Betty Ford again; now it’s back on my list. Some of those old harriettes who go every year are still pretty hot, IMHO!

- Flying Booger loves his dog.

Click photo for article

Usually it’s us causing trouble, frightening citizens over possible anthrax attacks. Not this time . . . this time it’s citizens attacking hashers!

Short version: as Las Vegas hashers run through a hospital parking lot, they startle a homeless guy, who leaps up from a bus stop bench.  One of the hashers collides with him and keeps running.  The homeless guy picks up a bottle, smashes it, and goes after a hasher. A visiting hasher from California, Arabian Goggler, grapples with the homeless man. The homeless guy slashes a ten-inch cut in Goggler’s head and runs away. Goggler keeps running, right into the emergency room, where he winds up getting 27 stitches!

Best quote from the article: “This is why we usually run in the desert.”

Note to self: watch out for homeless guys . . . some of them are fucking crazy!

- Flying Booger has his groove on.