<\/a>Twenty minutes later I\u2019m sorry I didn\u2019t nail him right there on the sidewalk. I\u2019m standing tenth in line at the counter while two clerks try to rent cars to people who don\u2019t speak English. I\u2019m not certain the clerks speak English either. One thing\u2019s for sure. The customers and the clerks don\u2019t share the same mother tongue. I\u2019m just realizing I\u2019m going to have to settle in for a long winter\u2019s night when I hear a commotion at the door. It\u2019s the Fat Man, who else, cutting to the front of the line with his Alamo Gold Card in his sweaty fingers. I reach for my rod, then figure if I shoot him I might be a hero to the other customers, but the only ride I\u2019ll get tonight\u2019ll be in the back of a black & white, so I keep my cool. I finally get wheels, an underpowered, too small something-or-other, and head for my client\u2019s house.<\/p>\nDoctor Kimball. Maybe the name doesn\u2019t mean much to you. I knew him as Midnite, back before he changed his moniker to Twisted Route. That was when his Ex found out he was hashing and started making trouble for him. Some dummy tipped her to his new alias. You guessed it. More trouble. The kind of trouble only a woman scorned can deliver. And did she ever. Now he\u2019s on the lam with a new identity, courtesy of the Hash Witness Protection Program.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s where I come in. Kimball calls me last week to say he heard she\u2019s turning up the heat, calling hashers around the country trying to get a line on his new location and hash name. I tell him nobody\u2019s cracked the Hash Witness Protection Program yet. It\u2019s the \u201cyet\u201d part he\u2019s worried about, he tells me. Even the tightest security program can spring a leak. He begs me to come over to give him a little extra protection. I don\u2019t exactly have customers knocking down the door at the time, so I agree to fly out and take his money.<\/p>\n
I follow the directions he gave me, out the Bay Bridge to Treasure Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay. I take the Yerba Buena exit and find his address at a hour when even the crack dealers are beddy-bye. I\u2019m not feeling so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed myself. And I can still taste the pantyhose. The nameplate on the door says \u201cCommander.\u201d That can\u2019t be right. I double check the address. Unless Kimball gave me a bum steer, this has to be it. I knock.<\/p>\n
The guy who answers the door is a stranger, but only for a minute. I squint and stare him down. It\u2019s Kimball, all right, with shorter hair and more wrinkles. Good disguise. It gets better. He\u2019s wearing a uniform. \u201cDoc,\u201d I say, \u201cyou look like you\u2019re in the Navy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI yam what I yam,\u201d he answers. \u201cIt\u2019s part of the cover. I\u2019m supposed to be boss of this island, but who gives a shit about that? Hope you brought your running clothes. I\u2019m haring for the Fog City Hash tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
I feel like I stepped off the edge of a roof in the dark, but I land on my feet. Hey, I\u2019m a hasher. I\u2019ve stepped off roofs before. When it comes to addictions, hashing is right up there with the white stuff. Obviously, Doc\u2019s fallen off the wagon. When he entered the program he had to swear he\u2019d give up hashing, but we all know promises like that are worth about as much as a back check and a pack arrow. What makes my blood run cold is his announcement that he\u2019s haring. He\u2019s in deep. Too deep. He was smart to call me. Question is, was I smart to take the case? Maybe not, but at least I was smart enough to call in my partner, Stimulate-Her.<\/p>\n
Stimulate-Her. I first met this bird on a Tampa hash trail. He\u2019s a stone hash addict himself, an honor dropout of Hashoholics Hanonymous. When I have a hash job I usually look him up. He knows where all the SCBs are buried. I called him as soon as I got the Kimball case. He\u2019s due to show up in a couple of hours. Doc\u2019s relapse will be news to him. Tough. Hack it or die, like he always tells me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou out of your mind?\u201d I ask Doc. \u201cYou start haring, your name\u2019s gonna start showing up in hash trashes, it\u2019s just a matter of time before word gets back to your Ex.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo chance,\u201d he says, \u201cI\u2019ll only do it until I need glasses.\u201d Right, I think. That\u2019s what they always say. But I\u2019m beat and there\u2019s no point in arguing now. He shows me my bedroom and I\u2019m out like a light.<\/p>\n
In the morning I wake up feeling like someone dumped used coffee grounds in my mouth. I hear voices outside my door. Doc and Stimulate-Her. Guess my partner made it okay. I stumble out to the kitchen, grab a cup of joe, and choke it down. Stimulate-Her and Kimball are gone. They leave me a note telling me they\u2019re pre-laying trail. Great. You know you\u2019ve hit bottom when you pre-lay . . . and rock bottom when you admit it. Now I\u2019ve got two relapsed hashoholics to deal with. Who am I supposed to be, Betty Ford? This is going to be tougher than I thought. I find the phone and call Magic and Magic User, professional hash deprogrammers from LA. They\u2019re busy working an outbreak of mass hash hysteria in La Jolla, but when I tell them the scope of my problem they agree to drop everything and drive up this afternoon. I just hope they get here before it\u2019s too late.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m sliding back into bed when the doorbell rings. I crawl back out and stagger to the door. The redhead is hot. Too hot. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d I ask. \u201cOpen Wide,\u201d she says. I do. \u201cYou know you got coffee grounds in your teeth?\u201d she asks, as she brushes by me into the house. She looks like she knows her way around. Kimball\u2019s newest hash twinkie, no doubt. He could always pick \u2018em. I remember his last one, Gluteus Maximus. An ass to die for, but a total hash junkie.<\/p>\n
By the time Doc and Stimulate-Her get back there\u2019s eight more hash bimbos in the house, each one better-looking than the last. \u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d says our host, \u201cit\u2019s time to hash.\u201d Takes all kinds, I guess. He\u2019d rather run than party with the broads. I pull on my shorts and follow the women out the door. Walking behind all these shapely butts, I feel like the last page of a Playboy magazine.<\/p>\n
We hash around Treasure Island, then scale the side of Yerba Buena, steep and covered in poison oak. Halfway up I find a note scratched into the dirt. \u201cHack it or die.\u201d Suddenly we\u2019re at the top of the island, where trail continues up an abandoned observation tower. We follow the stairs to the top. We\u2019re looking down on the Bay Bridge, and farther out lies the City. Just as the last hasher gets up the stairs an airshow starts. It\u2019s Fleet Week in San Francisco, and the Blue Angels are doing their stunts. Kimball\u2019s civilian friends are stunned into silence. Me, I\u2019ve seen fast jets before. Big deal. Besides, the view sucks. After the airshow we pick up trail again, and come On In at Doc\u2019s house. There\u2019s a keg of cold beer, so no one\u2019s complaining. Okay, I think. You got away with it once, Doc, don\u2019t press your luck. Magic and Magic User show up, and after sizing up the situation they take me aside. \u201cYou\u2019ve got a real problem here,\u201d they tell me. \u201cTell me something I don\u2019t know,\u201d I say. I go to bed bimbo-less but full of beer. I dream of redheads.<\/p>\n
In the morning I wake up feeling like someone crammed used running shorts in my mouth. I try to go back to sleep, but Stimulate-Her shakes me awake. \u201cYou seen my shorts from yesterday?\u201d he asks. I choke them up and crawl back under the covers. \u201cYou can\u2019t stay in bed,\u201d Stimulate-Her says, \u201cKimball\u2019s waiting for you to drive us to the East Bay Hash in Berkeley.\u201d I can\u2019t believe he\u2019s going to hang it out hashing another day. The Ex is going to find out eventually if he keeps this up, and no hash witness protection program is going to be able to deflect the heat he\u2019ll catch then. I look for Magic and Magic User but they\u2019re gone. Now what? Hack it or die, I guess. Shit. I can\u2019t find\u00a0my<\/em>\u00a0running shorts. There\u2019s a lump in my throat. I cough once more, hard, and up they come. Hey, I\u2019ve run in wet clothes before. I\u2019m a hasher.<\/p>\nBerkeley. People\u2019s Republic of. Old Volvos. AIDS posters. Neo-hippies. And hills \u20ac\u201d even more than yesterday. More drop-dead women, so I can\u2019t slow down on the up-ups like I want to. I\u2019m hacking it, but barely. I\u2019m following a hot little number named Slick \u2018n\u2019 Wet. So are the shorts I\u2019m wearing. Slick \u2018n\u2019 wet, I mean.<\/p>\n
Halfway up a hill my blood freezes. I can\u2019t swear to it, but one of the hashers up ahead looks a lot like Magic. If my deprogrammers fall off the wagon, too, I\u2019ve lost the battle. I try to catch up, but she\u2019s too fast. Neither of them show up at Down-Downs, so maybe I\u2019m seeing things.<\/p>\n
Down-Downs are under a BART station in downtown Berkeley, and it\u2019s cold. Nipple City. I\u2019d like to enjoy the view, but it\u2019s too frigid to concentrate. I don\u2019t warm up until we\u2019re in Barclay\u2019s Pub afterward, pounding Anchor Steam and bullshitting about the trail. I put my best moves on Slick \u2018n\u2019 Wet. She drops me like a gut-shot deer. Stimulate-Her turns on the charm for a broad named Closet Queen. He quickly finds out how that particular hasher got\u00a0his<\/em>\u00a0name. We both roll in on a vision in spandex named D-Cup, who\u2019s got more than enough to spread around. Unfortunately, the only things she\u2019s spreading around are scorn and derision. We seek solace in our beer mugs. Eventually, Kimball drives us home. I\u2019m almost dead.<\/p>\nBut not quite, as I discover when I wake up the next morning, feeling like the Blue Angels are doing an airshow inside my skull. Plus there\u2019s a hamster in my mouth. I stay in bed until I\u2019m absolutely sure Richard Gere isn\u2019t going to walk in looking for his special friend. I get up, spit out a few hairs, comb my teeth, and go looking for my client.<\/p>\n
I find Doc watching Mystery Science Theater reruns while fourteen Barbi Benton look-alikes feed him peeled grapes and Evian water. Women are saps for guys in uniform. \u201cYou up for one more hash?\u201d he asks. You gotta be kiddin\u2019 me \u20ac\u201d by now the jungle tom-toms are beating from coast to coast, and it\u2019s just a matter of time till the Ex hears the distant rhythm and comes looking for his scalp, about the only thing he walked out of the marriage with. \u201cHow am I supposed to protect you if you keep on hashing?\u201d I ask. \u201cJust one more,\u201d he pleads, \u201cshe\u2019ll never look for me here.\u201d I call for Magic and Magic User. No answer. I check their room, where I find a note. \u201cSee you at the hash.\u201d I know when I\u2019m beat. I give up and decide to go with the flow.<\/p>\n
So here we are driving up the hills to the Hard Rock Cafe on Van Ness Street, looking for the San Francisco Hash. The hamster under the hood must have spent the night in someone\u2019s mouth. Halfway up the hill he quits hacking it. And dies. We walk the rest of the way. Hashers are milling around in front of the Hard Rock, Magic and Magic User in the middle of the crowd. Someone cries \u201cOn On,\u201d and we\u2019re off. We run from one end of the City to the other. I thought I saw hills yesterday. I was wrong. These are\u00a0hills<\/em>. If I was an flea climbing D-Cup\u2019s peaks it couldn\u2019t be any steeper. We run to Coit Tower. We run up Lombard Street. We run through the Fillmore, dodging bullets and bricks. I quit hacking it and die. Closet Queen gives me CPR and revives me. He leaves his tongue in my mouth so long I have to start running again just to get away from him. Gotta remind myself to get tested for HIV when I get back. Beer check on top of the highest hill in town, then On In to an empty lot near the Hard Rock. I figure I\u2019ve already died once tonight, I might as well drink a beer or three. After Down-Downs we go to a barbecue place and pound some more brews. Stimulate-Her and I sing the Music Man to an appreciative audience. They sing us a song of their own. We do an encore of Yogi. Everyone laughs till we get to the verse where the bear dies of AIDS. This is definitely a San Francisco crowd.<\/p>\nSuddenly I notice Doc\u2019s missing. So\u2019s Stimulate-Her, Magic, and Magic User. I sneak out the front door between verses of Bestiality\u2019s Best and find a trail of powder leading up Fillmore Street. This is my fourth hash in three days, but this time it\u2019s for real stakes \u20ac\u201d my friends have a hell of a monkey riding on their backs, and it\u2019s up to me to get them away from the hash. I follow their trail up Geary, down Union, and finally back up California until I\u2019m deep in the Tenderloin. Look, even criminals don\u2019t like to be in this neighborhood. It\u2019s definitely bad for your health. Trail\u2019s getting harder and harder to follow. There\u2019s Stimulate-Her\u2019s trademark back checks every other block. Magic\u2019s true trail arrows lead off to nowhere. Magic User never learned to write, so he\u2019s no help at all. I\u2019m following Doc\u2019s powder, realizing that he\u2019s the only one laying good trail, like he\u2019s making a cry for help. Suddenly I\u2019m in front of the Mission Adult Cineplex and trail stops.<\/p>\n
I look at the marquee. It says \u201cRoses are Red and Violets are Blue. We Got the Lube for the Old Kazoo.\u201d I hear a commotion inside. I push past the bouncer and into the lobby. It\u2019s the most pathetic thing I\u2019ve ever seen, and I\u2019ve seen a lot. Four naked adults writhing on the floor, covered in kazoo lube, blowing each others\u2019 whistles and singing S & M Man. The theater\u2019s emptied out. Everyone\u2019s in the lobby watching my friends perform. I pass out a few sawbucks, and with the help of the raincoat brigade I get them wrapped in blankets and stuffed in the back of a passing cab. \u201cTreasure Island, and make it quick,\u201d I tell the driver.<\/p>\n
They giggle and mumble incoherently all the way home, and twice we have to stop for me to chase Doc when he leaps from the cab and starts running naked down the road, shouting \u201cOn On.\u201d I manage to catch him both times, but only because he\u2019s still covered in kazoo lube and can\u2019t get any traction. Finally I get them home and into bed, still raving about hashing tomorrow, the next day, the day after that. Hash DTs. I\u2019ve never seen anything like it, and I don\u2019t care if I ever do again. It\u2019s cold turkey time for these bozos.<\/p>\n
I rip out the phone so they can\u2019t call the hareline. I lock them inside and hide the keys. I throw away all the chalk, flour, and whistles I can find. I burn their running clothes and throw their shoes in San Francisco Bay. I leave a note on the door telling the local bimbos to stay away for a week or two, until the worst of the withdrawal symptoms are over. I\u2019ve done all I can do. Some cases you crack, some you lose. It\u2019s time to go home to sanity. I take a cab back into the city, find my dead rental car, kick-start the hamster, and head for the airport.<\/p>\n
As I pull into Alamo this car tries to cut in front of me. It\u2019s the Fat Man. What did I tell you? I said I\u2019d been pissed off before and I\u2019d be pissed off again. I\u2019m pissed off again. I pull out my heater and introduce him to my friends Smith and Wesson. This time his gold card comes in second. I\u2019m feeling magnanimous. I spare him to piss someone else off another day. If he was a hasher, it might be a different story.<\/p>\n
I wake up as the plane lands at Honolulu International. I feel like someone put a pair of ASICS in my mouth. As I follow the crowd up the aisle to the door I notice I\u2019m barefooted. I gotta quit living like this.<\/p>\n
When I get back to the office I find a note on the floor. It\u2019s a letter from Kimball\u2019s Ex\u2019s attorney. I open the lower left desk drawer and pull out the bottle of Black Label, the only friend I have left. I drink until I pass out. When I wake up I feel like someone stuffed Doc\u2019s Ex in my mouth, shoes, shorts, pet hamster, and all. I look at the floor. The note\u2019s still there.<\/p>\n
To be continued . . . someday . . .<\/em><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"I wake up as the plane touches down at San Francisco International. It\u2019s after midnight. I feel like someone stuffed used pantyhose in my mouth. As I grab my bag from the overhead bin the stew looks at me knowingly. Her legs are bare. Some wakeup calls are worse than others. I\u2019m used to it. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25649","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-hash-house-harriers"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25649","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=25649"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25649\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25650,"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25649\/revisions\/25650"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=25649"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=25649"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pwoodford.net\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=25649"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}