Alas, this shall be a short one (kinda, sorta, maybe?). Since the leather/lingerie pub crawl there were two (count 'em...) hashes. Here's a brief synopsis of both!
Saturday(dee)'s hash was an almost strict pavement pounder. Something that left several hashers thinking back to the glorious Betty Ford Rehab trails of yesteryear. Where were the mountains? The valleys? The Lyme disease? With all these beautiful country surrounding Palm (of the) Springs, how on bloody earth can we be slamming shoe on blacktop with such frequency?
Fortunately for this Vegas hasher (Viva, Las Vegas!), pavement is nothing new. We have our shiggy, but there's nary been a crooked street that I haven't run down (well, many streets I haven't run down, but fuck 'em), nary a wash channel I haven't scoured (this may be truer than the last), and I can jump walls like a cast member from Prison Break (weekly on FOX, watch for new episodes in future weeks).
All this came in handy (Jack Handy) of course as we began to head (who said head?) down a wash channel and both slip and (or) slide on algae fed sludge. After a quenching beercheck, did this hasher continue down the wash? YES! Did he go into the tunnel at the end? NO! Using ninja like manuvers, I leapt both chain and concrete block, steel and girder to rise above underground sections, saving myself from the dreaded "web head" (Spidey, is that you?) that plauged many of the spelunking hashers.
The end of trail led to a fanciful shinding chock full of libations (beer), drinks (beer), water (beer) and food (goes well with beer).
A (Ultraaaaaaa!) combo of ESB Red Hook, Rolling Rock (Papa was a rolling rock?) and Iron Hammer IPA left a good buzzing in my head that was only added to via a superb hash band!
That night consisted of watching some excellent making out sessions (no me partido), drinking more ESB, and just vegging out in the hot tub. Ending with my having to pull an unintelligible Pre-whack's bare ass (not the only one, and dude could use a tan. Try Bronzed on Paradise & Harmon, Hasselhoff goes there... So does Jenna Jameson).
On to day three (one... two... four! NO, THREE!).
Sunday's (Sunday, Sunday... You'll pay for the whole seat, but you'll only need the EDGE!) trail was a mother (Danzig) that made up for all the non-shiggy of Saturday. Up and up (and up!) we went, cresting nearby mountains in ways that left us all breathless in both energy spent and views taken in. It also sweated out many a hangover from Saturday's drink (drunk?) fest. The skill and athleticism of these hashers, many of them several years my senior, was something to be admired and lived up to. They attacked these hills and cliffs like the beaches of Normandy (Norman+ Mandy, think about it!) joint pain be damned!
Two beer checks were refreshing stops with the second being on the way down. Oh how sweet the way down was, straight down what looked like a natural wash or dry creek. With large rounded boulders that dropped off into soft sand, it was possible to just fly over them and bound with little thought to the consequence of a bad landing. Also a good time to catch up as many of the fastest hashers going up the hills seemed to have a slower step on the way down.
So flying (like Batman, it's not really flying, but looking from a distance, you could understand if someone was confused) like a monkey from a research lab down, down, down (down!), to the On-In. Where we boozed and flabongo'd (http://www.flabongo.com/) before heading (wsh?) back to the hotel for tasty vittles.
Would you say grand? I would say, yes!
A few thanks, Special Ed for the costume help and the room, OCHHH for hosting and Eager & Here2 for offering room space even though I didn't use it (consideration counts!). Also to Lance-A-Nut for coming up with that kick ass "Liverstong" shirt. I didn't pick one up, but that thing is just too great!
