Penticton H3 Shiggy Dusters

A Drinking Club With A Running Problem

Archive for March, 2009

Mar 29 2009

Hash #30: Hills… who said hills?

Posted by: Trotsky in Airing of Grievences, Beer, Past Hash

We knew it would only be a matter of time before Mother Nature realized that “for craps’ sake, we’re in Penticton already!!!”, and manage to get us some reasonable spring weather. Almost as if she had been snapped to attention by some daft fools yelling ‘on-on!’ as they ran past her home… she groggily peeled herself off her plastic-covered recliner, still in a daze, she glanced over at Dr. Phil spouting nonsense to the masses, and turned the furnace setting to ‘Spring’. Finally, allowing the whitest of white legs to show themselves at a PH3 run!

BagBoy had the honour on this day, and milked it for all it was worth, requesting the full 10 minutes, and promising that there would be no hills… Seriously, he promised. What the pack should have realized was that in BagBoy’s most certainly non-Euclidean universe, ‘no hills’ means something akin to being dropped from a Cessna at 20000 feet. Without a parachute.

Demonstrating his aptitude as a past Harlem Globetrotter, BagBoy marked his run on this day with the tennis ball + flour technique. He raved about it, and was very proud of the fact that he purpose-bought a can of balls to celebrate the occasion. Never before has this reporter seen a man as happy to be the first to touch some balls. Man did they bounce! Later, BagBoy reported to me that he did get some interesting looks.

He led the pack south through town, twisting and turning, and sometimes forgetting that the ball should have been fondled a little less, and bounced a little more… Through the mall parking lot we went, and Hard to Swallow was having trouble staying out of the way of the seniors trying to find parking spots.

Through the parking lot, and at this point, when it seemed obvious – given BagBoy’s disclaimer – that we would be heading back north, Shunty directed the pack up and up again to the east. There seemed to be a bit of confusion, and Trotsky and Stares Hard were left behind to find the trail on their own devices (which, between the two of them is not saying a lot). They eventually caught up, and Trotsky bravely let them go ahead again to avoid his wheezing being the cause of a seizure to the other hashers.

At this point, Trotsky, fell back, and decided that a good old fashioned zen was in order along Government street, because he felt that some strength was required to be saved for the end when he would attempt to lay the beat down on BagBoy for making his run so flat. He saw the pack floundering one block to the east, and truly was feeling good about this zen. But when the pack turned east again, to go up and over Dartmouth and down the path, he made the fatal flaw of following, and not committing, really committing to the zen. I highly recommend reading his book “Hashing and the Art of Zenning”, but I digress… Trotsky found himself stranded on the other side of the creek from the pack, which wouldn’t really have been a problem, had BagBoy been a little less dastardly in his placement of the beer check. After searching for 50m up the creek (without a paddle, mind you) Shunty showed Trotsky the way, and the entire pack was soon enjoying a crisp bevvie, and basking in the sunlight, extending the BC to a good 35 minutes. Well worth the run!

The pack quickly started down the path to the On-In and soon were regaling BagBoy with songs, and death threats, at the Mug.

On On!

This report was written on April 14, so quite a time after the hash itself. If you want to know who got what down-down, ask Shunty – he keeps that information in his vault….

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Mar 22 2009

Hash #29 – The Farmer and the French Maid

Posted by: Bag Boy in Past Hash

Dickweasel was the hare for the run this Sunday. The group arrived at the KVS Pub to see Dickweasel’s vehicle, but it was Dickweasel Jr. (aka JustJustin) who was pouring the drinks out the back of the vehicle. He was up for a visit from the coast. Dickweasel gave us the chalk talk, telling us it was a dead hare as his balls were too soft to flour mark the course. He bounced one to prove it to us and we winced. He then drove off out of sight and we started off. As usual the course led us across the busy Eckhardt, but we’ve yet to lose a hasher. The group got separated at one point with the zenners and the non-zenners going in different directions. Minutes later everyone showed up under a circumspect bridge where there was a lovely blue chalk fish drawn over a previous Hobo Check. Dickweasel had been here. This was the Hymn Check and we joined in a rousing chorus of ‘The Hashers go running one by one… on on, on on’. We were supposed to use each Hasher’s name and go in numerical order, but as it’s the Shiggyduster’s, we ignored that and just sang faster and louder each time.Up and over the bridge we went and really, really hoped the hare wasn’t going to lead us up the West Bench Hill. Of course he did and we climbed up and onto the KVR, then up another hill and so on, and so on. Eventually, once all the nosebleeds had stopped we turned onto a dead-end street. At the end it dipped down into a little park, unknown to most. Except for the horses, as there was more manure than grass. The local dogs came down to greet us and play and we searched the area for the promised beer. Nothing. We waited… nooone came. This was looking grim. Finally after about 15 minutes, JustJustin called Dickweasel and found out he’d been delayed by lunch. We profusely apologized for interrupting the meal, we were fine, sitting in the park… beer-less. A few minutes later the Dickweasel-mobile pulled up with Dickweasel, BMseX and another friend in tow. Dickweasel started pulling out all manner of equipment, clothing and beverages and all was forgiven.

Beer was passed amongst the thirsty crew and Dickweasel announced that there would be a competition called the ‘Horseshit Farmer and the French Maid’. We’d divide up into pairs. He did his dead-on Trailer Park Boy Bubbles imitation as he dressed up in the farmer’s outfit including Bubble’s glasses. Reading out all manner of rules, which we promptly forgot we each had two turns. Most amusing was PoleJockey and HardToSwallow, the tallest and shortest of the group. Each team, dressed appropriately had to drink a beer, take one person around the course in the wheelbarrow, come back, change outfits, drink a beer and do it again. For some incredible reason, Dickweasel and his son won. We think they had been practicing all week.

After the event, the pack headed back up/down the Westbench Hill to circle up at Doc’s. Down-down’s were given out… but it’s been weeks now and my memory is shot. Needless to say, Dickweasel got a big one for his ’shitty’ course. Afterwards, we had an on-after at the Copper Mug. On on!