Galveston Hash House Harriers
Hash Trash
Run Number: 3 Date: July 7, 2001, at 4 PM Hare: Hooter Bill
Start: League City, a mile east of I-45 at HEB Pantry Foods store, FM 518 at
Highway 3

When a batter hits a single, double, triple and a home run in a game, he has "hit for the cycle." Casey Martin, pro golfer, is allowed to ride a cart in between shots during a round of golf. Just because he his handicapped, does not mean that he cannot compete. Although I was handicapped with a baby jogger, on Saturday, July 7, 2001, I "hashed for the cycle."
So, here's the 7-7-01* run as seen through the eyes of pimp doggy dog as he completed the trail pushing his daughter in a baby jogger. (*my daughter is 01 years, 07 months, 07 days old).
Just inside the Galveston county line, the hashers assembled in an HEB
parking lot in League City. Unfortunately, our hare was Missing In Action, so at the usual prompt starting time (45 minutes after stated on the hash line), the hounds set out to find the trail. The walkers, myself included, were lost--there was no hare to point out the short cut or give us advice on how to get to the end. Reluctantly we began to follow "on call" as the first marks were found. Then we hear, "where are ya'll going? It's not time." Hallelujah, we were saved, it was hooter bill, leaving HEB after completing his weekly grocery shopping of twinkies and grape juice. He assured the walkers that it was, "not too bad," and that we'd, "probably be 'ok' following the pack;" he'd, "drive around and check on us." My daughter and I were the last to leave the parking lot.
I followed quickly, past the walkers to an open field. The FRB's were at a check looking for true trail in some light shiggy--I had an idea that the end would be at Walter Hall Park (WHP), so I turned left and immediately found true trail. Briefly, I was the FRB. I knew they must have hated to have a baby jogger (and walkers) in front of them.
Not ready to be overtaken, my adrenaline was in overdrive as I sped past a pool and police station to another check. Assuming the trail went to the right (through a field), I stayed on the concrete and ran up to hwy 3 and turned right, hoping to parallel the trail. I was wrong and now lost, but not alone. Cheerfully, Heartache ran up to me, complimenting the hare for avoiding shiggy and keeping us on the "asfelt." Deciding that the end was at WHP, I turned left until I crossed RR tracks and another left towards FM 518/Main Street. (BTW Heartache-thanx for the help carrying the baby jogger over the tracks, NOT.) Alone again, I scanned the horizon for "jogging shapes" crossing my path. Turning to the right, I caught up with Letch. He told me true trail was parallel to the left and we could, "see the pack when we crossed streets." Not content being "off trial" I crossed main street and finally saw some flour. Again, thinking the end would be at WHP, I continued straight as the trail turned right on 3rd street. Hooter drove up behind me and said I was, "doing pretty good," but that I should go back to 3rd street and stay on trail. "The road you are on," he continued, "does not go through." I heeded his warning and soon caught up with the walkers, the pack and the FRB's at a water check. We were all together again.
We wound our way to the road "that does not go through" (ironically, this is where heartache rejoined us, damn you hare!), through some pastures and ditches (I had to go around the long way) and across the RR tracks. The pack stayed very close, thanks to a "DH" check at the water's edge. This cost the hare a down down, because Dickhead was not there. A short jog and across Highway 3, my suspicion was confirmed, the "on home" as at the WHP. We found a table and made the current inhabitants feel uncomfortable. They left, so we had it to ourselves. We were 20 hounds: Ass Grabber, Rain Bitch, Stinky, Womb Service, Heartache, Letch, Can't Hound, Thai'd One, Womb With A View, Burning Rubber, Manholer, Skunk Dick, Chicken Choker & his girlfriend with the Texas Caviar, Cummibear, Nora the new German redhead, another redheaded newboot from Galveston, Yancy, and pimp doggydog (and daughter). The hashers (especially rain bitch) enjoyed mooning the boaters on Clear
Creek. Interesting "things" overheard:
"Americans don't know how to eat bananas," by heartache.
"Everything PINK taste better," by rain bitch.
"My daughter was born on 'stopwatch day,'" by pimp doggy dog.*

Sleds and Turds (S&T) led our circle and consumed many down downs himself (one for completing the run in his shiny "looking new" marine boots).

On on.

Your scribe, pimp doggydog.