Hello Friends and Lovers!
It is I, Dung-Fu Grip, guest scribing after one of our official scribes left the continent, and the other two just, uh, didn’t come.
This last week saw the “good” folk of Monterey cum north for a Can’d Invasion of our humble beach community. We’ve been seeing less of our Southern brethren of late, and if this trail is any indication, that’s probably a trend for the best. They promised a short shitty shiggy-filled ‘Murica trail, so I guess I’ve only got myself to blame for any disappointment.
We met in a neighborhood in Aptos, where we proceeded to chug beers, suck jello shots, swill wine, and chat with the families passing down the road. Fucked Over Fest arrived with his dog sticking out of his moon roof, PCL apparently crashed her car on the way TO the hash, which is a truly incredible achievement, and Courtesy Flush brought a satellite phone for some reason. It apparently could send texts from anywhere in the world, making it a bizarre fusion of 80’s and early 2000’s technology.
After doing a surprising good job warming the local community to our little social club, we circled up and headed down the sole path into the woods. I want to critique the trail here, but there was shiggy and pretty greenery and we had to hop across logs over a stream to get to a ‘Murica themed jello shot check. It was pretty sweet.
Somewhere around there, TIMMY!!! decided that staying dry was for losers and gracefully dismounted into the water.
I went up the hill at the following check where I found no marks, but rather four used condoms scattered amongst a series of bike jumps, which suggests mountain biker orgies are pretty safe. That’s cool.
True trail led across a narrow single-track where the FRBs had a stand-off with a muggle and his dog on a cliff-side. After a brief staring contest, the civilian backed down the trail and allowed the mass of frothing r*cists to pass unmolested.
Down and around and through the redwoods we hopped, turning a corner to find our hares in full regalia waiting with a pile of duff beers. SCH3 has spoiled me for hash beer a little, I admit, and I begrudgingly choked down a Natty Ice. It was just as gross as I was expecting.
Beer Check was also located right where a group of cyclists wanted to pass. They gathered up below us, and began to confer in hushed whispers and then, their courage mustered, attempted to pass through us. We responded with a rousing two-cheeked salute. As they did not stop, I assume these bikers were a separate group from the stunting fornicators. One can only hope that the woods of Aptos are home to a Dirty Shame style gang war between factions of mountain bikers.
The hares departed beer check, and more hashers arrived, including Genital Tongs who reached through the pile of shit beer to find cans of Sierra Nevada. Goddammit!
From the beer check we meandered down, and then up, and after a distressingly short distance we once again spotted our hares lounging by their vehicle. We were back to the start, and trail was at an end in less than two miles. Fucking tease of a r*n. At least there was lots of wet bush.
My disappointment in the trail’s paltry length was quickly muted by screwdrivers served out of the hares’ car.
A minute later a few more hashers crested the hill into the finish. 5 Finger crouched down to get an action shot, and Dog Breath galloped towards him shouting, “Don’t move!” and attempted to vault over the waiting photographer, who promptly tried to move out of the way. There was a split second where time slowed down, and I imagined all the ways this was about to go wrong. None of them came to pass. I’m not really sure how that happened, but if 5 Finger happened to actually take a photo of that, it would be much appreciated!
Dog Breath then opened the back of his car to reveal a pile of margarita ingredients, and so the end of trail became a buffet of cocktails.
Religion was held just into the woods in little natural redwood amphitheater. Our Can’d visitors were brought up and elected to do this disjointed spastic dance. PCL was brought up for her vehicular mishap, as well as losing and then finding the hash chalices. Now, I was on my second cocktail, it was getting dark, and I was trying to RA while not falling off the log I was standing on, but I think the “found” chalices seemed awful different from the lost ones. Just sayin’.
Let’s see… TIMMY!!! drank for taking a swim and finding a flag; Penis Penis Penis drank for losing said flag; Achy Breaky, Fucked Over Fest, Dog Breath, and yours truly drank for mooning the mountain bikers; Hangs Loose fell off something; and Princess Di(arrhea) and Deadliest Snatch elected not to do trail.
Our hares of 5 Finger Discunt, Penis Penis Penis, and Randi Bambi were at last brought to the alter for their shitty trail. “Them, them…” you know the rest.
With circle firmly dug up by the dogs, and the pack suitable inebriated and hungry, we proceeded to On-on-on at Burger. Burgers were eaten, and beer was drunk, including Founder’s KBS on tap. I have been trying to drink this beer for years at this point, and finally getting to sample it was like angels dancing upon my palate. But, like, sexy leather-clad angels. It’s good.
From there, the hash went in peace, and some doubtlessly got a piece!
On-On!
~DungFu