Venue: The Berwyn Bar Assoc'n
Hares: Cap'n Golden
Cap'n Golden's IRS Hash
went to great lengths to find the perfect pub for our hashing pleasure. He found it in the Berwyn Bar Association, a place with $3.50 pitchers and a grill out back, just perfect for hashers looking to save a buck or two on the eve of tax day. Maybe everyone was at home working on their taxes, though, as only 7 tax-prepared souls managed to show up for this one. I guess our non-immigrant alien,
Full Term and our resident alien, Wildman don't have to pay taxes to the U.S. Specklebird, Gaseous Clay, and Soar Balls
all undoubtedly earn too little cash to be eligible for taxes. Buffalo Nuts and Rear Guard must either be cheating Uncle Sam, or have already gotten their taxes filed (claiming Gaseous
as a dependent, no doubt).
Trail instantly split the group into about 3 packs, with Soar Balls wandering the country-side on trails that led nowhere, Wildman, Full Term and
Specklebird setting a wicked pace, and Buffalo Nuts and Rear Guard
lagging. This proved fortunate, as I was able to spy them on the way back from my multi-block rambling and thereby catch up to everyone else. I recollect the pack being stumped at one particular check in the endless series of neighborhoods,
with Full Term
finding trail across the ever-present railroad tracks. This brought forth the claim, "Folks call me Boxcar Willie, 'cause I'm hung like a boxcar," complete with the appropriate response, "Yeah, a Matchbox car." Ironically enough, Boxcar Willie died a couple days later. Spooky, huh?
Well, the trail starting getting long, straight and predictable, leading to more separation, with Soar Balls sticking close on Wildman's heels, Specky, Full Term and Gaseous
somewhere in the middle, and BN and RG
still hanging in there. We FINALLY got to the woods, and simply ran straight along the river bank, allowing the pack to spread out further. But all was forgiven after we got to the street and over to the parking lot filled with Second City Beer (from the Febrewery Hash), Nutter Butters, and a lovely fruit plate. We waited in the rain for our laggards, knowing that
BN had to catch a plane that afternoon. Finally, the rain started coming down, so the front-running five-pack took off for home, and the Cap'n
jumped in his chariot to round up the back of the pack. The homeward trail had a bit better shiggy, with a fallen tree crossing and a bit more winding trails.
Back at the Berwyn Bar Association, a good time was had by all. Soar Balls
pulled out his famous Box Car Willie bratwurst and threw it on the grill (Johnsonville brats, you filthy minded scalawag!). Much munching and drinking ensued, including shrimp and something else (maybe Chinese food?) bought for us by a kind-hearted bar patron. Although the run was too straight going along the river, it was a pretty darn good hash. It's a shame that Uncle Sam had you all busting your wallets trying to calculate your taxes. Next year, call H&R Block.
- Soar Balls say: two balls medium. good bar, good food, OK trail.