PRINCETON HHH HASH #488.4 

Date: January 8, 1995
Weather: Gloves and sweats optional
Venue: Hillsborough - East of 206 - West of Sunnymead Rd. - Hamilton Rd. -
       Amwell Rd. - Reading Railroad
Time: 1:00
Set By: Hand Solo
Hashers:  Delay Lllama, Geezer, LRF, Wacko, The Madam, 242, TFM, Hands Job,
          Chris "Big & Dumb" Neidre, Joe Dolce, Matt Arnone, Milkman,
          Eyesore, Mark Wirnowski, Likes It Down, Ed Martinez

GRIME DOESN'T PAY

Nineteen-ninety-five, Princeton HHH's 16th year of hashing, closing in 
on 500 hashes, and Solo finally managed to accomplish
something today that he failed to do in any of his previous sets.
He said he would do it, but he's said that before so many times that
no one listens, but this time, perhaps aided by a clever shortcut here
and there and the fact that we had sixteen aggressive hounds sniffing
out the trail, Solo set his first hash to be finished in under an hour,
coming in at 59:59, if you don't count the final meandering
around to find the beer and salsa hidden in some hay bales outside a
cable station on Amwell Road -- but I've gotten way ahead of myself.

The day began rather inauspiciously.  The Geezervan's door fell off,
Wacko got stopped by a cop BEFORE the hash for passing in the shoulder,
and a hashvan full of naive rookies spent the long drive up to
Hillsborough whining about how late they were going to get home.
There was no whining by the end of this gem.

It was five minutes to three before we hit the trail, a wonderful
weaving path through a thorn patch.  The continued undercurrent of
moaning from the undergraduates began to wear on some of the veterans
who hurled epithets.  Could this sorry lot possibly toughen up enough
in one month to survive the hard core hash, or should we order extra
hearses?  Despite the fact that we had sixteen hounds, no doubt Solo would
not have succeeded in his quest to break the hour mark if it weren't for 
the skilled checking of the LRF who found back to back double crosses that 
managed to allude the rest of the milling pack.  The first took us across
a field and the second across a hasher's playground of mud and frozen puddles
as well as a skeleton of a dog/sheep/deer/Effross, whichever you would
like to pick.  The hash continued through ideal territory, muddy abandoned
trails through the outback spiraling out in all directions -  an inviting hilly
wasteland of shiggy and thorns.  The whining ceased and the frolicking began
as the hounds gleefully fanned out tackling the varied terrain - the Madam's
new neoprene socks passed this litmus test with flying colors - though they
didn't help too much at the log crossing the creek where she opted for
the all fours approach.  

We emerged on the Reading Railroad, slightly upstream from Solo's greatest
hash of all time, but sadly absent of the driving sleet that gave that hash
it's nightmarish charm.  A good three-mark fake at the end of the railroad
stretch confused us all until Solo was sighted up the road and soon we
were back into his famous "woods of twisty passages all alike".  This
little patch of woods between Hamilton Rd. and Amwell Rd. should go down
as the primest of PHHH terrain - better than any hedge maze, as the hashers 
channelled through the paths of least resistance from the road hollering
"Are Yous!" "On Ons" and in Hands Job case "DEER!  Holy Shit!!!" dodging
for his life.

After a small patch of woods and a field crossing, the pack emerged to find
242 jumping up and down inside a dumpster looking for beer, with
a gentleman standing there watching him with some disdain.  242, in his
sophomore year, has already passed the Geezer in ability to antagonize,
not through contentiousness but through blatant indifference.
"What are you guys doing here,"  said the easily recognized lifeless
individual who suffers so greatly when he sees that other people are actually
enjoying their lives that he figures it must be illegal. 
"We're looking for beer," replies 242, lifting a carpet remnant from the
dumpster.
"Do you have permission to be in this parking lot."
The mindset is so neanderthal my immediate concern is that it may
awaken the Geezer as I myself bite back any of the two hundred sarcastic
retorts now coursing through my mind, such as "Mr. Barker
said it was okay," with visions of that same cop driving up once again.
But 242 continued to field this gentleman's arcane threats, all the time
frantically trying to find the damn cooler.  Fortunately, this man
vanished soon after he was outnumbered 17 to 1, and the apres began.

I doubt any of these rookies will complain next time Solo takes
us on a half an hour ride into the Great White North. 

Next Hashes:

#489.4	Sunday, January 15, 1995, 2 pm, LFBB sets
#490.4	Sunday, January 22, 1995, 2 pm, Geezer sets -- Dinner after
#491.4	Sunday, January 29, 1995, 2 pm, In Up to His Waste sets
#492.4	Sunday, February 5, 1995,  2 pm, Frank sets
#493.4	Sunday, February 12, 1995,  2 pm, Volunteers?!?!
#494.4	Sunday, February 19, 1995, 2 pm, Duncan sets the Third Annual Hard Core