PRINCETON HHH HASH #494.4 

Date: February 19, 1995
Weather: Not Hard Core At All
Venue: Bear Tavern Elementary School - Washington Crossing Park - North and
       Left to Trap Rock Quarry
Time: 2:34
Set By: Sir Hand Job of Windsor (West)
Hashers: Delay Lllama, Geezer, Safe Sweats, The Madam, RoJo, Trash Can, Ed
Martinez, Rawsex, 242, Joe Dolce, In Up To His Waist, Wacko, Throat
Warbler, Eyesore, Milkman, Pete Rowinsky, Pushnermaybe
Rookies: Taylor Kimberly
Visitors:  Lord Rambeau de Virginia (driving 13 hours from Michigan),
Lady Gunwale Humper (driving 5 hours from cHARLOTsville), Birdbrian from
Hogtown H3 (Toronto, picked up by Craig and Ed at the NYCH3 750th),  Teflon,
Carl, Kelly the Dog, Road Map, No Brain (Philly H3), Maddog (Maryland Dirt
Road HHH), One other guy           
First to Cooler:  Joe Burns
 
                                    Rambo II

All the vulgar hype was over, the posturing, bluster, and braggadocio
finally irrelevant, as 18 Princeton Hashers and eight assorted and sordid
visitors gathered at Sir Hand Job's appointed start. One putative visitor,
the notorious Rambeau, self-styled Lord of Virginia, was missing. Given his
pitiful performance at the last PH3 HCH, no one was much surprised at his
absence. Not that we doubted his resolve; it was his competence that was so
surely in doubt. He showed up five or ten minutes into the hash, guided, no
doubt, by Gunwale Humper acting as seeing eye dog and general Keeper of
Rambo from Trouble. Fields, woods, a little shiggy marked the first 48
minutes to the regroup. The trail got a bit more hardcore thereafter as
hills replaced the fields, and thorns (grade 4-5 on the Geezerscale of
1-10, where 10 represents the spikes we encountered on Hash #299.4,
Mother of Thorns) made a mild, if relentless appearance. The most
interesting moments came towards the end, when part of the pack had their
first encounter with Inbred Fred, local representative of the Aryan Nation
Survivalist Cult, and his wife and sister, Frederika the Hun. Fred's eyes
were so close together there was clearly little room for a brain case, and, as
might be imagined, neither Fred nor Frederika was exactly pleased with our
incursion into their private domain. They made this especially clear, using
their entire combined eight-word vocabulary, on a second encounter with the
pack some ten minutes later. Unfortunately, the first hasher they met was
the Cuban Assassin, the last communist alive, and someone obsessed with the
notion that private property is an obscenity. Where was our designated
groveler, the late Dr. No, when we needed him? The Geezer did his best No
imitation, but to no avail, perhaps partially due to 242's bellowing from the 
cliffs above, "HEYYYY!!!  ON ON!!!  GUYS!?!?!?!?  ON ON!!!   ON ON!!!
HEY, WHY ISN'T ANYONE ANSWERING!?!?!?  ON ON! ON ON! ON ON! ON ON! ON ON!
ON ON!  ON ON!!!  ON ON!!! ON ON ON ON ON ON ON !!!"  Frederika repeatedly
screamed that we were invading her privacy.  The Assassin commented that she
should be so lucky.  So off we ran, trusting that Fred's 16 wheel drive jeep
wouldn't be able to follow us through the woods, and figuring he might opt to
circle back and shoot 242 instead, a sad(?) but necessary sacrifice. Another
30 minutes of woods running brought us to the base of Trap Rock Quarry
Hill, and, surprise, to Sir Hand Job himself. "Up the hill you go," he
taunted, at the two hour mark, "just 15 minutes left," he lied.
So, up we went, and a serious climb it was to the crest where we were greeted
by the Quarry Police, trusted guardians of the people's traprock, as we
fought our way through Level 7 thorns on a thin ledge overlooking a hundred
foot drop to certain death.  This was an interesting moment for acrophobe
Throatwarbler beset by visions of himself dangling over the precipice suspended
by prickers.  The hash was downhill from there - way down hill - over broken
terrain, around the quarry, dodging cop cars, across a freezing stream (thanks,
Hand Job), a final quarter mile of thorns, and there was the On In. Just as
a good time was starting to be had by all, as the Geezer's medicinal Black
and White was passed around, up drove the quarrycops yet again, dispersing
the group back to the start.   Rambo celebrated his first successful completion
of a Princeton Hard Core hash by bequeathing some colorful underwear to the
Geezer, a curious alternative to the swapping of T-shirts.

Future Hashes:  #495.4  Sunday, February 26, 1995, 2 pm, Rawsex sets.
                #496.4  Sunday, March 5, 1995, 2 pm, Delay LLLama sets in  
                    honour of the Tibetan New Year, the year of the Wood Dog 
                #497.4   March 12, 1995, 2 pm, Safe Sweats Sets
                #498.4   March 19, 1995, 2 pm, Eyesore tries to set a
                          redemption  hash.
                #499.4   March 26, 1995, 2 pm, Dolce/Martinez set