REVISED WRITE-UP: 1) The first wave write-up has been included. 2) Rob Krebs has been added to the list of criminals below---> Princeton HHH HASH #501.4 (Founded by Joe "Hop-along" Burns in 1979) Date: April 2, 1995 Weather: Nuclear Spring Venue: Munsey's Restaurant on Lawrence-Pennington Rd just South of Federal City Road - West and then over 295 on Rte. 31 - Parallel to Bull Run Rd to Arthur R. Sypek Vo-tech School Set By: Eyesore Hashers: First wave -- LRF, My Lips Are Seals, The Madam, Wrong Way, Carrie H., Delay Lllama, Ro Jo, IUTHW, Rob Krebs Hashers: Second wave -- Wacko First Wave: EYESORE'S EXCESS It all started innocently enough; trouble always does. We met at a nameless dive north of Lawrenceville and meandered innocuously through the local parks and condos for about 40 minutes. Predictably emerging at the shopping center a cropduster's bounce from the Twin Pines Airport, we were greeted by the newly redeemed Eyesore, whose hash had already lasted 10 minutes more than his last. "Are we almost done? Two-thirds? Half-way?" asked the pack. "Maybe 20, 25 per cent" was the reply. IUTHW quit right there and spent the afternoon Sunday driving. Well, it was daylight savings time, and pleasant enough if drab spring weather, so the rest of the pack continued unsuspectingly along the surprisingly well-marked trail, which took a dive into the brush where years ago Postage Paid and friend had set a hash in a drunken stupor. Fully expecting a gentle loop to Twin Pines, the pack was stunned to emerge from the first taste of thorns into a barren wasteland of dimensions unprecedented in 499 previous hashes (and one hash-style run). Now, previous scribes in this ongoing chronicle have cited (repeatedly) the venue of "The Warehouses at the End of Time" as the benchmark of desolation. One must admit that the repetitive architecture and absence of life, intelligent or otherwise, in those Warehouses point to a certain desolation of the soul, and these structures are a perhaps regrettable, if necessary, by-product of the blessings of civilization. However, those same pastel, yet gaudy, neo-Aztec Warehouses with monotonously manicured lawns and scruffy trees are as splendid as Versailles when compared with the blasted heath we saw today, which surely marks the very perigee of Phaethon's chariot. For as far as the eye could see the land was devoid of living things. No bird flew nor insect crawled, and no leaf or flower broke the tan, dusty earth. Only a single stand of lifeless trees, the treadmarks of now-rusting earthmovers idled in the distance, and the occasional eruption of some vile liquid, forming fetid pools like oozing scabs on the skin of Mother Earth, served to break the barely undulating volcanic terrain. Following the trail (of salt, no doubt), we soon perceived that budding condos marked the fringes of the waste - a sort of necrophilic fairy ring. In time these mushrooming mansions of the middle-class may grow inward and transform the dusty desert into an asphalt maze, entrapping all who would enter, perhaps to be consumed by a cannibalistic legion of despairing homeowners, equally trapped and unable to find the local market. After an interminable march, endurable only because of the 50 degree weather (Dr. No would have surely set this hash in July), the far side was reached, where only thorns could thrive. It is perhaps too much to expect that simple weeds or scrub survive in such places, but the sensation of ripping flesh (especially my own) has lost its appeal. Numbed by the experience so far, and entering the third hour of the trek (No, Sean Smith's record remains intact - barely), the rest is difficult to recall. There were thorns, and then we crossed I-95, and then there were more thorns, and then we ran on a road for a while, and then we ended at the Mercer County Vocational-Technical School, where structures are carefully named to be instructive; e.g. "A Building". Of course, that was ten minutes before the hare arrived, whining that "the gate was closed today so I couldn't get in to leave the cooler", even though he'd only needed to walk 50 yards across a perfectly mowed lawn. But at least there were marks all the way. Second wave: EYESORE REDEEMED Well, Milkman, what we suspected all along has now been verified. Eyesore redeemed himself in a most convincing manner, setting a trail confusing enough to keep a pack of PHHH hounds at bay for over two hours (unlike the Eyesore/Milkman half hour set) and yet marked well enough that Wacko could follow the trail later on by himself. Arriving at the PUCC computer center at 2PM, I waited until 2:10PM and nobody showed up. Perhaps they hadn't switched their clocks to Pacific Coast Time as I had, and had all showed up 3 hours earlier by mistake. Oh well, couldn't keep Eyesore waiting, so I set off alone in the hashvan to the start. Eyesore wasn't there but the marks were clear enough, so off I went, eager to begin before darkness set in. The first four marks were obvious enough but suddenly I was jogging around in a development devoid of any sign of flour with confidence flagging as I hadn't a clue which direction to check. Desperate, my only choice was to fan out, a very painful tactic for the solo hasher, and therefore something to be avoided whenever possible. To my good fortune, the next mark was a regroup with an arrow. Reassembled, I decided to put much faith in that arrow pointing to an endless swath of mud which no doubt will some day be another development or mall or something -- used to be excellent territory, the domain of legendary Postage Paid. The next difficulty was an "F" atop a mound on the far side of this construction. I really wanted to run in the direction of that "F", but there was no pack to check the other possible directions. So, off I went checking, eventually discovering marks on a line beyond the "F". The trail slinked through a strip of woods barely beyond backyards vanishing in another construction site. We were rejoined a bit later sliding along Rte. 295 in a sliver of woods, eventually emerging where Rte. 31 crosses 295. No way do I want to go over 295. If this hash goes to Trenton State College I'm a dead man as I have to run all the way back to the start. But alas an "F" north on Rte. 31 and I'm heading into Trenton. Thank goodness the trail turns left again and now slithers along 295 on the other side, emerging by a tiny pond. SCB that I am, Bull Run Road is far too inviting, especially knowing the trail could not cross 295 again. A circuit of the Vo-tech school convinces me that I am indeed at the end and fortunately less than two miles from the hashvan and my own mini apres. I sang a little hash song to myself, poured some beer over my head, and drove carefully home, trying to resist passing anyone in the shoulder. Next Hashes: (I just threw Geezer, 242 and Throat Warbler in below. If anyone else wants to set, volunteer now!) Hash #502.4 April 9, 1995, 2 pm Wacko sets (Return to Assunpink) DON'T FORGET THAT THERE IS A GROUP PHOTO -- MAKE SURE TO DRESS APPROPRIATELY!!!!!! Hash #503.4 April 16, 1995 2 pm Geezer sets Hash #504.4 April 23, 1995 2 pm Solo sets Hash #500.4 APRIL 30TH 1995 12 NOON PHHH 500TH HASH -- LRF sets Hash #505.4 May 7, 1995 2 pm Ro Jo sets Hash #506.4 May 14, 1995 2 pm 242 sets Hash #507.4 May 21, 1995 2pm Sleeper sets Hash #508.4 SATURDAY MAY 27 -- 10AM -- REUNIONS HASH -- Warbler sets