It was the first hash of the "ember" months. This is generally a signal that the temperature is dropping faster that Butt Chug's pants. So it was no surprise upon pulling into the parking lot of the N. K. Hurst building that there were quite a few wankers wearing pants and long sleeves and hats and scarves and thermal underwear. So, maybe not all those things, but everyone looked rather bundled and waaaaaaay to cozy to be hashing. So Lord Lucas, ruler of the skies above us, whose building's shadow we gathered under, decided to send tiny drops of factory dew down from the sky to remind us what we were there for.
Being the excited fool I am about hashing, upon exiting the car and seeing Blister in the Sun, I started my happy walk up to him. He only stared and did not return excitement, and he had to drink for that. A motley crew was forming, with P-Ditz running over, Cuntrifuge arriving by bike, Spit Valve stumbling in from off the streets, and Money Shot looking embarrassed by the sight of the lot of us. Others in attendance when opening circle began after an extra quick blessing of the hares (Money and virgin hare Diarrhea of Man something, I can't quite remember his full name) were the honorable and distinguished Dumb Cumster, Gagging Me Softly, Sexy Stink Fingers, Silent But Deadly, Flasic (with his bottle opener hat), Best in Blow, Cockleganger (a.k.a. Full Metal Jackoff), two extremely tall lady virgins who refused to say that Blister made them cum (I think their names were Just Michelle and Just Julie but I could be way off), and one more Just who I will wait a little while to mention since he single-handedly ruined every Indy-dweller's day today. If I missed anyone feel free to send a pissy message mentioning you were there and next time do something crazier.
We were instructed before the hares were away that the eagle is scenic but that one must not be afraid of heights or in almost any way clumsy. Dexterity and balance were going to be important. Our salacious GM also made sure we sent the walkers off first because they need to know how to find trail in the coming months since it becomes more and more difficult to find it as the light dims and the cold moves in. We gave them a five minute start and caught them one block away at the first check. Objective: failed. There were numerous boob checks in the first mile. No titties were seen, much to the dismay of the Indyscent "members" and the passers-by. One such check occurred outside the Red Garter and a couple males nearly took a gander in there just so they could head out and solve trail. The trail meandered through downtown streets, one time leading us through a construction site where we were quickly ushered back out and had to find trail around the parking structure. The runners were moving quickly and a few were worried about the molasses-moving walkers following us. There were also weirdly-shaped hares' arrows, one of which led straight to a "YBF" (thanks, Spanky, apparently I do remember your name). We ended up reaching the canal and followed it a little ways until we ran into sprinklers and Spit Valve yelled at a stranger, who apparently takes that as a welcome invitation to join. So Just Josh became our accidental virgin. Those are the best kind of virgins.
The turkey/eagle split was upon us and all the runner went right for adventure. We nearly lost trail at the zoo but yours truly found an arrow on the tracks leading over a treacherous bridge, on which Cockleganger just admitted to me that he peed his pants on. A hobo commune pointed the way on to a BN. The only problem was the beer was not so near, but actually across a football field's worth of jagged rocks and the white river. I immediately took this as an invitation to run, hoping desperately to fall and receive a gash that would allow the beautiful life-giving water that flows through Indy collecting our hidden secrets to fill me up with energy and life. But alas, I made it across safely. There were a few stumbles but no life lost or pride tarnished. We enjoyed a beautiful view of the city at twilight and chugged a couple beers before we walked back to the parking lot and promptly lost Just Josh. Down downs commenced as the hash crimes were many and varied. One big one was Just Matt, the aforementioned unmentioned hasher. He was wearing a blue and white shirt with a rather accurate drawing of the quarterback of the Colts on it, only with a red chin beard, eyebrows, and horns. Above the face was written Seyton Manning. Few were amused. He even went so far as to tell stories of voodoo dolls made in his honor at the on-after. Needless to say, he has brought this curse to our humble city and everyone needs to bring this up when hash crimes commence again.
A group exited the scene for the on-after at "Spencer's". That is Money's name for the Stadium Tavern apparently. Food and beverages were enjoyed, as well as a cameo appearance from the one and only Brokeback Belcher. Not sure how she fit the bus in the parking lot. Overall, it was a shitty trail and a great time, as always.