Perhaps this is hash trash, which hasn't been written in lo so many years, but I feel I owe the walkers somewhat of an explanation. My valiant cohoare Strap On and I laid out a wonderful trail through lower Carondelet. It was well scouted and planned to a T. The early part of trail had the Eagles and Turkeys/Walkers meeting up at a very well-secured chruchyard overlooking the Mississippi River and Arsenal Island where a Puke Halt was left. We messed up by putting the PH in a very dark corner of the lot, which was missed by both groups. Our bad. Puke Halt to be leveraged at a future trail.

Continuing south and down to lower elevation, the hares laid a true trail arrow out of the alley, through an abandoned building and out the front door. As we laid said true trail arrow, there was a dude hanging out by his car in the alley and we didn't really acknowledge him as we passed and laid the directional mark. A short time later, the Eagles passed through and found their way. But sometime after that, apparently the alley man saw our true trail arrow, and decided to lay his own true trail arrow with his own chalk in a totally different direction. When the Turkeys/Walkers then came thru, they were pointed to a totally wrong direction and lost their way. Fatliner, a runner, earlier shouted out to the dude as he passed, "nice night for a run" to which dude responded, "at least there's beer at the end." Makes me think our trail hijacker had some history of hashing and has his eye on fucking up our trail this fine evening.

The runners eventually found the beer stop at Alaska Park, where we were graced with a fistfight between a couple of unhoused gentlemen, and where also Wet Spot retrieved a porch-pirated box of Asian food. She honorably decided to reclaim said food and will be returning the box to its original address somewhere in deep south county. Great work, Wet Spot!

The remainder of trail had the pack heading north on the closed section of I-55, back down to the Carondelet Greenway only to face some light harassment from a few more unhoused folks trying to enjoy their bonfire in solitude under the Loughborough overpass. Meanwhile the Turkey/Walkers adjourned to the Little Bar for a rousing game of Thunderstruck with the bartender before craniuming back to circle.

A religious ceremony was expertly conducted by Triple D, who awarded Fake Bake hash shit for dismissing himself to the commode exactly when he faced an extended turn in Thunderstruck at the Little Bar. A good night was had by all on the warmest evening of this January week. God speed to all with the incoming deluge of frozen shit. See you Saturday.

Yours in Gispert,

Disco Ass