Pedalfiles Bash Trash

The Pedalfiles had kind of a scary bash today, up in that part of Oro Valley where no one remembered to build any bike lanes.

The map shows bike lanes, paths, and trails in purple, green, and blue.  That empty area in the center left?  That's the place.  We started on the south side of the park in the lower left, then rode way the hell north, then east, then a little south, eventually getting over to the upper right side of the map where we stopped for a beer check.  But since our trails are A-to-A, we had to double back west through no-bicycle-man's-land again.

Most drivers moved a little left to give us room, but many didn't, and damn weren't they all going really fast!  It was an enervating experience.  There was a lot of church traffic, and there's nothing meaner than church people in a hurry.  Here's what the roads in this part of town look like:

Still, it was a great ride, almost 19 miles in all, with hills, and when you weren't concentrating on hugging the white...

Bimbo by Day and I hared the 3rd Anniversary Pedalfiles Bash today, stating and ending at Shooter's Steak House, the venue we used for the first hash (and many other hashes in between, since the owners are hash-friendly and like to hear us sing).

And now that the heat of summer is gone (not really . . . keep reading), our turnout is growing again.  Joining Bimbo and I were 16 hardy bashers: Pick'n'Flick, Wet Toe Job, Appendage, Yoda, Just Ron & Just Pat (virgins!), Copulator, Cockstroker,  Zorro (first-time basher), Gummy & Stick Me Anywhere, Trailing Dick & Just Sheila, Dead Fucking Blind, Redheaded Woodpecker, and Blonde in the Bush.  Not wanting to miss all the fun (or maybe just the hot & sweaty part of it), another four bashers joined us for on-afters at Shooter's: Master Meat Finder, H.M. Ho, Citizen 69, and Bareassed-Her.

Our wily hare plan was to lead the pack east on bike trails and a hilly section of River Road north of the Rillito Wash, south on Craycroft to Fort Lowell Park for a champagne check, then west through neighborhoods south of the Rillito to a bar check almost all the way back to the...

Today was the third Sunday of the month, and that made it a Pedalfiles Bike Hash day.  We met the hares, Bimbo by Day and Redheaded Woodpecker, at a dive bar on the south edge of Tucson, where we were joined by two other bashing couples: Half-Hash & Hasadick and Yoda & Appendage, and one harriette, Blonde in the Bush.  After the requisite head start, we took off in pursuit of the hares.

We'd been promised virgin territory but apparently Yoda didn't believe the hares, because he rode north toward a part of town we've bashed almost to death.  The rest of us actually followed trail, and what do you know, for once the hares weren't lying.  We rode a 15-mile route through mixed industrial and residential South Tucson neighborhoods, most of the way along a fabulous bike trail I didn't know was even there.  The trail wasn't in the greatest condition, and we had to dismount and walk our bikes through one part where heavy rains had deposited several inches of loose sand. The mystery bike trail ended near the VA Hospital in South Tucson, a tough neighborhood I know all too well, so I stayed close to Pick'n'Flick...

Sunday morning Pick'n'Flick and I rode trail with the Pedalfiles Bash.

The bash started and ended at a hasher's house in NW Tucson, and after it was over we had a circle and barbecue on his patio. As we were talking and grilling there was a huge POW!, almost as if someone had fired a pistol.

I hate to think what might have happened if someone had fired a pistol, because none of us had the presence of mind to duck behind something or hit the deck . . . we just stood around like buffoons, asking each other "What was that?"

That, upon investigation, turned out to be Pick'n'Flick's rear tire. Before we left for the bash that morning I'd pumped it up to 105 psi, not thinking about the conditions we'd soon be riding in: 100+ degree temperatures and ten or more miles on black asphalt. In fact, trail was more like twelve miles long, so the air in Pick's tire must have expanded quite a bit. As you can see, Boyle's Law always wins. Too bad they can't design a Shrader valve that incorporates a pressure...

You know what makes for a good Fathers' Day?  Going on a bike hash!

Today was the hangover hash for the jHavelina HHH Red Dress weekend, set by three members of the Pedalfiles Bash: Redheaded Woodpecker, Bimbo by Day, and Stick Me Anywhere.  The pack — runners and riders alike — gathered at a favorite Pedalfiles hangout, Reilly's Irish Tavern, for a few pre-hash libations:

The Gathering

The hares set two trails, one for traditional hashers and one for bashers.  About a mile into the bash trail, we came upon evidence of a catastrophic hare failure:

Hare Fail!


Beer Check

The Circle

. . . for all the hashes that run in it.

Citizen 69 and I hared the monthly bash (bike hash) this morning.  Between the two of us, we scouted trail four times.  Last Saturday we noticed flour from another hash on a small section of our planned route, but it was only two blobs and it already looked old, so we didn’t think it would be a factor for a hash that wasn’t going to happen for another week.  Citizen 69 rode trail again yesterday morning and didn’t even notice it, so we figured we were good to go.

Picture this: Citizen 69 and I are on the inbound leg of our trail, pedaling for our lives with the pack closing from behind, and here’s a huge fresh BT right in the middle of our trail!  The damn Saturday hash ran part of our trail a couple of hours after Citizen 69 scouted it!

I knew the other hash’s BT was going to confuse our pack, so I jumped off my bike and drew a Pedalfiles “P” with a true trail arrow right opposite the BT, but only two or three bashers saw it . . . the rest...

Face plant!  Face plant!  Face plant!

When we went to the bike hash in Green Valley this morning, we didn't realize Yoda was planning to test us!  Well, a little education is always good, and even the most experienced hasher still has a thing or two to learn . . .

No?  Take a closer look . . .

Some bashers were confused . . .

Well, what is it?  If you guessed dried bird shit, you pass this portion of the test.  The next part is harder.

If you choose "left," take no points.  If you choose "right," subtract previous points.  If you choose "straight ahead," proceed to on-ins.

Happy birthday, Yoda!

. . . literally:

Toward the end of this morning's Pedalfiles Bash, some shithead in a car tried to force a member of our pack off the road. After an exchange of strong words the shithead followed our basher for several blocks, repeatedly passing and cutting in front until our guy turned into a narrow alleyway and ditched him. Other riders, farther back, saw the shithead stop, get out of his car, stare intently at a blob of flour in the street, and whip out his cell phone. When the other riders passed the shithead, he yelled that he was calling the cops. Several minutes later, straggling members of the pack passed a cop car stopped near some flour on trail.

Those of us who had already finished trail were at the on-after pub, ordering drinks and lunch. We heard part of the story from the rider the shithead went after, more from the riders behind him, and more from the stragglers.

What we didn't know, as we were joking and laughing about outrunning the law, was that the responding policeman had called in the Tucson Fire Department, and that TFD was advancing, flour mark by flour mark, toward...

And how.  Deep Dish, a member of Tucson's bike hash, took a serious spill on trail today.  She went down so hard she knocked herself out and very likely separated her right shoulder (see the updates, below).  We called 911 and stayed with her until the paramedics took her away in an ambulance.

Following up on an earlier entry, here's the current scorecard: thirteen total bike hashes, four seriously injured hashers.  How seriously?  All four - Plush Toy, Kiwi Herman, Dirty Sanchez, and now Deep Dish - went directly to the hospital.  Kiwi and Deep went by ambulance.  That's a dismal record.

In my 19+ years of hashing - plunging off cliffs, wading through raw sewage, running from attack dogs and outraged citizens with shotguns, nearly getting hit by cars and trains, ripping shorts (and flesh) going over barbed wire fences - I've never been afraid of anything the hares could throw at me.  But when it comes to hashing on bicycles, may G forgive me, I've got the willies.

Deep Dish's chain came off and wedged itself between the gears and the frame, locking the rear wheel and throwing her.  It could have happened any time.  But it happened on a hash trail, and, as we...