We were all prepared for this to be yet another elaborate Sir Dip practical joke, since it was on April Fools Day. Some speculated we’d show up and there would be no trail (ha, ha, real funny, Dip…), but the joke was on us. Sir Dip had a doozy of a trail prepared for us.
First of all, I don’t understand what’s so special about r*nning 1,500 trails with Tornado Alley H3 (he claims he’s r*n many more than that if you count with other kennels). All it is is r*nning around to excess and then drinking beer. Or is it r*nning around and then drinking beer to excess? I can never remember. Sheesh, any ancient person can do that, (and he is ancient).
The pack gathered at the Andover Community Center, a grease-spot in the middle of some Kansas cow pastures. It wasn’t an InterAm turnout, but a respectable (but not respectful) pack of disreputable wankers showed up, many from far-off, exotic kennels.
We were given our trail swag at the start of trail. It was brightly-colored tie-dyed cranium gear (made by True Trail Haberdashery ), which Sir Dip graciously autographed for each of us. I hear that those who were late rego-ing and missed out on the swag are now scouring eBay for one. Someone said they’re going for upwards of $500.
The beginning of trail started with a whichy-way, which turned into false trails, hidden marks, and eventually an intersection. We knew then that we were in serious trouble. Trail went downhill from there, both literally and metaphorically-speaking.
The pack faced five miles or so of weeds, brambles, barbed wire, poor markings, martinis, and actually not-crappy beer on this trail. There were a few evidences of an international flour shortage on the trail; either that, or Dip’s idea of a straight line needs to be addressed.
We had three beer stops, a shot stop, and a martini stop. The odd thing we noticed was that at the beer stops, the beer bitch looked a lot like Sir Dip. We hadn’t realized he had an ugly twin sister who drove the beer wagon, and looked eerily like Sir Dip. We then realized that he had pre-laid trail and Sir Dip was the beer bitch. Whew, thank Gispert the family gene pool didn’t go in that direction.
One of the pack brought her own flour to help mark trail. I guess she just didn’t have trust in Dip’s marking ability. Sadly, we didn’t find this out until the next day, otherwise we would have gladly called her into circle to celebrate her co-having efforts.
As the pack limped back to the on-in, we noticed bright red faces (sunscreen, people) and verrry slow gaits. We were about to call in Search and Rescue because the DFLs were so effing behind the rest of the pack. The best part is that no one died on trail.
At the on-in, we were greeted with more beer and pizza, and there was much rejoicing…..and then we……celebrated Sir Dip for his 1,500 trails with an engraved silver vessel, and his very own dead bug.
Congratulations, Sir Dip, and may the next 1,500 trails be as much fun! On on!
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A recap of bygone hashes.