A nice crowd gathered on Mill Street the other evening to witness Venta, the Motown Mama, burst her Hogtown haring cherry. I’m sure we provided an amusing distraction for the blue bloods on the patio of the adjacent Miller Tavern. They eyed us over their Grey Poupon as Zephyr handed out cans of the good stuff to take care of our prehash hydration needs.   They probably thought we were discussing race strategy but in fact we were trying to determine whose sperm was on Moonman’s lycra shorts.

After a few words of introduction from Humpday and instructions from Venta, we headed east into the bowels of Hogg’s Hollow. I was wondering why I was blessed with the company of Shadow until I realized I was the only hasher with sense enough to take a traveller. He was following my PBR king can like he was a dog and it was a porkchop. Speaking of pork, Shadow explained to me that it was called Hogg’s Hollow cuz they used to raise pigs there. Apparently, according to Shadow, it was an ideal place cuz the poor things couldn’t climb up the steep surrounding hills. I didn’t wanna argue with him but I figured if Humpday can do it then it should be no problem for a cute little pig.

Speaking of hills, Venta had a treat in store for those who haven’t been going to the gym recently. It seems there are only two ways out of the east end of Hogg’s Hollow. The first is to deal with the security dogs on the old money Rosedale Golf Club; the second is to shinny up a rope to Hedgewood Road. While Shampoo was eager to taunt the angry canines, the rest of us chose to follow New Shoez and Half Wit up the rope.

Still panting, the pack followed trail onto the long forgotten fairways of St. Andrew’s Golf Course, home of the ’36 and ’37 Canadian Opens. For just a second I thought I could see the ghosts of champions Lawson Little and Harry Cooper. Then I realized it was just Wet Spot and Pussyfoot having a discussion about Latin American freedom fighters.

After a sprint through Tournament Park, and a jog down Old Yonge, we entered St. John Cemetery where FRB Casket Case (ed. note...  WTF?)  led the half minds down the embankment to the beer check. As night fell we took a short walk down Yonge to the On In along the banks of the picturesque West Don River. Here we held circle and picnicked on sandwiches and cookies lovingly prepared by Venta, the Julia Child of hashing.