(By the delirious Brown Finger!)
I love a good hashing challenge, the opportunity to test one’s mental and physical strength, the pitting of one’s wits against the hare. I had been looking forward to this ‘mini ball breaker’ for some while, that is until I came down with the dreaded lurgy that has been sweeping through the hashing community like fire through a forest. Sitting on the songthaew leaving town I must admit I felt like jumping out the back and going straight back to bed. Although the lurgy had moved on, no doubt to infect some other poor bastard, fatigue was mushing my mind and muscles to a torpid pulp. Why was I here? There was no way that I was going to finish a 15k run in the heat of the day. I had visions of my sun-bleached, dog-chewed bones being found 10 years later at the bottom of a crevasse. What! Are you a man or a mouse? I told myself sternly. ‘Squeak, pass the cheese’, I heard a high-pitched murine voice reply in the depths of my macerated brain. Gulp!
TMB was clearly in charge when we arrived at the B for the A to B run. Where the f— was Alice?With Germanic efficiency she barked orders and marched around poking and prodding when we were too slow to follow them. Hare brief: pink paper, False Trails, Circles and V’s with ‘MBB’ written on them. What? My Buns are Burning? I collapsed in fevered hysterics, and only just recovered in time to learn that FRB’s were to look on the back of trees for paper off of Circles, and apparently poor old HRA was no longer fit to be considered an FRB. The dismayed look on his face almost set me to tears. In fact, it seemed that I was the only one the hare was talking too. Holy shit, the pressure was mounting, and I was feeling more fatigued by the minute.
A quick transport to the B site about 5 clicks further out of town and we were off, and much to my surprise I was able to jog along with the others without falling over. Cool, I was already feeling much better, and to make things even cooler, heavy clouds rolled in to cover the sun, and a cooling breeze miraculously materialised; in fact it threatened to rain. It was almost the perfect running climate. Yippeeeee, squealed my little mousey brain friend.
The first part of the run took is through dusty orchards, with clever checks to keep us all together. And then we hit the hills, a stony ridge trail with checks that offered almost no alternative other than to check straight along the ridge. However, there was a very good check which had true trail leading across a gully to a trail running parallel to the one gravy and I were checking. We could see trail paper on the other trail but couldn’t call on-on for obvious reasons. We could also see that our trail would converge with the true trail a short way ahead, so we carried on, leaving others to turn back and across the gully. Sweet!
A group of front runners had by now naturally formed with Graven, HRA (still a true blue FRB indeed 
Suckit, a Virgin from America (Calvin?), that wily weasel guy from Columbia, Knockout and I working together on a number of false trails that the hares had artfully chosen to use here, pulling down paper and resetting trail for those who followed. The False Trail checks were very effective but were peculiarly sited on the back of trees, which caught some of us out on quite a few occasions when trail paper appeared to simply run out. Have the hares f—– up here? asked the inquisitive mouse. No and yes, I replied in my most professorial voice. Apparently, the hares had done this so we wouldn’t see the signs from a distance. Fair enough. But in my experience, Mr Mouse, there is always a way to site a False Trail facing the right direction without it being seen from a distance, but hey, what the hell did I know . . .? The mouse declined to respond to my learned question and instead asked for a particularly smelly lump of Gorgonzola.
And then we came out of the hills and Graven manfully led us along some dirt trails to the beer stop. I took stock of my mental and physical health. Oddly I was feeling good on both accounts, and the mouse agreed with me, which made me feel even better. But I declined to take a beer and watched Suckit down his and Graven take one to the songthaew. Old age juice had once again begun to seep from his ears and run in tobacco-brown streaks down his neck, and it was in the songthaew that he gracefully decided to retire from the run and to seek solace in more beer which always seems to relieve his ever-creeping old age pains and grumpy refrain. Goodbye old friend, no longer would we wander hand in hand along the heavenly trails this day. I felt sad and sought comfort in the company of the mouse, but that two-faced little rat had deserted me in my time of grief – bastard! And to think I gave him all that damned cheese. It’s not cheap in Thailand, you know!
So, with the promise of only good, flat running trails for the next 8k or so, we set off on the second and last section of the trail, on home to the B site. But instead of good running trails, up another hill and along stony trails we went once more, with the same pack of FRB’s still together, minus gravy of course – sob! But the hills were only minor affairs, certainly not in the Square dude’s league, and soon we were on the promised running trails out the back of Suckit’s place. Suckit sensed a home victory and stormed away in the lead, with the rest of the FRB’s struggling to keep up with his ever-increasing pace. I began to wonder how fast he used to be before he too got old (over sixty now – tee-hee-heee and before his knee turned from solid bone and gristle to rusty tin and rivets. Wow he must have been even faster than Frozen Dick and Tiptoe (tee-heee-hee But home knowledge can often be a negative attribute and sadly it proved so to be for Suckit and his faithful sidekick, good old Huckleberry HRA; they both took the direct leg to the B site from a V check, which proved to be the wrong one. It was then that they both lost heart and ran through the check-back, using Suckit’s trail knowledge to short cut to the B. And it was a rejuvenated me who went the right way at that V check, along with that wanking weasel bastard, the virgin American boy and the delightful Knockout who continued to call and scream at the top of her lungs as she had done so for the entire run. Nice!
And then there were four, and we arrived at the place where the monk’s hangout, right at the back of the back of Suckits place. Weasely-bastard-arsehole-thingy found true trail out to the left and I found him at the next check crouching down, seeking directional guidance from the GPS app on his smart phone. The poor little dick-head was getting tired, was in need of his mummy and didn’t want to play any more, but he still wanted to get home first and he was going to cheat as usual to get there. The remaining three of us followed and we soon came upon a line of fire running over a four-way junction at a circle check. GPS had the smack-head Columbian going straight, but it was Knockout who found true trail heading left, and that was the last that we were to see of the weasel, who short cut the rest of the way home to see his mother, or his girlfriend/wife, whomever the f. . .
And then there were three, and as good a hashing triumvirate as you could hope to find in Chiang Mai, checking and calling together, waiting for each other, holding hands, kissing . . . setting trail from checks for those behind who might indeed need all the help they could get as darkness quickly approached. And it was together that we jogged into the B enclosure – the honourable virgin, the venerable town cryer, Knockout, and fever-free me. And to top it all, I was feeling absolutely marvellous. Yippeeeeee! I had survived and even prospered, I yelled at the mouse, but he still was not there; gone for good, I certainly hoped so. And there sat Graven with the other short cutters, beer in hand, with no sign of any further old age juice discharge. Good to see you in your most natural state of drunkenness once more, buddy.
And then Frozen, Tiptoe and the other hashers who had bailed out at the beer stop arrived by pick-up truck. More than two hours to do 5k or so? Wow! We sat around talking turkey, drinking and munching, waiting for the rest of the pack to arrive, and it was completely dark by the time the Square dude and Shagging Sheep finally arrived home, thankfully none the worse for wear.
A shortish circle that was appreciated by one and all who were in dire need of a substantial meal after a hard day’s hashing. All in all it was a very well executed set, a B to A run that had us guessing all the way. It was well set and the pretty pink paper was, contrary to expectations, easy to follow. Some nice changes of terrain which kept the run interesting and fun for the entire 15k. Great job hares, the TMB / Alice hareing partnership grows from strength to strength. What comes next? Who knows and frankly who really cares, but it would be interesting to know what Alice got from TMB when they found that the restaurant for lunch was closed ????????
As for me? Well why don’t you ask the mouse, he is back on my couch, sitting right next to me as a write this complete heap of shit. Another lump of stinking Gorgonzola, Mr Mouse . . . . . .?