Category Archives: CH4 – Write Ups

BUGGER! I just lost my write up… Version 2 is certainly not going to be as eloquent, but fuck it.

How should a hare prepare to set a run?? Scouting? Laying Trail? Not getting horrendously drunk the night before? Getting bombarded with emotional bullshit throughout the day? Avoiding Cool Ball’s killer hill runs? Whatever the rule book is, I threw it out the window and did it a bit differently.

I arrived at the run site 15 minutes earlier, so I could place a beer stop before hand. When the songthaew arrived, I asked Lung La to meet us at 700 year stadium to bring us back, a secret that he divulged to Itchy Bitchy – which explains how she got all the checks right on the 2nd half of the run!

Apparently the first check bought be an extra 5 minutes as Frozen Dick was the one to find it – with Skiddy determined I was going for my favourite hole in the wall – not this time. I was jogging away at the front – at one point I nearly called ONON, and at another I heard the ghost of Human Excrement chasing me. As it happened they didn’t get close – but I was fortunate with many FRBs fleeing the country to avoid the tussle with me!

The finish was across the dam behind 700 year stadium, and when they saw the OnIn the race started… until they realised how far it was! When she saw her chance Nutcracker (under training from Hollow Legs) sprinted ahead, and “WON” the hash for the first time… Did she get the wings? Hell no! Quiet Please shouted foul abusive language at me and lost her chance, so it was Big Top for the female wings.

In hushed whispers, in darkened corners, hashers throughout the world have predicted the coming of the chosen one. The ultimate hasher, the king (or queen) of the trail, a man (or woman) who’s blood is the ultimate hash, and whose heart beats in morse code for the letters “HHH”. (Take the time to look that one up – it makes the ‘joke’ even funnier!)

Some have suggested it is Superman – the living incarnate of the hash – but really a man who still hasn’t found anything better to do on Saturdays! Some have suggested it was Suckit – a man who can lay good trails despite life threatening injuries and self induced hangovers. Some have even suggested BMY was “The One” who could lead hashers to a 2nd cuming. Today we learnt the truth – Cumalot is the queen of the hash, and Woolly Jumper her able assistant.

Sadly the turn out was low, but having hashed for over 2 years now, I have to say I enjoyed the trail probably more than any other. A location chosen just out of town just past Maerim – close to where WJ has set before, and Cool Balls found an aquaduct near there. This has pissed me off for years – why the fuck is aqueduct not aquaduct? The E? WTF? That makes no sense – aquA is water goddamnit! Anyway – where was I? There was no aqueduct involved today, instead we ran some beautiful trails with varied terrain and some great views.

Apparently there was no scouting, the queen of the hash just went out and laid trail and it turned out to be one of the best hash runs I’ve ever done.

The circle was varied but typically Sunday-Friendly. Shame about the On-On-On – or was it?

With 3 hashes on offer today, the suggestion was to cut one of them and for a while it seemed the CH4 was on the chopping block. Despite fears of small numbers, we went ahead with a minimal effort, live hare, BBQ extravaganza. An almost unrivaled marketing machine went to work and when the run time arrived we had 20 – around double what was catered for in terms of food.

I’d arrived an hour early to discuss the plans with Chuckie (as apparently I was the co-hare by this point), alerting him to additional runners from NYCH3. He started prancing and panicking about sufficient food, calculating the quantum physical ‘per hasher rib ratio’ property. I suggested it would probably be ok, but the concern continued like a slug on acid. Hang on just a sec, I need a beer…

…Ok, I’m back – now I’m typing slowly especially for the slow readers. Anyway, when the bus arrived Chuckie nearly exploded, (just like acidic slugs do in my imagination). As well as the NYCH3 visitors we had visitors from Switzerland, who promptly informed us that the Bendover family were on their way! My reaction was – great! Chuckie’s reaction was “Damn Swiss, they eat too much, can’t control their kids, we’ll never have enough sausages, if I’d have known I’d have set a proper run, damn, blast and buggery”. I tried to slip a couple of valium into his pre run water, but he spiffled like a spritely fellow.

Headstart adjustment, from 3 to 5 minutes. Did anyone notice they were hiding behind a hut so they wouldn’t see Chuckie run down the road? The damn Swiss are so precise with their time and itching to walk slowly away from the runsite chasing Chuckie like a steamroller in a tacky Austin Powers movie. He was safely out of range, and I came across, or rather I ran into, Chuckie laying trail not long before our predetermined relay point. From what I heard, the trail started good, but only got better after the beer check!

I took over the reins and jogged off, listening for a ‘OnOn’ behind me. I spickled and spuckled and as an after thought set a check that apparently confusicated even the edilable Poo. I bribed Able Semen to kick a check in the wrong direction to buy me some more time, and was clean away to set and On-In that was only seen by a few diligent bastards – the marginally more intelligent simply strolling back to the beers.

We had a pact before the circle that nobody would give Poo any help whatsoever, and he should do a one man stand up comedy act for 45 ish minutes. It was the only way the food would spread around as when a Poo talks a Poo doesn’t eat. With our appetite for Poos comedy satiated, and satiated, and saturated, we dissipated into casual drinking until somebody suggested that we should possibly move somewhere else. Somehow we ended up drinking at the hash pub where our efficible hash encharmed the monkey of horniness to our ranks. Bugger me, I’m out of beer… Hang on a sec dear readers, I’ll be right back…

…mmm thats better! As I sign off, I scarily recall I have that ‘job’ word coming up in a few hours. Ephisculasismo! (Poo knows what I mean!)

The run site was the “Disco Shelter”, until yesterday, when the hare’s husband discovered that the disco shelter had been fenced off and instead we would risk the rains from the side of the road just around the corner. I was dubious and as the rains started 10 minutes before we started the run, we dived into the songthaew. Fortunately it was a passing shower and things cleared up for the rest of the run.

The hare brief was given by the co-hare, and we discovered later the hare had little to do with the run beyond grumbling about shoe choice. Nonetheless, Belly Dancer took off on his usual early run sprint – only today was different from usual – normally he gets the first check wrong and is never seen again – today he got it right, and it wasn’t until the 2nd check that he got wrong and wasn’t seen again… 😉

The trail took us up a creek bed and I was doing well despite still recovering from bad meds, but when we reached a ridge it was gamble time – were we looping left to right or right to left? clockwise or anti clockwise? DAMN! I second and third guessed myself and was stranded up the wrong hill when the OnOn was called. I cantered my way through the pack and caught up as around half a dozen hashers were following HRAs advice and guarding a check while Junglicious was sent ahead to check… Junglicious??? WTF? Where did she come from? The insanely fast running goddess had appeared from nowhere on the trail and was up front setting the pace – she didn’t even hear the hare brief!

A circle check at junction on a ridge – I remember there being a sneaky trail back down the previous gully, so went to check – it didn’t look right, but when the OnOn was finally called, I was way off trail, and again spending time with the ladies as I puffed my way back to the front runners. Sure enough I caught them at another circle check at a junction on a ridge – this looked more familiar, and I ducked down the sneaky trail down the gully before and sure enough there was the paper- muahahaha!

Humperdick cut trail across to join me as we plummeted down the hill and hit a brick wall? wtf? That was as unexpected as Junglicious! Cutting to the left we hit a barbed wire fence? WTF? I could smell the beer just yards away, and we turned back up the hill to find a detour around the wires… Ugh… I needed a lie down, I needed a rest… I came to with Sleeps on it fanning me with a big leaf – paradise, until I saw Fishy Fingers and Human Excrement watching like a couple of perverts!

The circle went on a while, but it was a good one – one that you just don’t need to call a close to. OnOn at a Isaan restaurant which was also great! All in all a great hash – cheers Snail Trail…. Skiddy…

Itchy seemed in a better mood when we arrived at the run site – better than when she’d sent the run directions in a flurry of expletives at least. Given that it had rained solidly for 16 hours, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had called the hash off, but nonetheless a small committed field of all weather hashers assembled to see what punishment we had in store. At least the hares had thoughtfully chosen a site with a shelter, and also cleverly set the run in paper – what an inspiration!

We set off and ran through the usual run site (that doesn’t have a shelter) – curious that there was no check there, I logged that for later on! The 2nd check had us all over the place until Chuckie set off calling ONON – I chased after the wrong side of the fence. At the next V check I confused everyone when I found a check back at the same time Chuckie did. We figured out my mistake and HRA took off on a run of form with Poo, Chuckie and I chasing after him – Hollow Legs and newly named Nutcracker were also in the mix – no sign of Jeff though…

After HRA stormed through a few circle checks he was finally foxed and we regrouped with CW and Poo taking charge – the next check screwed CW, and then a great V check took Poo out, leaving me with a slight advantage. The last couple of checks are always the most important, and luckily I got them figured out. Unlike everyone else I also didn’t get lost after the On-In which meant I got plenty of drinking time before the rest got back.

Pleasant enough circle with a small compact group – we need to find some more numbers for the Sunday runs… OnOn

On the way to the run I chatted with Sleeps on It about how Semen Soars sets good runs – he certainly puts a lot of effort into making sure it is a good one. I also recounted the story of last time SS set a run out here and the trouble we all had finding it – I remembered the first time I met Humperdick was when Dykie rescued us from the highway where really there should have been a sign… Today, again, there was no sign, but fortunately we had no problem finding the run site, and found Anything (Happy Birthday) already there.

The Songthaew found it ok, along with Throbbing Ninja, some guests and some others. No sign of Chuck Wao, Humperdick and more importantly Suckit & Itchy were missing with the beer!!! Frantic phone calls, and eventually we had to set off, up some temple steps and back down again. We cut along the side of the ridge, and everybody was sticking together, largely due to Nicky (now Able Seaman) leading the walkers straight along the bottom of the hill.

We ran along the side of a small irrigation canal, and that was when a 4some broke off at the front – Brown Finger, Mr. Poo, HRA and myself. What fun!? There were plenty of checks that kept us dancing around, left and right, round in circles, taking turns to hit the front and immediately screw up. The trails were great, and clearly a lot of thought had gone into exploring them and finding a great way of using them. Good Work SS.

The trail went on for nearly 8km, but the hare had even considered the best place for the sun to set as we cut around the edge of some rice paddies on our way in. I hit the last few checks, and Brown Finger jogged up next to me and we ran in together – a nice way to finish my last run with the machine – best of luck in the coming years, and hope you’ll make it back to run with us in the not too distant future!

The beers were opened and the walkers straggled in with Chuckie and Humperdick bringing up the rear having finally found the run site. The circle was… unfortunate… Incidents that just aren’t part of the “Happy” Hash. Whatever the reasons / blame etc. we all hash because we like the exercise, the beer, the fun – the ‘family’ – I’ll remember that rather than anything else that happened. The hash is the whole event – the run, the circle, the On-On… The run was fantastic, I had a pleasant dinner and much of the circle was fun.

OnOn!

(Courtesy Brown Finger)

With Songkran hangovers and joyous memories of Saturday’s splendid “family” hash still echoing
through contentedly vacant skulls, we arrived in dribs and drabs at the Hash Pub to wait for the
Songthaew to arrive to take us to the Sunday Happy Hash. And we waited . . . and we waited . . . and
we waited . . . happily, of course.

Five minutes after the allotted hour of departure, HRA decided to take decisive action, so he handed
his mobile to a kindly soul behind the bar and instructed her to phone the Songthaew driver to find
out what the hell was going on. The message came back that allegedly – and to avoid any possibility
of being misconstrued in what I am saying here, I say again, allegedly, Mr Poo had told the driver
that there would not be a Happy Hash run because of the holidays. Now I am sure that Mr Poo will
have a different take on the whole affair, but then he wasn’t there, he was having his own holiday
fun, armed with a water gun, down on the Moat. So no doubt the alleged “mismanagement” will all
be cleared up to everyone’s utter satisfaction at some later date, probably from the block of ice at
the male hash on Tuesday.

Anyway, the true spirit of the hash kicked in and a random passing Songthaew was secured for
the duration of the hash for roughly the same fistful of baht, so the careful Hash Cash was not
overly concerned, yet. On the way out to the run site – it just had to be a very long way out on this
particularly mismanaged occasion – we grabbed a couple of sacks of ice, some water and some beer,
but no, we couldn’t buy beer because it wasn’t yet 17.00, and the Tesco Lotus crew were not about
to change the rules for a few crazy Farang.

We arrived only half an hour after the run time, which in many ways was a miracle, to find that good
old Chucky Doo had some beer in his car, which the Hash Cash agreed, after much arm-twisting,
to buy, but only one slab to go with the leftovers from the previous run – a canny lad is our Hash
Cash. So, after all that, we had the bare essentials for a hash – beer and ice and a hare and a goodly
number of hashers to make merriment with, and to top it all Suckit was there and had hauled a
cooler from his house despite the pain of his recent operation – hoorah for Sucking Stitches!

Hollow Legs was the nervous hare for the day, worrying about anything and everything. I thought
he was going to have a breakdown, but his new girlfriend had him on a ball-controlled leash and she
managed to pull his quivering nuts and shaking head out of the safety of his ass so that he could give
the brief and point us in the direction of the trail.

After yesterday’s rocket-fuelled drink fest and the calamitous earlier events with the non-appearing
Songthaew et al, I was glad to be running in the zone, as it were, where everything but putting your
foot down in a safe place is totally forgotten and totally superfluous. And it was a long run, about
8.5k, which suited my need to sweat out beer and to ease other tensions that somehow had gone
un-eased for a couple of days. The walkers got picked up by the Songthaew after about 4k and the
rest of us ploughed our way along good trails and mostly through good checks for the remaining 4.5,
good checks, that is, apart from the circle check that appeared to have already been kicked out by
the hare himself because there was a V check about 20 yards ahead, and one obviously wrong trail
off a V check that had the check back carefully hidden from view. Even though I knew it was the false
trail, I just had to find that blasted check back . . . and when I couldn’t, I turned to follow the trail
back to the V, and there it was, stapled at head height to the wrong side of a tree. WTF . . .

Anyway, I can’t remember much more about the run as I was still fighting a sinister hangover that
was trying desperately to make me lose my footing and to murder me on the point of a sharp rock or
the trunk of a gnarly tree. Suffice it to say, Hollow legs and the ball-clenching Rosanne did a fine job
with setting the trail and we all arrived almost together sweating and cursing back at the A, all that
is except the ball-twisted Seman Sores – yes folks, its true I tell you – who arrived a bit later, just as
Frozen Dick was about to “run” back up the trail to look for him before it got too dark. WTF . . .?

The refreshingly convivial sound of a Suckit Circle permeated the hot evening air for a little while,
and then the more serious and clipboard-armed hare took it over with stories and jokes and the
occasional splash that lasted long into the night. And then it was all over, and there was no on-on, so
we clambered into the Songthaew with our new and friendly Thai driver and headed back to town.
And do you know what, our most amazing Hash Cash had got it right, there had been more than
enough beers, enough in fact for a rodie, albeit one of those tasteless San Miguel Light things that
some hashers but not many seem to enjoy.

So there you have it, a great run by Hollow Legs ably assisted by the nut-tugging Roseanne, and
in the end we had beer and ice to enjoy while the balmy evening turned black and a couple of tiny
flashlights occasionally pieced its heavy veil. As for the confusion at the start of the day, well that’s
all just part of the hash – who cares? It all turned out right in the end . . . didn’t it? And there will
eventually be a perfectly rational and totally understandable explanation for it all . . . won’t there?
Of course there will, I’ll bet my little brown finger on it!

(Courtesy Brown Finger)

It was the afternoon after the afternoon after the infamous night before – the drunken Animal
Dinner – and still the hangovers lingered.

With Throbbing Ninja the lazy hare for the day, the wise word amidst the aching sculls on the
songthaew was that she would set the trail from the seat of her motorcycle, and would use decent
trails on relatively flat terrain, and it would probably be a long runner’s run, perhaps seven or eight
k. But what the F did we know, fools that we were to think we were able to think at all, let alone
wisely . . .

There had been a bit of a storm earlier in the afternoon and the hare brief – given by Throbbing
Johnson’s infinitely worse half and totally screwed up co-hare – was full of Marvinesque doom and
gloom. “Not sure the paper will be any good now; not sure the checks will still be there, but hey,
you know how it is, all my fault, it’s always me, never her fault, blame me why don’t you, you always
do . . .”

So we set off in totally depressed spirits and without our valuable sniff, Snail Trail, who had decided
to conveniently forget her running shoes so that she could sit in the car and sleep off more of her
alcohol-induced, Animal Dinner malady. And so we headed off understaffed and took ages to find
the trail, which went straight up a very steep incline. This is not what we had anticipated; and the
upward slopes just kept on hitting us in the face, literally for at least one of us.

The ever-whining Chuck Wao – no improvement from Saturday’s hash, still with a grumpy hangover
the size of his massive ego – thankfully went the wrong way down the first V check, and I thankfully
took the right one with a non-drinking-paying Anything following close behind. What the F, I was
thinking, even this notoriously hardened party girl still had a hangover and was taking a break from
the beer? Does that sound right? even vaguely so?

I had it in my thick head that the trail would follow the contours of the hills that formed a kind of
half a toilet bowl around the A site, and thankfully, this time my normally shitty sense of direction
did not let me down. I managed to get the next several checks around the dirty rim right and ended
up quite a long way out in front. But then my luck ran out. As the trail slid down to a road, the
grinning hare was there to meet us on her bike, directing traffic, laughing like a gay hyena on heat
as she pointed the way of the trail – straight back up the steep slopes of the hill. It was then that I
missed a V check, which was made out of sticks (sticks in the Fing forest ??????) and came back
and found it when I noticed that there wasn’t any more paper – the hare hadn’t papered the trail
at V checks – and then went back to check the same way again because I hadn’t gone 100m in that
direction. Needless to say, the relentlessly chugging duo, Crazy Image and Chucky Doo (moaning,
moaning, moaning, groaning, groaning, groaning . . .) caught me up and took the right trail after I
had eventually found the check-back on the other one.

And so it came to pass that we three FRBs came off the hill together, happy, holding hands, waiting
for each other like good little fairy hashing companions – no wait, that’s not right, it can’t have been,
Chucky Doo and Gravy Graven fairies? No, that’s right – that’s not right at all. I remember now, we
came out of the forest into a waterlogged industrial cement enclosure – if that is not too grand a
description – racing each other, pushing and shoving, vying like maddened dogs for the lead. The
paper trail had gone completely, leaving us to frantically search in all directions. But there was only
one conceivable way out, but still we couldn’t find the trail, still we were bustling and pushing, until

one of us finally found the on in; and in true non-competitive FRB fashion, we will lie, cheat and
scratch eyes out to say it was I who found it and not the other lying, cheating, eye-scratching, racist
bastards! So just who found it may never truly be known . . . but I think it was me Ah, yes, that’s
more like it!

So in the end, it wasn’t a long run, about 3.5k, and it definitely wasn’t flat, and if the hare did set it
entirely from the seat of her motorbike, then she is some kind of champion off-road rider . . . oh, and
somehow, Tulips and Frozen Sausage managed to take about an hour and five to complete the trail.
What the F were they doing out there? humping stray dogs for F sake??????

And the circle was kind of cool, in a completely disorganised, uninhibited-by-tradition-and-a –
permanent-GM type of cool, where the hare loosely ran the circle – and I do mean loosely – with
everybody joining in the chaotic fun and frolics. We were so relaxed that the Snail Skid family shared
intimate details of their intimate life together that involved some sort of Brown Finger activity,
which Snail Trail demonstrated on a now smiling and girly-giggling Chuck Wao – what the F . . . And
guess what, CW didn’t say a good circle is a short circle once, and at one point quietly whispered in
my ear that he was actually enjoying himself and might even be a little pissed! What the F . . .? If it
wasn’t for the very astute Graven Image, who realised we were drinking far too many beers for his
highly secured hash cash wallet to bear, we might have been there all night.

Great job the Screwed Ninja team. And thank F that I found out that Anything was drinking after all
– she had brought a leftover bottle of Thai whisky from Friday’s festivities; I just couldn’t have lived
with the frightening thought of a sober and sane Anything , doesn’t work, does it?

And the hangovers from the animal Dinner go on and on and on . . .

I’ve been on a few of Bend Over’s runs, and he has always succeeded in setting good runs. The bar was high, but this was a truly great run – great job Bend Over!

Another great turn out for the Happy Hash and the hare arrived for the briefest of hare briefs before we were set loose. Within moments we hit a circle check, and memories came flooding back about where we were – I remember Alice setting a run there with a ridiculously long check that took us ages. This check was quicker to find and Humperdick lead the way tooting his horn. Chuck Wao was excitable early and he and Brown Finger quickly took off at the front.

It wasn’t long before Brown Finger got away at the front (he was the only one willing to run uphill). We arrived at the top to find a check kicked out, but only silence echoing our calls through the hills. We scattered, and eventually it was called (I think by Itchy), the otherside of a canyon from where I was. Angry Inch was somewhere further along the trail from me, and Chuckie and HRA were just behind. I gambled on cutting across further down, while CW and HRA trudged back to the check. Fortunately it paid off and I ran into Brown Finger who was sheepishly (and quietly) checking a circle back down in the valley – I landed on trail just ahead of him and took off after Angry Inch.

I got away and was doing well until I hit a circle with at least 6 trails on offer. After looking at 3 of them, I heard the usual FRBs calling from another option. Bugger! I slowly lost the back of the FRB pack, and Poo was the last to cruise away. I’d had enough and decided to walk back as surely I wouldn’t see the pack again – luckily the trails were great, so I was happy enjoying the scenery… The cunning hare had another trick up his sleeve though and I caught up at a circle that had the FRBs all over the place – with Chuckie reluctantly pointing down a valley as the only option left. Poo and BF took it on while CW guarded the circle. I spied an almost invisible trail that gradually grew and when I saw the beautiful pink paper it was awesome!

Brown Finger of course chased me down the hill and pushed me on faster than I’d intended. At the next circle, I guilted BF into checking the wrong way, and lucked out all the way in to the beer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an attractive On-In!

The circle went on, but it was one of those circles that seemed to flow – it might have been a long one, but it was entertaining and came to an end just as the beer was running out. All in all a great, great hash! What made it better was CW’s bitterness at not ‘winning’ 😉

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(Courtesy of Brown Finger!)

The more I get to know Dr Byte, the more I appreciate what a fine and friendly guy he is, an excellent hashing companion – unless of course he is the hare.

It seems that in the BMY handbook of how to set the perfect trail, there is just one overriding philosophy: to find ever more devious and extreme ways in which to utterly annihilate any FRB who would dare to pit his inferior wits against the self proclaimed most intelligent hasher on the entire planet – and probably on many others as well – and to hell with the consequences for anyone else foolish enough to follow the FRBs along his trail. He has a whole chapter dedicated to a sub-philosophy, which defines such suffering folk as unavoidable collateral damage in a total war against the arch enemy. He is indeed the evil Moriarty of the hashing world; his preferred weapons of FRB destruction are complexity, distance and elevation, backed up with an inexhaustible arsenal of subterfuge.

So perhaps anyone reading this carefully worded diatribe will appreciate why I woke up this morning feeling a little anxious. And I was still feeling that way when we arrived at Moriarty’s usual A site in the Huay Tung Thao area, the one where he doesn’t have to pay the 20 baht entry fee every time he goes scouting, and where Mount Doom rises terrifyingly up to the heavens in a series of acutely ascending ridges. So the mind games had already begun; he had us all thinking that we would be heading straight up the mountain to some lofty point where we would come straight back down again, probably using a parachute, preferably in a body bag. But round one to the hare, he set us off in completely the opposite direction (perpendicular Moriarty?).

We found nice, flat, fun and happy trails, down which one could confidently send one’s granny and kids, family hashing trails in fact, fit for a family hash. We gaily skipped over the road and down wide open trails that were an absolute pleasure to traverse. We ate up a few Ks on these well used trails and I was beginning to feel that the dastardly hare was losing his edge, and we were simply going to frolic around the same area for a couple more Ks before heading back to the A, hopefully for a special BMY BBQ.

Fat chance! The games had only just begun!

At a circle check beside the road, Moriarty had the FRBs checking down the road, further away from the A, while he sat on his motorbike whispering the real direction in Kwazi Moto’s eager ear. Kwazi headed off in the opposite direction with Itchy bitchy and found the true trail leading into the rapidly expanding housing estate, where poor old Chuck Wao took the wrong trail from a cross check, down the wrong side of a wall, only to find that the true trail led down the other side of the wall and came out on his side of the wall a short distance from the check back. Too late, he had already returned to the check . . .

And then we were led to another devious circle check that had us rummaging through a smelly rubbish tip, and then on to another devilish circle check that had so many possible trails from it that it took us many minutes to find the true trail, which was cunningly off to the right, some sixty or so meters back on the trail we had just come down. By now, we were truly ticking off the Ks, and some of the pack was starting to suffer from physical exhaustion, and as we headed back through the housing estate, the short cutting began in earnest. More ominously, Moriarty was leading us ever closer to Mount Doom. Surely the sadistic bastard was not going to end the run up there?

It was in the foothills that we FRBs started to come across checks that had been kicked out by short cutters, some of whom had decided to risk taking the trail that did indeed start to go up the mountain. But then, thankfully, the trail turned sharply right, and after some bushwhacking through torched undergrowth, Itchy found the trail along some good running trails that were heading back towards the A, without too much elevation change, but with some excellent checks that had the FRBs running all the wrong directions. By now we thought we had cleared the short cutters . . .

I guessed by then we had run a good six to seven Ks, and I was confident that we would now be heading straight for home along the wide trail that I recognized from Moriarty’s last run here, the one with the Pussy Blood. But then I came across the fiend himself, sitting on his motorbike at a V check. He began to whisper sinisterly in my ear that I should go left, the true trail was left, only a check back going right. You don’t really want to go right, do you – ah ha ha ha ha! That did it. I wasn’t about to trust the scheming, conniving bastard, so I followed my FRB nose and headed right, and sure enough the powder just kept on appearing right before my eyes – a miracle, or so I thought. So I headed along the familiar trail back to the A, past more checks that some other short cutters had kicked out, but only some checks and not others. What the f . . .?

Back at the A, Skid Mark, Bend Over et al were already there, Bend Over convinced that he hadn’t short cutted. But where were the other FRBs? Chuck Wao and Graven Image hadn’t been too far behind me at the V check where I had tangled minds with Moriarty. Sometime later they arrived at the A, walking down the trail together, hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ear hole. What a wonderful happy family picture they made, the two of them, happy on the Happy Hash.

But then it all turned ugly, with Chuck Wao and Graven pointing accusatory fingers at all and sundry for being short cutting bastards. What the f . . .? They looked mean and nasty, not like happy hashers at all. It turned out that Moriarty had somehow persuaded, hoodwinked, fooled the poor bastards into taking the left fork at the infamous V check and had led them up and down the mountain, via a precipitous waterfall, using inhumane skiddy checks and other such devastating weapons. Graven had well over 10 Ks on his gadget, a real ball buster by recent Chiang Mai standards.

Being personally accused of being a short cutting bastard and a liar was a little hard to take, but in the end it appeared that, although I had not left powdered trail, I had in fact ran through a check back at the infamous V check and found the trail again some few meters past it. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed to find that I had missed out on all the fun up the mountain. Then again, I have to admit, my own preference for extra punishment is not everyone’s preferred perversion!

Finally, a little after dark, Moriarty and Bend Over arrived on their motor bikes, bringing in the two remaining lost souls who had, unlike everyone else except for the very brave and very angry Chuck Wao and Graven image, not managed to short cut their way back to the A.

And so ends the story of the hash that well and truly screwed all the FRBs and everybody else, except those who were wise enough to run only the first 10 or 20 meters down the trail and then return to the A to wait for the rest of the pack to return, some of us physically bloodied and others utterly bloody minded.

I loved the run, personally, but then apparently I am a short cutting bastard who deliberately chose not to do the most foul and devilish section of Moriarty’s dastardly trail.

And so, a successful mission for the hare. Here’s to the next time, evil one!

Graven’s epic 10k++ :-