18.6 km from Big C flyover and look for the signs. Ye gods! We almost needed passports and an hour’s time zone change. Actually hares Kwazi and Square Rooter earned high praise from Dogshit, the latecomer, for picking a beautiful site but ‘leaving the most beautiful trails for me’. It was far out and it was beautiful, but that’s enough about Dogshit’s midriff.
Red Songtau left Next Place perhaps a millisecond after 4:30 with old mother Frozen Dick kvetching about punctuality. Bone Hur was also on time, waiting at No 1 Bar which isn’t the pick up point anymore. Phone calls, swearing and U turns later and Boney was onboard ready to rock. Now ten minutes late, Frozen was apopleptic but no-one could hear him as he was riding shotgun in the front!
Kwazi’s hare brief was brief. On Mother paper and away went the pack, down the track after 50 yards having been told to follow the road! Humperdick, splendidly attired (for golf), entertained us with impressions of certain hashers running. Alice made a few correct decisions and the first three circles were successfully guessed. “Aha, I have finally understood Kwazi’s mind and broken the code of his thought processes.” From circle check 4 till the end, the opposite was true of course, and your ‘umble scribe finished down amongst the dead men, or just behind HRA, alongside Bone Hur and infront of Skidmarks, which is much the same thing.
His Royal, fresh from painting the new CNX Muay Thai Boxing Ring a comely shade of slime, ran without his gaters, laying forgotten and abandoned somewhere. Much like plates and cutlery Poo was definitely 100% going to bring.
The trail was mostly enclosed jungle tracks, often wet, muddy and sandy, usually riven with trailbike tracks which gave one the feeling that certain hares had mechanical assistance. It was quiet too, naturally and unnaturally, or at least until Skidmarks was sure he had an advantage!
The tricky circle check behind the fishfarms really slowed the pack until On On! was called in the aforesaid premises and HRA helpfully marked the piano wire garrote line with two pieces of paper. Dogshit decided to impale his head on rotan spikes shortly afterwards and so earned the non existent Hash Crash award.
Strange to relate, Poo was just jogging along until the whiff of fish seemed to stimulate him greatly. We deserve an explanation.
The circle was civilised and refined, as befits a 60th birthday celebration for the estimable Kwazi, King for the Day. Birthday boy was on form but struggled to name US presidents in any cogent order from his early youth. Dogshit suggested Lincoln! On Ons at a cowboy themed Steak House was yee haw and ride em cowboy, as soon as we saw the waitresses.