The Shorcutter Special
So here we were back at the start of the last Ballbreaker. The hare not content to put us through the wringer once, decided, with m-alice aforethought to make us re-visit our fears by running
most parts of it back to front a second time. In an upside downy sort of way. Is there any other, you ask. The Brown man took off as usual in his “It’s not a race” guise pounding the trail followed by a band of semi enthusiastic runners up. I passed Shagless in a futile attempt to stay in touch with the pack, only to find him shift a gear and pass me effortlessly on one of his impulsive sprints. But like a sparkler, his fizz of energy was short lived and the proper order of things returned.
We were soon in the canyon-ish area and here the beastliness began. The trail was abandoned by all and sundry, everyone had a different idea where the trail should go. Who needs paper anyway? The melee was brought to an end when a lone frb called the On. From all points of the compass our Motely gang took various routes to by-pass, shortcut, overtake any and everyone they could. Eventually some sense, though not much, of order returned. Graven who had been lurking at the back of the pack, in that dream-like state he occasionally lapses into, now leapt into life. Approaching the head of the pack from a 90 degree direction he took off in pursuit of Chuckie and the Brown man. This would be a hard group to catch. The next circle check seemed to suggest that we bear left away from the little shack with its narrow path across a small stream. I clocked it and remembered it from the ballbreaker. TMB confirmed it and we took off to check. Tasty went left and I went up the hill. There Is a god. I was on. Yes, I did call it and followed trail which initially lead left to a False trail. Bastard ! 180 degrees behind us the trail continued. Up the hill we trudged only to find the bulk of the pack had found a shortcut and were now ahead. Isn’t that a great feeling to think you put All that effort in. From there it was a bit of a blur of dastardly V checks and circle checks most of which Sloppy checked, manfully, confidently, and Yes, of course wrongly.
We were met by the stranest leprechaun of a hare at an ad hoc beer stop. Well more of a beer halt really. It wasn’t actually beer, more a gloopy green syrup concoction that was best avoided suspiciously. Yet another first class opportunity for the SH brigade to do their thang and whizz promptly on by. Onwards. Once more into the…..dustbowl of eternity as fine powdery dust did to our lungs that which hitherto, the polluted air had failed. Choked us, filled our eyes with fine granules of sand. But we Hashers are made of better stuff and would not be defeated. Well, we would If we had a choice. We didn’t.
The onslaught continued with the front group being split up for short distances only to regroup soon after. Unexpectedly Sex Pistol and I found trail, Sloppy soon joined us and together we 3, we dumb 3 followed trail, descending into St Patrick's very own Irish bog of a cowfield. We were in deep sh*t and Piss. A watery Piss which filled up our shoes. Devine. To impress us in our misery the smart shortcutting b’stards simply sloped past us, along an off trail track. We arrived at the A site like the carriages of a train pulled in too fast and ram shackled bodies littered the area. Nice one Alice. Aided and abetted by Blows Herself & Cartoon..17th March - CSH3 - Alice & Co.,