By Alice
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The pre-monsoon storms are a-threatening so a shelter at the Crem 8.5km down Canal Rd was selected by Alice as CH3 means no Thai ladies to whinge about ghosts. Going on the premise that a decent shelter holds off the rain, but no shelter mandates it, plus ample parking and toilets, the site coyly purred pick me, pick me!
All drivers and even Tiptoe located it fine but the songthao sped past down the new road extension ignoring the HHH and the evidence of Crem, cars and another downwards HHH. LungLa obviously doing his best Burrito Butt impression and navigator Square Rooter his best HRA impression.
Just before the run, Superman was seen to be running back to his car, actually running, maybe he’s like one of those disability claimants who get secretly filmed reffing football matches or playing golf after milking the state for 10 years of financial sympathy. Just maybe he retired from the FRB group
a decade too soon?
Tiptoe definitely was in no fit state to run, having been run over by a drunk Thai and hospitalised. His legs all bandaged and still oozing blood, but what a beer monster, present and correct, on time and ready to serve the hash. Puts Purple Fart – Hey Does Nothing, it looks like it may rain, are you still going? to eternal shame. Semper fi my arse!
Miss Royde took the hare brief and learnt what inattentive cusses some can be. White paper dipped in blue royal blood, Yellow/orange walkers cut out, trail headed out that way, there was no need for gaters and off they went. But not very far. The first check kept the pack running ‘up their own clackers’ © ChuckWao as the gaters remark prompted Graven to drawl that it can’t be that way, indicating a broken scrub field with paper just 100m away. So they milled around and then some more and finally OnOn was called after an age.
Emma was sweeping the pack it seems, running just behind and observing every false move and fcuk up with interest. Trail headed towards the forest but turned right at the huge flooded quarry, dimpled with rain, as the wild wind whipped up a frenzy. A circle could have cut left alongside the quarry but went straight along its long side. A walkers’ split off continued straight as the runners turned right between copse and agriculture. Trail followed wide paths around the fenced off new property divisions then ducked right at a V into scrub and a recently cleared field. Here the plot thickens. A circle on a tree on the far side had the pack lumping around in an enclosed orchard with no exit or paper. Walkers were amongst runners here so they all got caught up. True trail started to the left on the tree lined division from the adjacent field but was missed so the FRBs eventually ŵent further and further past paper through the next field and found trail on the track heading back towards the quarry. The pack missed about 600m and two checks but no game changer.
Trail ducked right into burnt forest and remnants of full moon shreddy were strewn soon seen. The walkers had cut infront of the runners here and Turkey – wtf he took the walkers option? – got his just rewards as checking circles with Does Nothing became a nightmare as the errant Cloggy showed his lack of nous and came back to a previous circle complaining he couldn’t find paper off the subsequent one! This messed up the Turk’s best laid plans and made Alice very happy.
Around the top of a massive orchard and leg back towards Canal Rd. Some had the internal GPS working done didn’t. A well set V had sups and Purpke Fart walking thru the bar as Sups was sure he could box it and get back on trail. Was strange to do a scooter beer stop and see these two reprobates wandering together on the wrong side of a large property, deep in conversation like Fagin and Oliver, way off paper…
Walkers and FRBs appeared in short order and the kerfuffle made Sups and PF change tack and reverse in for a wee refreshment. Strangely, sweating like a racehorse, bounced in, hardly a sign of his chipped toe. Pussy Whisperer was thankful for a mouthful but the Turk was dismissive of the two finger shot offered. Cartoon huffed and puffed and ignored the proffered ale. SheepShagger begged for a lift home then took himself off as Alice packed up the beer stop accoutrements. Chucky came labouring down the track having chosen various attractive options which all turned into FTs and checkbacks.
Almost all were back by 55 mins and rehydration proceeded. Frozen Dick hiked his own trail but in true fashion messed up some idiots who bought into his ‘this is my area, I know everything here’. As the leader of the free world would tweet, ‘Mission accomplished.’ But who does one believe, the fake blond with the big tits, or Stormy Daniels?
OnOn CH3!