I had high hopes for this hash, great location, solid run, no messing about, a good chance to download Skidmark’s mountain bike trail knowledge before he departed, a good chat with all the other hashers….
It started well, a few car loads arrived timely at The Crispin, a tired looking Monty soon perked up when Lunar, the object of his desires, arrived. An accurate headcount was performed, 13 runners, 2 dogs, counted again to be sure.
Smitty circled us up to give a farewell speech to Skidmarks, although my only memories of that speech were the word ‘gobshite’ being repeated several times and then we were off…left up the hill, left onto a path, street lights finished as we turned offroad, turn on head torch…I said turn on head torch….nowt happening. Without Search and Rescue there was absolutely no chance of anyone having spare batteries, so I thought, but then good old Bolving Champion Labradoodle, with a magician’s slite of hand produced 3 batteries and I was back in the race.
Up the hill we continued, it took its toll on Smitty, Trunks and Myself and we found ourselves at the back, not to worry we could still hear shouts and see torch lights ahead. It was actually quite nice to have a tiddle in peace without the risk of other Hashers running past, besides what was the rush, we’d catch them at the check…yes the check that led us left over the stile…yes that’s the one!!
Only there were other plans afoot that evening, with Trunks not being assertive enough and Smitty too willing to follow a known ‘get-lost-setting-and-or- running-a trail-er’ we were doomed. Faint voices in the distance further encouraged me down the wrong path in life and still Smitty and Trunks followed. Needless to say the way through never materialized and we had to rely on navigating the trail in the way god intended i.e. following the flour.
Admitting one is wrong is painful enough, but being subjected to the contemptuous silence of Trunks and Smitty was truly torturous and if things couldn’t get worse I was subjected to a lesson in how to spot and read kicked out checks by Trunks.
Dignity not restored we carried on up the hill, and up the hill and up the hill, it never ended. We finally came to a check which presented 3 possibilities left right or straight on, still indebted to Trunks I checked for 200m straight on rather than perform my usual token glance, Trunks went right and Smitty went left. Now hitherto I might not have been the greatestHasher but I tried my best to remain with the others, given that there was just 3 of us. Good old Smitty, on the other hand, was clearly in race mode and as soon as he called on on he was off off, with a comfortable lead. Now we were down to 2.
I need to note a couple of points here:
Smittie called the end of the run correctly, through the Church yard and on home.
In other news I learnt the word ‘clemmy’ meant a stone in the shoe.
Upon returning to the pub, we were greeted by the pack who appropriately feigned concern and told of their 10 minute waits for us, the word gob shite sprang to mind again.
If anyone wants to see the wrong turn we took, it is forever immortalized on Strava, it’s fairly close to the beginning of the run and looks like a triangle that doesn’t fit anywhere.
With that drinks were had, the Christmas Hash was discussed and goodbyes were said to Skid Marks, although we were all sure we will see him again from time to time.
On On
Sticky Shaft
PS I do feel that as a true tribute to Skidmarks, one of the other Hashers should write an accompanying piece to let us know how the other half lived that evening.
Only there were other plans afoot that evening, with Trunks not being assertive enough and Smitty too willing to follow a known ‘get-lost-setting-and-or- running-a trail-er’ we were doomed. Faint voices in the distance further encouraged me down the wrong path in life and still Smitty and Trunks followed. Needless to say the way through never materialized and we had to rely on navigating the trail in the way god intended i.e. following the flour.
Admitting one is wrong is painful enough, but being subjected to the contemptuous silence of Trunks and Smitty was truly torturous and if things couldn’t get worse I was subjected to a lesson in how to spot and read kicked out checks by Trunks.
Dignity not restored we carried on up the hill, and up the hill and up the hill, it never ended. We finally came to a check which presented 3 possibilities left right or straight on, still indebted to Trunks I checked for 200m straight on rather than perform my usual token glance, Trunks went right and Smitty went left. Now hitherto I might not have been the greatestHasher but I tried my best to remain with the others, given that there was just 3 of us. Good old Smitty, on the other hand, was clearly in race mode and as soon as he called on on he was off off, with a comfortable lead. Now we were down to 2.
I need to note a couple of points here:
- That Check had not been kicked out, which resulted in double-checking further compounding our inability to catch the pack.
- You can only have the discussion about Prof not doing check backs or providing treats a couple of times before everyone is absolutely clear on this.
- The ditch that the trail went down was a very creative section
- Did I mention that the check had not being kicked out??
Smittie called the end of the run correctly, through the Church yard and on home.
In other news I learnt the word ‘clemmy’ meant a stone in the shoe.
Upon returning to the pub, we were greeted by the pack who appropriately feigned concern and told of their 10 minute waits for us, the word gob shite sprang to mind again.
If anyone wants to see the wrong turn we took, it is forever immortalized on Strava, it’s fairly close to the beginning of the run and looks like a triangle that doesn’t fit anywhere.
With that drinks were had, the Christmas Hash was discussed and goodbyes were said to Skid Marks, although we were all sure we will see him again from time to time.
On On
Sticky Shaft
PS I do feel that as a true tribute to Skidmarks, one of the other Hashers should write an accompanying piece to let us know how the other half lived that evening.
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