Northern New Territories Hash

Expecting the usual Wednesday night shenanigans on the Tolo Highway I was most surprised to arrive whilst there was still a glimmer of daylight but by the time I was parked the darkness was closing in. This was to the delight of a couple looking furtive in a small car parked away from all the others. The hare’s car was in attendance and One Eyed Jack was the next arrival. The hare’s car was checked and the cold engine revealed he had been gone for several hours. We made use of our time by looking for a bit of trail as PLA helicopters circled with search lights on. OEJ soon confirmed that the trail started out by the main road.

The arrival of Eunuch with the RA and GB as passengers was heralded by the usual backfiring of the Forester as it swung wildly into the carpark and screeched to a halt next to the courting couple. Doors flew open, bouncing off their bodywork as GB and Mango leapt out and proceeded to get naked and change for the run, pressing athletic ham against the windows of these unfortunates.

The small car burst into life as the unhappy couple fled the scene with similar gusto.

Then the hare suddenly appeared, apologising and grovelling for a crap trail – it had all gone wrong. Fences everywhere, packs of dogs, triad settlements, snakes, you name it! We were promised a very short flat boring run after all his trying and with that the pack shot off except G-Spot who was fiddling with his GPS – anyway OEJ had spotted trail earlier so no problem.

Around 10 minutes later I was back to ask the hare the way – ‘Straight across the road, are you stupid or something?’ So off I go, over a bridge and into a village of gardens, trail twisting about with intermittent chalk arrows. Suddenly onto a check! Marked? I must be following the wrong trail, this is N2TH3? Then another – what are they up to? It must be an evil ploy.

The zig-zagging continued and I knew I was well behind as there were lizards relaxing on the warm path and addled locals performing tai chi with sharpened agricultural implements and buckets, all equally startled to see the appearance of another gweilo. Then dogs were getting very excited in the distance giving a glimmer of hope that the pack could be caught.

Not to be, as some excessively optimistic checking at the main road overlooked the inevitability of a direct route back to the buckets. Salesman and Mango had gone out hash training whilst the rest refreshed. On the hare’s return a few down downs were administered beneath the infrared gaze of the bemused PLA strafing us with their underemployed technology, and the conversations somehow moved from no-show visitors scared off by Salesman to the NW Scotland Torridonian Unconformity of 3.5 billion years ago, whereupon the beer ran out and we arsed off.