Run 1772, Lo Wu, 26 October

Village People

The Village People, Bock Off and FOYC

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The GM really is gay

We gathered on the bridge over Ng Tung River near Lo Wu Correctional Institute: Catch Of The Day, One Eyed Jack, Luk Dim Boon, Liberace, Eunuch, Screw, Screwless and Velcro Lips. Initially absent, the hare Golden Jelly turned up accompanied by a rather flustered looking Golden Balls clutching a bag of flour. The pack was told that the run was not too long as the lovely Golden Jelly was feeling unwell. Unfortunately her co-hare GB had tried to help set the markings but instead had f***ked some of them up, particularly the first very confusing check just metres from the start.

The pack was told to stay together for the first 10 minutes of the run, as during this time we would encounter a group of unfriendly dogs. Off we went, sticks and stones in hand, but – no dogs and no trail to be found! Three checks in GB, running at the head of the pack, exhorted everyone to keep together, but Liberace led Velcro and know-it-all One Eyed Jack up the road heading north as GB indicated to the others to follow him along a dark track. When the “front runners” eventually got back on trail, they found the pack hiding near the prison with torches off, giggling like schoolgirls. It turned out the dog story was just a ruse and we were to run around the perimeter of the prison under CCTV cameras know doubt being monitored for prison breaks. The very last bit of the perimeter track took us into the prison and out past the bewildered guard at the gate, who was not very pleased and told us to Bock Off, the first of many such incidents during the run.

The wimps were directed towards the hills whilst the rambos were directed towards a village where they were told repeatedly to Bock Off by a series of pissed off villagers (the village people). One of them also came to the start of the run to be unpleasant and complain to the lovely GJ about the heinous crime of chalking his village. When GJ suggested that he could join the run – she was told to Bock Off too.

Meanwhile the wimps were told not to mark any of the checks on the hill for the rambos who would be following shortly after. None of the checks were marked but still the rambos figured out the run and soon caught up the wimps. Screw and Screwless meanwhile lay down among the graves… Up the hill we went to the Crest Hill ridge, encountering two bamboo snakes on the way. COTD and the GM were racing each other but as COTD fell in a hole in the shiggy the gallant GM jumped over her and ran on victoriously. Until he got to a check at the old army lookout and as usual didn’t check far enough after initially going the correct way. Down on the bridge the hare could see the lights milling around on the peak, including that of the unfortunate One Eyed Jack who had been directed by Liberace to check down the military road, which he did. A long way down. Eventually, after trundling around the lookout, we eventually found trail where Libs had sworn there was none, an almost weekly occurence, down a nice shiggy path. At the bottom trail led out to the Lo Wu border police post and then down the nullah back to the bridge, where GB had set it across the metal bridge that parallels the road bridge so he could laugh at us as we went by – but only Luk Dim Boon fell for it.

The GM held an hilarious circle as always, punishing all the “f***ng guys” for their misdemeanours. RA2 COTD, who was obviously upset by the rude and angry encounters with the locals in the nearby village that the pack had run through, then took centre stage. She explained how the village people kept appearing around every corner in the village to shout and be rude. As she ranted on about the experience, at each mention of “village people” the pack burst into a chorus of YMCA, complete with arm alphabets, much to the bemusement of the RA.

The down down beer was the remainder of the COTD-and-Screwless-brewed Bock Off from Sunday’s Oktoberfest. The stock had been stored in the fridge at GJ’s family farm in anticipation of the run, but had been sadly depleted by one of the farm workers who was obviously completely barking mad, having necked bottle after bottle of the the treacly black brew.

We said a fond farewell and FOYC to both Screw and Screwless with gallons of Bock Off. The couple enjoyed their send-off but were rather nervous when the GM asked them what day and when they were leaving – particularly as he and his white van were booked to take them to the airport the very next day! – Velcro Lips

 

 

Run 1771, Fanling Cow Pat, 19 October

Ruination!

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As the Observatory rainstorm warnings cycled through amber to red to black in the wake of Typhoon Blah the rain became biblical. Images of flooded streets, floating cars and roaring mountain cataracts engulfed the internet as Hong Kong braced for another typhoon later in the week, prompting a lesser hash from Sai Kung that runs on Saturdays to issue the Facebook proclamation “Whether or not Typhoon HAIMA hits HK on Friday/Saturday, HK will be hit by yet more heavy rain which will ruin the hash. Both GMs have accordingly agreed to POSTPONE Run No 120 by 1 week to 29 October.” In contrast, Luk Sup Gow reported on the Northern New Territories emails: “The hare, Eunuch, has just called to say that the hash is still on tonight, at the Cow Pat. It is not cancelled because of rain, unlike some lesser hash, and you will get wet. ‘It is flooded everywhere and it is f**king brilliant!’, where his exact words.”

The man responsible for all this, the RA Penile Dementia, responded with a truly unintelligible directive: “The hare, Eunuch, your should be cancelled because of  back rain, sign in on.” Academics have been asked to decypher.

And so five hashers – Dram, Catch Of The Day, Liberace, One Eyed Jack and G-Spot – assembled for the run. And the rain stopped. And the run was goodly with mud and steepness of Bird Hill and falling over and freshness and clean air and the smell of wet grass. And Golden Balls arrived late and set off, boosting the pack to six, exactly the same number as the Little Sai Wan, a bizarre sort of cross-harbour sodden symmetry unhinged by a soppy song.

The circle was short, the craic was long, the GM’s attempts to round up a quorum for an on-on quite rightly being shouted down. What’s not to like about crowding round an esky on a pavement drinking beer, especially when the long-striding Julian comes marching up, brolly furled, and asks if we’re the Fanling branch of the hash. Or when Pierre (let us call the Gallic rambler), on holiday in Hong Kong because Google told him October is a fine dry month, joins the rabble round the bucket.

Rain will ruin the hash … not!

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Oh, and the weather on Saturday was gorgeous …

Run 1768, 28 September, Shing Mun

Too Much Monkey Business

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As Typhoon Meranti approached, its closest pass was to be Wednesday evening. Squally thunderstorms were predicted. There was an email from the hare, Golden Balls:

Just starting to lay trail. There are 2 possible starts: the picnic area as indicated on website n2th3.org (no shelter) and the government shop (shelter but stinky from toilets). I don’t know what the weathers going to do, so if I’m not back when you arrive please make the start according to the conditions. Trail will be up the steps at side of dam.

The hare returned just as Liberace drove up in the batmobile demanding to know where the start is. “I’m just going to smell the toilets.” “The look on Liberace’s face was priceless. “WHY you want to smell the toilets???”

Toilets dutifully smelled, the hare decreed the start to be at the shop. “Rambo and wimp trails, should take about an hour, marked with chalk, flour and toilet paper,” he told the assembled crew of Velcro Lips, Golden Jelly, One Eyed Jack, Serbian Bomber, Mango Groove, Eunuch, Liberace and Sticky Apid. “Try to keep together at the start as there were a lot of macaques around when I was setting it.”

So the rambos set off – Sticky, Eunuch, Mango, Liberace and Serbian – while the wimps stayed for “instructions”. No wimp markings after the split, carry on along the forest track about 1km and you’ll find an arrow to send you back home. If you fancy doing a bit more go in the opposite direction and you’ll rejoin the rambo trail.

Meanwhile the rambos were running hither and thither off the second check, unable to find trail. At last markings were found and the run began in earnest. Up to the road, left at a check, then right up another road to the split. Wimps left onto a forest track, rambos continuing up the road to its end, where Liberace and Eunuch took off on the appealingly wide track that went straight ahead. Mango had other ideas and went for an unpromising-looking gap in the trees to find a bogroll trail going steeply up. It was a tough climb eliciting expressions of wonder at how GB had managed to haul his fat arse up it.

After an interminable ascent on an almost nonexistent path a good footpath was reached heading downhill to a major footpath junction and a check. Eunuch, Mango and Liberace ran on down from the check, saw the wimps arrow and carried on down a long way before realising their mistake. One Eyed Jack was somewhere in the mix, also flummoxed by the same check after deciding to segue over to the rambo trail, but gave up and made his own way back to the start. The three front runners by this time had got back on track and followed the contour path before a checkback sent them back a little way onto a slippery downhill path leading to the nullah road and home.

Sticky, who wasn’t far behind them, on reaching the checkback ignored the obvious track down and checked all the way back to the previous check a mile back and even started going back uphill until Serbian came down and turned her around.

Back at the finish Liberace was into his customary rant about no markings, rubbish hare etc, to which the hare calmly replied that Liberace was a homo and couldn’t hash his way out of a paper bag. Velcro produced baguettes, cold meats, cheese and tomatoes, beer was drunk and Sticky jogged in looking fresh as a daisy and smelling sweeter than an apid’s bottom exudate. Shortly afterwards Serbian Bomber arrived. Of course nobody was worried by his absence because he would by now have made his bivouac and slaughtered, skinned and butchered a boar to see him through the night. However, on arrival, he shared intelligence: He’d seen Sticky near the finish bathing in a mountain stream!

Epilogue (email from the hare): Talking to Golden Jelee on the way home tonight, it became apparent that there were problems with trail markings at the start of the run. They weren’t there. Hence Liberace tarnishing me as the worst hare since COTD. I think I know what happened. This sector, from the start steps to the road, was where I was being stalked by two huge male macaques, one on each side of me, eyeing my bag of flour jealously. Whenever I bent down to draw an arrow they would try to blindside me and get the flour; whenever I dropped flour they would scoop up a handful before resuming their relentless stalking. Imagine these two fucking monsters on all fours, slightly behind you, one on each side, making the occasional dash & snatch, baring their teeth, looking you straight in the eye with the message “We’re gonna tear your arms off sunshine”, and tell me you wouldn’t be spooked. Well I can only assume that on reaching the road their territory ended (as they stopped stalking me) and indeed, the wife says markings were excellent from there. What this assumption leads to is another: that they went back and ate my markings.

Mango’s reply: It was a brilliant run. I think we came onto some KH3  markings that we must have missed on Monday night as the hares said there was a downpour and went out and tried to mark an easier trail from the intended one. Yes and just as KY had suggested I also figured the macaques may have eaten a lot of your flour markings because it was the part where you told us to stay together. Great run and great fun as well. Special thanks also to KY and Velcro for drinks and food respectively. 

Eunuch’s reply: That’s it, you apologise, bitch. I expect this sort of thing from every hare from now on (except me).