Hell Hound On My Trail
The hare for run 1806 was Salesman. This short pithy sentence probably encapsulates all you need to know about how the run was to unfold (or should I say unravel) but Golden Balls has demanded a proper run report from me (Bukkake), so here goes.
Accompanied by the aforementioned Golden Balls, I drove to our seedy venue (a shadowy underpass beneath Tolo Highway near Shan Tong Village) and whilst seeking a place to park was confronted by a shuffling, Quasimodo-like character crossing the road in front of me. This turned out, on closer inspection, to be Gunpowder Plod. Two other dingy figures were perceptible in the gloom and, as Golden Balls and I stepped over to investigate, the inane banter emanating from the couple instantly identified them as Eunuch and Mango Groove. Our small group was soon swollen by the arrival of Liberace and then Catch Of The Day, who, for reasons which remained obscure, had also brought along her poor long-suffering mother.
Given that the hare was Salesman, his absence from the rendezvous and the lack of any helpful identifying markings (such as, perhaps, a luminous “N2TH3” scrawled on the ground as a beacon in the inky darkness), went entirely unremarked. Eventually however, Golden Balls urged us all to gather round so that he could divulge the hare’s “instructions”, to which he had been made privy. These instructions were brief and disarmingly conventional until Golden Balls reached the postscript: “You may encounter a HUGE HOUND that will attempt to misdirect you down sundry false trails.”
Still digesting that last piece of intelligence, the group (minus COTD’s mother) dispersed in all directions in search of trail, which was eventually detected on some steps going uphill on a bend in the road leading to Shan Tong. It was at this point that G-Spot, brilliantly timing his arrival to avoid having to spend tedious minutes searching for trail, came bounding up the hill looking disgustingly fit and healthy. The steps led up and quickly gave way to long, steep, arduous and slippery shiggy.
The pack (less Plod, who had prudently turned back, and Golden Balls who was late finding the trail) was still fairly close together during the early stages of this ascent, and so we all heard the blood-curdling shriek emitted by COTD when she was suddenly accosted by the HUGE HOUND as it sprang at her from the bushes. Mango could then be heard piteously attempting to befriend the beast and begging for mercy – a craven tactic but one which appeared to work.
I am constantly reminded that N2TH3 is a shiggy-loving hash, a mantra that I dutifully repeated over and over during the ensuing epoch (or 15 minutes) of unrelenting shigginess. Then – oh joy – we emerged onto a trail less vertical and less bushy and were able to tentatively trot along for a bit. The front runners, Liberace and Eunuch, had by this point opened up a large lead and, inevitably, ended up catching the wide-eyed hare. He pleaded for a five-minute stay of execution while he scarpered downhill. The regrouped pack then set off after him, descending along a concreted footpath which eventually brought us to the top of Shan Tong Road and an easy jog back down to the start. Salesman had valiantly put in a little loop off the main road toward the end but only a couple of eagle-eyed hashers (G-Spot, Eunuch(?), COTD) spotted it.
So, job done? Not quite. Unbeknownst to the rest of us, Golden Balls was enduring a tale of woe, which began when, already a long way behind the pack, he stumbled at the start of the shiggy and dropped his torch, which promptly gave up the ghost and defeated his frantic efforts to find it. Instead of doing the sensible thing and turning back to hit the hash beer early, he resolved to carry on, using his keenly developed hash senses to sniff out the trail in the dark. Having miraculously got through the shiggy, he was given a second nasty shock when he was accosted by the HUGE HOUND, which had been lurking on the ridge waiting for him. This ordeal so discombobulated him that he subsequently took the wrong trail down, ending up some miles away on Tai Po Road. By the time he staggered back to the starting point the circle was being wound up, but there was still sufficient beer for him to gratefully accept one or two down-downs. – Bukkake