Run # 752
Sunday 29th January 2006
Heath Sports Centre, Royston
Hares: Mabel & Shagpile
HASHERS: 19 ANKLE BITERS: 2
It was colder than a fairly cold thing when we met in the Heath car park at 9am on Sunday morning to lay the trail. Frost sparkled on the ground, and fresh dog turds steamed gently in the still morning air. I didn't really have a route in mind, but felt I hid this complete lack of preparation pretty well from my co-hare as we set off. Relying on local knowledge and with a vague notion of the abilities of the Hash to cover ground in a given time scale we laid about half the trail before my non-plan broke down, blocked by a new gate and a rather old 'Private - Keep Out' sign that I've been running past (albeit in the opposite direction) for several years. We about turned and retreated the half mile to the last check, whilst I considered plan 'B'. "We could make this into a humungous falsie" I ventured. "I don't think they'd be too pleased to run a falsie this long", replied Shagpile. "Yeah, but it is downhill, at least it is on the way back, and it seems a shame to have walked all this way and left all those blobs of flour".
Plan 'B' involved a quick jaunt along the side of the old A505, and then through some of Royston's more upmarket housing, then back onto the Heath, for some cardiovascular resistance training, or buggering about up and down the hills if you want to be less technical but more accurate. The sun came out, and we got back in the nick of time. The circle was called, 3 birthdays in the same family (Hinge, Bracket and Rising Butt), the On On was called and the pack set off, keen to get stuck into the first hill. Pecker (who is training for Ironman Austria doncha know) fairly scampered up and down the hillside like an eager labrador, the rest of the pack trailing in his wake. After about 5 minutes of this a 'Poo Check' was discovered, and Knobber was detailed to check each Hasher's shoes for sign of foulage. Maybe the frozen turds had simply failed to stick, or maybe we'd all been very careful, but only Skidmark was caught 'brown handed' with a bag of the smelly stuff, for which she was later awarded a Down Down, a fitting reward for being a responsible dog owner.
Having regained its composure, the pack set off once more, ducked and dived through side streets and back alleys, whilst Shagpile took care of the short cutters. Count Roadkill tried to throw the entire thing into confusion by incorrectly identifying a small amount of spilled flour as a bar check, but he was soon turned around and sent packing. At one stage Dan Dare disappeared with the entire knitting circle for a few nervous minutes, before reappearing, closely pusued by a bevy of gorgeous Harrietts. After a quick jaunt along the side of the A505, where Pecker, Count Roadkill, and G-String amongst others fell foul of a '6 to the back' check, the short cutters took a direct route across the Heath, but the stalwart few attacked another steep hill up to the treeline. Inevitably Pecker took off and, bless him, completely missed the check at the top, which I sincerely swear had been parked over and most obligingly ran our 3/4 mile falsie from earlier. We left him to it, and the rest of the pack headed back across the Heath via a nice wooded section, and then the golf course, enjoying a last spectacular view from the top of the Bronze Age barrows, before descending back down to the club house and a well earned refreshment in the warm.
Down Downs to the Hares, Skidmark, Count Roadkill, Hinge, Bracket, Rising Butt, and although G-String was probably thinking about 'Sex on the Hash', the down-down and Hash-Hit went to Big Blouse for taking his wife to Amsterdam's red-light area. (He also has the bog seat DD award as well).
Mabel & Shagpile.