Saturday, 17 March 2012

Up River and Uphill

    So, we've had two hashes since my last post, firstly Pink Extender and Deep Throat's excursion up-river to the Foz da Sousa area and secondly Master Baker and Inspect-my Gadget's inland from Modivas.
    First things first: Deep Throat's first as a hare saw us parked in a lay-by off the main riverside road, ten of the eighteen women, including two virgins - Eva and Carla. After continuing along the main road from the start, we were soon into the village lanes and woodland nearby. It was nicely constucted, with a good variety of terrain, with plenty of checkpoints to allow back-markers to catch up. Sadly, Walkie-Talkie had found an ally in Alan Stallard, so largely declined to take these opportunities, opting rather for the gentle stroll on a pleasant winter morning approach. This was of liitle consequence to the rest of us until we reached the pit stop, at which we had biscuits and port [in proof-reading, I noticed that I had written biscuits and pot, which, whilst it might have given us a rather more relaxed approach but may not have done much for our running ability!], but no cups as they were with Pink Extender, who was patiently chivvying along our two back-markers somewhere in another time-zone. Who needs cups, Snorter pointed out, lifting a bottle to his lips, but we were saved his spittle by the last-gasp arrival of PE who had left the other two to find their own way.
     From there, logistics of the locality had forced the run-in to begin, but it was a good, three-kilometre or so stretch to get the legs going and the from runners got home in about an hour and a quarter. A car had been left about half a kilometre along the road and anyone not fancying the run-in could make use of it. Alan and W-T duly did, but were so slow reaching it that they still finished after all the others, who ran back - a quite spectacular display of sloth!
     Two weeks' later we reconvened in Modivas for Inspect-my-Gadget and Master Baker to conduct us along a long and winding route inland to a car park beside a kayak factory somewhere in the middle of nowhere (or so it seemed to me - I still have no idea where we were). Deep Throat was acting as Beer Monitor for the first time; we were expecting great things, but we got late things (and mini things, which at least later allowed Horny to look like she can complete a down-down on the same day that she begins it). As a result we were a little behind schedule when we began, but the pace was pretty good so we were soon making up time.
     Of course, few make up time more dramatically than Deep Throat and soon she was leaping and bounding through the undergrowth; unfortunately, so desirous was she to make up time she also developed a tendency to cut corners equally dramatically, for which she was later to pay the price.
     The hash was a good run, with frequent early checkpoints through woodland opening out into some more lengthy runs, often uphill (how did we seem to spend so much time going upwards yet so little coming down? The hares appeared to have tampered with the laws of Physics, but official hash physicist, Gender Bender, lacked the puff to comment). As I've said, it all kept moving quite nicely, although it should be mentioned that at one point I found myself walking up a slope chatting to Hot Pants as he ran at my side (I know, I was walking, I admit it, and I'm ashamed, but it's good to get it out).
        By the time we reached the pit stop at a village cafe, after about an hour and forty-five minutes, we were wondering what time exactly we'd get back - we had to be at least twenty minutes away. Oh well, why worry, let's have a beer, and laugh as the local cheery fat bloke points out that Mrs Slocombe has a fat pussy - okay, perhaps not exactly that, but it was what he meant. Then it was time to head off again and we stirred our stiff legs for the trek. Then we were back. Three minutes later. Master Baker hadn't even had time to finish belching before he was trying to race me home. It is about time he learnt that a hash is not a race. Unless I win.
       Down-downs saw Deep Throat duly punished for her various transgressions and Jennifer named Texicle before we repaired to Mindelo for the bash. We'd been to the restaurant before and I'd love to go back, if only for the comedy value of listening to Gadget's attempts to pronounce Portuguese dishes.
       On, on!

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