Himalayan Mixed Hash Run No. 1323 10 April 2004
Location Gwaldah, south of Chobar Hares Dead Dog, Tadpole, Satcheen
Hashers 35 Hashit Head Chopper, Carrot Brain
Trash waiting for Griots words! Trashflash 4mb Grant
Remarkables virgins: Jill, Carrie, Tom returnees: Carrot Brain, Satcheen, Sheila, Raj, Hicmat, Paula
The Pictures The Trash

Town . . .

. . . and country

Hares

Look like virgins to me - GM

Towed impressionist

Who are they, Griot? - GM

Hashits

Here's to the Additionally Addled!

Ok Ok. Yeah, I know, this trash is a little late - but how was I to know that Towed was serious when he "suggested" that I write the trash as he had to fill in for the absent grand master. So blame it all on Rotter, home sleeping off the Grumblewald-inflicted poisoning. But the poisoning happened the previous night and surely such an experienced poison indulger should have recovered.

Now, we all know that under the best of circumstances the Griot is addled. And to be sure, on the day of hash number 1323, the Griot was more addled than normal - but for eminently excusable hashworthy reasons. First, the Griot was off in the jungles of Gokarna pretending to play a Scottish gentlemen's game, called golf - although what the point is on trying to smack a little ball into a little cup the distance of a check away escapes me. So off in the wilds is Griot, attending to the departure of a dignitary and doing a pitiful job of pretending in what must have been one of the slowest rounds ever - a full 5:20. Finally, he gets to the finish and there he finds himself at the clubhouse, a long ways away from the hash and it's 14:15. A difficult decision lay before him - piss off right away and he might just catch the hash as it takes off - from near the leprosy hospital off the Dakshinkali road, OR do the sensible pre-hash preparation and wing it. Well, we do know the Griot is sensible and opted for the sensible solution (oh, and at the clubhouse, the catered buffet and cold beer were free). Knowing that he needed to re-hydrate before the arduous hash that surely is to be confronted, the Griot downed a quick San Miguel. And then, to absorb the alcohol, he had to eat a bit - and then he was thirsty so he had to have another San Miguel. So when he finally took off from Gokarna, it was 14:30 and he had miles to go.

It's a wonder, the Griot even found the hash. But he did - traveling at speeds which prove that there is nothing faster or crazier than a semi-lubricated hasher driving late to the hash and refusing to accept that he is late! Although he did go airborne a couple times, notably near the entrance to Tribuvan Univ. where there are hard to see speed bumps and again at some dip in the Dakshinkali Road, the Griot managed to arrive at the hash site a mere panch minutes late (actually pretty good for frequently late Griot). Off he dashed to catch the crowd, which he did as they climbed back up to the road paralleling the Bagmati, after presumably a loop towards the bridge. In fact, here Griot was in the lead as the trail veered west and above the main road the walkers meandered along. The trail wound along the contour of the hill before a dastardly downhill false trail which had the hares grinning from hare to hare, uh, ear to ear. Back up the valley a bit and then a drop down to the khola - which saw a crash by the Fox (whew!, I'd begun to think there was only one person on this hash - GM), who nimbly turned in mid crash to land on his feet on the trail below. Must be all that skiing in his Canadian youth!

At the check at the khola, we headed downstream, I think to Towed's calls - remarkably Towed was still in the mix. Usually by this time in a run, he is in another universe. We re-encountered the still meandering walkers at another check. Next we went back towards the start (up the Bagmati) and across a dry season bamboo bridge before heading up a long hill to a holding check halfway up. Towed spied the trail, back down hill and up again through a brickyard and a long gradual climb to the top - somewhere near Bungamati town. From here, the Fox (who was particularly aggressively running this day because of extra hash religious duties he had to rush off to) misdirected the group on a trail which skirted Bungamati - probably not a bad idea for those with dogs, because this skipped the dog gauntlet the rest of us TRUE path hashers ran along through the middle of town. From there, we drifted down to the bridge and up again to the waiting beer and chariots.

I don't remember much of the rest because, fatigue and the need to re-re-hydrate with copious amounts of beer further addled an already addled brain. I do remember that the hares were Ian and lads, one of whom was dubbed "short shorts" for his pantware. As we spoke respectfully of the grand master's discomfort, deciding that he should be hash-shitted for not showing up after claiming the night before that anyone who didn't show up would be hash shitted. One would have thought he would remember those words, but it turns out, as addled as Griot was, the grandmaster was additionally addled!

asis">Griot was, the grandmaster was additionally addled!