With that encouragement in hand, the pack struggled out and up the hill towards their rendezvous with destiny. Surprisingly, a LOT of flour had survived and the checks were found and decoded with elan and grace. The walkers plodded while the runners sprinted, and many a turn and false trail were encountered. The runners got as far afield as
Dunsmuir
Lodge, while the walkers struggled over the hills on their own trail of “glory”.
Not a moment too soon, with the sun setting (who could tell anyway with the fog and clouds and rain???) , the pack returned to the beer check for much-needed refreshment, and then trickled down the last slope to the finish and circle. Many were overjoyed for the warmth of an indoor circle, and disposed of a LARGE quantity of wet and other clothing. Many FINE and IMAGINATIVE bits of apparel were thus exposed, and probably TOO MUCH skin too.
Stoolie took up his RA duties again, citing the Hare for his undertakings. The pack commented diversely (and disparagingly) about the length, quality, and conditions of the trail, with a hearty down-down awaiting him. For getting separated / lost from the pack
Banged Up Between was cited for complaining / whining and given a down-down. For boasting about his equipment (tripping over it I believe was the claim)
My Cocks A Fallen was deemed worthy of a down-down. For dithering about the start time, Grand Master was cited for a down-down.
Slow Cooker produced a charge against
Frontal Lobotomy (A.K.A GROG!) for having to water the trail three times en route, so a down-down was invoked.
Ambisextrous and Slow Cooker were in turn down-downed for an unidentified transgression of Hash protocol.
My Cocks A Fallen chose this moment to regale the pack with a story - with RA’s blessing - and some ACTUALLY listened.
Full Service stepped forward to thank the Hare for the run and the chili feast, and was IMMEDIATELY down-downed and then quizzed about her need for THREE HOURS OF SLEEP after the previous Hash Run…….
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The evening passed along with much food and beer intake, and the troops made their way into safe
harbours, wherever they could be found.
On-On
Frontal Lobotomy.
(A.K.A. GROG!)
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