Run # 486, Harley D & Dingus, Valberg, 7 May 2005

'Voodoo Lounging' in Beuil.'
'A tale of decline and fooling around in the devilish Crucible of the HASH'.

This is the report of the FIRST run of the away weekend May 6+7.
This first run report comes LAST.
Like doing a 'HASH' - things that should come first, don't.

You have already read 'Farty Bum's' report of the second run, boasting how the HASH has won back it's street credibility and behaved as expected for once!
Here is some of the 'glue' to bind together this sordid tale.

To all the 'No Show's': It's entirely your fault we got into trouble.
Hardly any of you turned up for the away weekend . We were sorely lacking in leadership and thus veered right off the 'straight and narrow'. We need a critical mess to keep us under control. Of the ten of us who showed up, 3 were hares and we looked lost in the enormous car-park. Our 'Saturday night live' hare, 'Dingus' ran off and, after a pause, we ran after him and promptly go lost.

After that I actually cannot remember much about the run, except there were lots of beautiful wild flowers and it was almost impossible to run without decapitating hundreds of them. There were cowslips, violets and Edelweiss. I personally had loads of time to inspect the mangled petals, since I was waiting for our scouts to come back. They had gone miles to ask the locals if they had seen our HARE with flour or flowers.
'Dingus', had little 'flour power' that day and we were left to guess which way to go.
So we went to Hell. And that folks, in case you need to know later, is a steep uphill struggle.

Yet something was different about this HASH. There was a great feeling of camaraderie amongst this small group of lost souls.
When we girls got left behind, the lads sat down lounging like lounge lizards on the hillside and killed time waiting for us by, singing 'Simon and Garfield' songs, like 'Hello Penis, my old friend'. This left 'Big End' particularly breathless at the thought.
In fact, two weeks after the run, 'Big End' is still trying to get her breath back, such was the unforgiving vertical climb of these mountains.

Our decline and fall started early on, when the girls refused to go down on the meadow. It was too 'quick and sudden' for us. 'Padre' proved he is a non skiing ski bum by 'slip sliding away' down the mountain. At the bottom of course they all had climb back up. The run was completely disjointed with us scattered all over the place. We were not the only ones.

Then, the 'Voodoo' started: On a shady balcony path we found an 'impaled doll's head' We wondered what this spooky effigy of 'Britney Speared' meant.
Was this a warning that one of our party would end up impaled as well?
After that encounter, a rash of big red bumps came over me. It was the only thing that did that day. Other weird things happened on the trail as we struggled and gasped up a dry river bed, stumbling over rocks and stones. But these were not stones but BONES.
A dismembered goat had got more than his rocks off, for splinters of his body were strewn up the creek. We followed this macabre trail into the valley, apprehensive, yet curious where this sinister path would lead. It led to the 'pre pathological male species', namely'Dingus'. He stood glowering down on us, muttering some spooky chant like 'waa tha blood ear heel hath ewe bean' We were under a his spell check!

The beer stop was strangely subdued: Even our HASH dog was disturbed and kept running away from water, like some rabid hare. 'Too Cheeky' drank some 'hocus pocus' potion and things went slowly out of focus.
But 'Dingus' fought us back into action and kept us upwardly mobile for another 40 minutes, promising it would be worth it, as men always do.
We pranced behind him, herded like sheep by our fierce HASH dog, with some strange force wagging her tail.

At the top, suffering from 'attitude' sickness, as demonstrated by 'Big End' panting heavily, we began hallucinating and went off in rhapsodies about the view. Our down hill decline accelerated from that point.

We stumbled back to the empty car park and met the two walkers. Harley HARE declared the 'down downs' to be held 8 kms and 8 hairpin bends away, in front of the 8 roomed hotel, down the mountain. Actually, as it turned out she meant '666'.
We quickly slagged off our day trippers 'Klingon and Jobsworth' who left to go on a hot date together and drove to the PUBLIC carpark outside our hotel.
We kept it simple by giving each other down-downs until we had drunk a respectable amount to represent absent friends. This was not appreciated by the hotel management, who still have a full bar.

After that we lost the plot: I remember how the landlady's face paled when we asked for more wine at the late hour of 21:30. I remember us charging into 'Padre's room and crashing on the bed. I remember a threesome 'toe job. I remember the landlady bursting into our room, wanting to join the party, or so I thought.
The rest is a blur, as the curtain finally fell on the party, or rather 'Padre's towel floated to the ground.
In my hazy stupor, I thought I heard a 'Poltergeist' knocking around somewhere in the hotel that night, moving and banging things.
Or maybe it was just the French plumbing system in the hotel, heaving under the strain of the HHH occupancy.

The HASH moves in mysterious ways…. so…….Be there next Sunday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

On On 'No Satisfaction!'