RIVIERA HASH TRASH 649-651
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HASH WEEKEND IN CORSICA - PART 1
30 September - 3 October 2010
This run report is dedicated to Padre and Big End because they came down for a month and helped out a lot with the organizing, and then had to go back at the last minute, and missed the whole thing. So if you find it too long, just remember, Padre and Big End LIKE long run reports (and so does Incredible Hulk). They like to keep tabs on our operations and make sure we're doing things properly. Also, Padre has been braying for smut, so I had to sex things up a bit.
For most Riviera hashers the weekend started on Thursday afternoon in the port of Nice, in the huge line-up waiting for the ferry. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, more hashers kept arriving, and conversation flowed. Irish hashers were discovered once we boarded the ferry.
During the five-hour crossing, Pedo entertained us with a few card tricks, Mudwrestler and Long & Hard danced to the piano player, and Lost Deposit, who had hitched a ride with Merrydick I believe, kept coming along to ask if anyone had room in their car for extra baggage. And when we asked him if his baggage was hard or soft, he DIDN'T UNDERSTAND.
Driving down the gangplank in Bastia, we were happy to see several hash vehicles pulled off to the side, waiting. No one in our car had thought to bring a map or directions, though Two Cheeky had the fifty e-mails from Prestressed on her portable phone - she just had to find the right one. Cum Cum, on the other hand, had the directions plus a lovely big map, and was talking very authoritatively about departmental routes, national routes, grid, elevation, vegetation, longtitude, latitude, etc etc when she stuck her head in our window, so we quickly calculated that she should lead and we should follow.
We were watching for Merrydick and Sinex, but the last vehicle drove off the ferry and then a barrier beside us went up, and we suddenly realized we were parked in front of a lane of ten thousand cars heading onto the ferry, so we got out of there fast amid much honking and screeching of tires. We lost Fairy Plunger at the first roundabout, but the rest of us managed to stick together as we hurtled through the Corsican night.
After about an hour and a half we turned a corner, and suddenly there was Dark and Moist in the darkness, greeting each carful of hashers, telling us where to go, and punching in the code to open the barrier. A nice welcoming touch. We told him Fairy Plunger was not far behind, and he informed us that Fairy Plunger had already arrived. We thought, what ?!! Was that him ? that maniac who overtook all three of us on that curve going up that hill ?? [No - he went through a tunnel at the roundabout. Ed.]
We were all starving and went straight inside to eat, passing through a throng of chattering hashers on the front step, including all the hares, who had been over since Tuesday. On up to the cafeteria where we devoured, among other things, some really delicious roast potatoes, while Prestressed came around passing out keys.
Then some people went to bed and others went to the all-night bar. I didn't, but according to an unreliable source, Merrydick, assisted by Pissoles (or it might have been Oxymoron, or maybe Biggles, or was it Balderick?) led in the singing of hashy songs, telling of hashy jokes, and "trying to get the ladies to remove their knickers".
Friday morning Run # 649
Friday morning dawned overcast and kind of cloudy, and then it got sunnier as we hit the trail. The instructions were to meet in the parking lot at 10:30, from where we would drive ten kilometers along the coast to the starting point (start time 11:00). Name tags were handed out, Prestressed poured sample checks and crosses onto the road, Skinny Ah So announced loudly that all walkers were to KEEP UP, and then we all jumped into our cars and headed for the exit.
Meanwhile, Tosspot and Dire Rear, who had arrived on the early morning ferry, were having a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. Suddenly their phone rang, and they heard Two Cheeky screaming, "Where ARE you ??? Get down here IMMEDIATELY - we're leaving the car park RIGHT NOW... No, we can't wait for you; if we don't follow the other cars, we'll be lost!!"
Tosspot, whose written instructions said to be in the car park for 11, leaped to his feet, scalding his mouth and knocking over his chair. Eighty-four seconds later he was in the deserted parking lot, turning his key in the ignition and then frantically trying to get past the..CURSED BARRIER !!! Aaaaauuuugghh!!!
Somehow he got out. He careened down the narrow coastal road at 130 kilometers per hour, turned off where Cumalot was waving hashers into a new parking lot, and then staggered from his car, clutching his heart, and gasping for breath. We thought he was going to die of an infarctus right before our very eyes. It was just SO lucky Prestressed had brought that defibrillator! What a marvelous organizer he is ! (It was actually Padre he had in mind when he ordered the defibrillator, having been so shaken by the ashen colour of Padre's face after the run in Fayence two weeks earlier.)
The medics dealt rapidly with Tosspot and in no time he was back on his feet, and the run could begin. After a hash 'blessing' chanted by Sinex, and a group photo, we headed into the bush - 12 runners and 33 walkers. [Prestressd doesn't know a thing about medicine - it wasn't a defibrillator that Padre needed after the run in Fayence, but a stomach pump. It was those unripe figs everyone was eating on the trail. Ed.]
I don't actually remember whether the beginning of the trail went up, down, or level, but it was kind of a rocky path, with lots of overhanging trees. Perpetch was limping along with the walkers, having injured his knee preparing the trail. It felt very strange to be overtaking him. [I don't even LIKE figs. Padre]
I remember Sinex tripping on a piece of wire as we stepped over a fallen log, and then shortly after this we went up a little rise and turned left, and there was Harley D, down on her knees wailing, "S'il vous plâit, Monsieur! S'il vous plâit!" A Corsican farmer was standing in front of a closed gate, with his arms folded over his chest, and he declared that the land behind the gate was private, and we were not going in.
"How would you like it if I came to YOUR place and walked in YOUR field?" he asked, and Harley D said she would like it very much. "I invite you," she said. He answered something about never accepting, "even if you offered me a million." (I didn't quite catch this). Harley D argued and pleaded with him but he didn't budge.
Then Merrydick spoke up. When the farmer complained that people left the gate open and his cows got out, and that someone had even turned off his water supply, Merrydick cried, "That's TERRIBLE!!! That's AWFUL!!! Hey! We're going on a picnic and we've got some good wine! So why don't you let us go through here and then come and share une verre d'amitié with us, toute à l'heure?"
Merrydick tried several other approaches, and Pedo made a couple of attempts (but his method is designed for females). The farmer remained firm.
Then he started on about kids coming in on quad bikes. Merrydick cried, "LOOK at us!! We're OLD!!" That seemed to do the trick. The farmer looked at Merrydick's snowy white hair, and at Pedo's snowy bald head, and out over the sea of grey-haired hashers assembled before him, and the next thing we knew, the gate was open and we were going through.
So we crossed his field and went out the back gate (closing it), and then we were back in public bush-land once more, and started up a rocky path into the rocky hills. There was an abandoned stone cabin, which Merrydick admired because of how it colour-matched the surrounding rocks, and all along the trail were cactus plants full of those prickly pears. The sun was shining nicely now. We went up and up, and after awhile Skinny A called a halt to let the stragglers at the back catch up. Merrydick, who was out in front, continued on, and Skinny A cried, "Oh, let him go. He's so VIRIL."
I dropped to the very back for awhile and walked with Harley D, who was finding the uphill very exhausting (she hadn't been to a hash all year). [Like Padre. Ed.] Dark and Moist was sweeping the back (taking turns with Spunk Bubble) and he started telling Harley her purple pants were far too thick and warm, and it was no wonder she was tired out, and if she didn't want to wear shorts, then she should wear black leggings like HIS. At this, someone on the trail up ahead turned around and shouted out a comment about "sugar dandies".
Since the path was so steep and rocky, a lot of people were hunting around for bamboos to use as walking sticks. Ruth Plunger found one and was so pleased with it she offered to find bamboos for the rest of us. Suddenly Dark and Moist shouted "Look! Look! Up there! It's the runners!" In front of us was a deep ravine, and on the other side of the ravine was a very tall pointy mountain, and way up at the top of it were some tiny, tiny people. The runners!
We went under some trees, and when we came out I looked again and thought, no, that's not runners, it's just a little pine tree. But then it started waving, and it was definitely a human arm. It really was the runners ! They were so high up we wondered if Prestressed had ordered oxygen tanks along with the defibrillator. [He did, but Padre changed the order to vibrators. Ed.)
We thought the walkers would be going up the pointy mountain too, and were a bit worried about how far behind we had fallen, but our trail kept veering to the right, and eventually we realized we weren't going up. Later on Cumalot (who designed that part of the trail) told me it was so steep he'd had to do part of it on hands and knees. He convinced Prestressed to order oxygen tanks for everyone on the run, but they never arrived, so that's why they kept the walkers down.
We were going through a kind of bushy, grassy area when the runners got back down from the mountain and started overtaking us on the trail. The first one to appear was Baldrick. At a wide spot on the trail Cumalot and Golden Showers came crashing past, and I remember thinking, "Oh yeah! Golden Showers is a RUNNER now!" (The other female runners were Contradiction and No Satisfaction.) When I asked Golden Showers later on how it was up on the mountain, she replied in her usual frank manner, "It was bloody awful!" After hesitating a moment she added, "They all had vibrators!"
Not long after this the trail started going downhill towards the sea, and down below we could see fields and farm buildings. There was a lone cow with a bell descending a hillside to the right of us, and down below we saw a very long column of sheep going down a lane and turning into a field.
When we got down to the bottom the path became sandy, and the next thing I remember is approaching a small herd of cattle, and there was a bull there, with long horns, standing RIGHT BESIDE the path. And there were two smaller bulls, a few cows, and three cute little calves gamboling in the background. I felt kind of nervous, and said, "That's a BULL !!" Tosspot, who was beside me, replied, "Yes, it's a bull, mais ne t'inquièt pas."
I looked around to see how the others were reacting, and noticed Mudwrestler, dressed completely in red from head to toe. She walked past the bull without batting an eye (did she not realize she was wearing red?), and the bull just stood there without batting an eye either. Very strange, when Corsicans have a reputation for being so bull-headed, that their bulls could be so mild. [Don't forget that the runners had just passed through there with their vibrators. Ed.]
Then we came out into the open above the beach, and were met by Wetspot with a big jug of flour in his hand. He had just been preparing a loop for the runners. The walkers who were tired could go down to the beach and follow it along to the left, towards some cliffs in the distance, and the ones who wanted to see true beauty could continue straight ahead and do Wetspot's loop. Wetspot kept telling me enthusiastically that he could have made the entire run along this desolate shore, and he was hoping that next year he might get the chance to do so.
The first half of the loop was inland along the sand dunes (tough walking, good for the calves) (shoes full of sand), and then it turned around and came back along the rocky shoreline - very beautiful and wild and romantic, with the sea crashing and the wind blowing and the trail twisting in and out, and up and down, around little coves and inlets. I thought I saw a dead body floating in one inlet, but it turned out to be a live scuba diver.
When we got back to the place where the walkers had turned down, the beach became flat and sandy, but it wouldn't have been a good place to swim because the shoreline was all covered with yucky brown seaweed. We hurried along here, then up the cliff path, and out onto the road at the top, where a mob of noisy hashers was gathered, filling up the both lanes and slowing down traffic. The beer stop at last!
It wasn't just the beer stop, it was also the picnic, and after a slight delay the food arrived and was laid out, mainly by Happy Hooker and Christina Spunk Bubble, I think. Everyone was starving, of course, and the food was great, but it was so windy that you had to keep your plate almost full or it would blow away. So it was a bit difficult eating the bottom layer of food, because by then the plate would be flapping in the wind. While we ate, Merrydick and Baldrick (I believe) provided entertainment reciting limericks. Unfortunately, I was up-wind and missed that.
We made the pleasant discovery that the beer-stop was situated nine-tenths of the way along the trail, so after the picnic we only had to walk about seven minutes along the road, and voilà! - we were back at the beginning! And at the second bend in the road, who did we see but the Corsican farmer, loading his truck!
We drove back to camp for the down-downs, which were held on the beach. On the road back we were driving behind Fairy Plunger, and I noticed that Ruth was still proudly holding her bamboo walking stick. Fairy Plunger had put the top down so they could fit it into the car without drilling a hole through the roof.
And now, here is a short version of the run from Oxymoron. I asked him if he would write a few lines giving us a runner's perspective of the trail, and he kindly obliged. I was particularly hoping he would reveal some of what went on on top of the mountain, but unfortunately, he remains silent on those particular details, though if you read between the lines, you can imagine for yourself what he means by "after much regaining of breath and not a few jokes". Perhaps Padre can contact him directly if he wishes to know more.
Run Report (partial)
1 October 2010
The pack set off with the walkers through what was probably the only bog in Corsica eventually coming to an impasse with a couple of Corsican farmers requiring all the hostage-negotiating skills of Pedophil to secure any sort of onward trail. Eventually flour was found leading into the scrub and after a number of checks and what seemed a very long and beerless way the pack found itself at the top of a mountain which provided views not only of the sea but also of the walkers seemingly miles away. After much regaining of breath and not a few jokes sufficient enthusiasm was found to recommence the run by which time the walkers had caught up.
(to be continued)
If anyone has any details about incidents I've missed or forgotten here, by all means, send them in and they will be included in part two.
CORSICA/RIVIERA HASHAWAY 2010 HARE OF THE DOG RUN (HDR)
The G.M. asked me to write the word for the HDR. He foolishly incorrectly assumed that all pilots are literate.
Amazingly,20 fragile Hashers assembled for the HDR.Amazing considering that most of us were still drowning in Pastis and listening to some of Pissholes and others everso interesting jokes and songs at 1:00 AM the night before,and considering that we had all done 2 very horizontally challenged 11km runs on the preceding 2 days. How did Prestressed and Wet Spot manage to split up walkers and runners and get them to meet up at the same time at the beer stop? PFM.
Oh yes, back to the HDR.Wet Spot not only haired 2 x 11 km hashes, he haired the HDR as well. Quelle dedication!!
Perpetual Motion observed as R A that in his 17 years of hashing he had never seen such an unenthusiastic bunch of hashers. Running hashers observed that Wet Spot was probably so overawed by the spectacular Corsican mountain backdrop and sea views that he forgot to lay any drops.Wet Spot observed that the runners went beyond where there wasnʼt a trail.... Or something.
Prestressed volunteered a Down Down for Wet Spot because his ﬂower dispenser was broken or empty or some other stupid reason.
Appreciation goes to dedicated hairing by Wet Spot and to Perpetual motion for R A duties.
In the circle, the visitors, IW,Belfast,Gascony,Bitch,Looe &Liskeard RMB H3 announced that they actually appreciated the effort and organisation that went into inﬂating their livers, pickling their brains and knackering other parts of their athletic torsos etc.
It was a magic location Hashing does not get any better Thanks Prestressed et al.
A wrecked Biggles
L2H3 (Looe Liskeard H3 Cornwall)
Letters to Editor
Having seen the photographs ot the Corsican away weekend I could not but help notice the remakable similarity between Honey Ryder and (Hash name here). Could they be in any way related?
James Bond A.K.A. 007 Charles Bond A.K.A. Fairy Plunger
His Girl ; Honey Ryder His Girl:
Dr. No Dr. Maybe
For photos go here.
Dear Madam Editor,
I wish to make a profound complaint regarding the disgusting service provided by your so called scribes. Every day I sit and wait to be entertained by the exploits of the esteemed Riviera Hash House Harriers, and look with dwindling hope at the listing of available run reports.
My heart is sinking beyond recovery, not a dicky bird from the Corsica reports, much like last years PorkyRolls lack of reporting.
The standards of behaviour of the so-called "scribes" is becoming intolerable. I look forward to the return of capital punishment in the circle for such heinous crimes!!!!!
Totally Disgusted of Hungary
Trail des Baous 24th October 2010.
Nice-Cannes marathon 14th November 2010.
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R*n 652: NEXT HASH 17 --Oct