The Mites were there, Nick too! Clever Dick arrived with Wet One and then a nice surprise, one of our founder members turned up, it was Nosslo. Then at last Gaby arrived, you know, that fast little lady runner from Transsylvania.
Ramblin' arrived wearing his winter beard and covered in flour. He had some bad news. Apparently Malibog, when trying to make the run even more interesting, slipped arse over tit on some ice and landed in a ditch hurting his leg and was presently resting on the trail somewhere. Ramblin' being the conscientious type continued to lay the trail.
As we were preparing for the off, Malibog appeared out of the woods limping badly. We commiserated with him, left him at the Chinese Restaurant with a beer, and then we were off!
With Marmite in the lead we turned left at the car park and sped up the hill. Nosslo was close behind followed by the Wet One and Clever Dick. We came to a check and the rest of the pack soon caught us up and promptly started to look for the trail. Then the fun started, or more like, the torture began. We started running in cow fields that were cow-less but nonetheless with lots of shiggy and covered in melting snow and ice. The orienteerers, Gaby and quick Nick were doing quite well, prancing over the slippery stuff as if it was not there.
We climbed over stiles, under some barbed wire and up and over miniature mountains. By this time our running shoes were getting rather damp. We ran through more fields, through woods, over more stiles. The trail continued via farm country, it lead us over a fence and then up a slight hill. At the top of the hill one soon realized that something was not quite right. The top of the hill was very soft, very smelly and felt almost warm. Yes! Malibog and Ramblin' had laid the trail over an enormous pile of dung. (Cow shit to us simple hashers [according to the hares it was horse manure /Ed.'s note])
One suddenly got the feeling that the Hares had got it in for someone. Was Malibog testing the orienteerers, giving them something to bite on, or was Ramblin' Rod testing his masochistic prowess. The test was still not finished. We ran down a nice little lane and came to a check. Some flour led us to a small wooden bridge which went over a "normally" small stream. The problem now, was that the snow had melted and the small stream was about a foot above the bridge. The trail could not be that way, must be in the apposite direction.
Little Gaby did not care, she gaily dashed through the icy waters as if she was wearing wellington boots. We all waited for her to come back, to shout false trail, on back, or words to that effect. But the little Transsylvanian shouted, On On! She must be joking. But no! She was on alright. So the rest of us must also dash through the icy waters. It was freezing, our shoes immediately soaking wet, our feet freezing. A nice Saturday afternoon thank you.
Somewhere along the trail, when we were feeling most sorry for ourselves, we came across a V stop! V stop!? Yes, Ramblin' had laid a VODKA stop. We all had a warming klunk and then continued.
After a few more miles our feet started to get warm again. Then the trail disappeared into the woods and more slushy snow and lots of icy deep puddles. Wet feet again. At last we came to a long wooden bridge, famous in the Hash Annuals. Apparently our own Termite had run over the same bridge about 170/180 runs ago. This would calculate about 7 Years and 10 months ago. Termite was lyrical, happy to be back on the bridge content with his memories. After a few more miles, a few more wet woods, we came out of a clearing and we were back to the car park at Farsta Strand Railway Station.
We all retired to the Chinese Restaurant to warm our frozen limbs, drink a well earned Mariestad and partake of the Chinese choice of the day.
Thanks to the two hares, we had had a run to remember or to forget depending upon how wet one had got.
Clever Dick