I apologise in advance if this write up is not to the high standard that you expected from Simon. I think he must have guessed that no one could possibly have replicated his exceptionally flat run of the week before, and by deduction, it would have to be hillier. Simon absented himself from the run and I, rather naively, volunteered to myself to do the write up (in fairness, I do owe one to someone from sometime in the past). To compound my naivety, I have no map with which to guide me. So what follows is a magical mystery tour. Might have happened. Might not.
This run may truthfully be described as Kerry’s revenge. However, I do not know whether the revenge was on Kevin (judging by his reaction to setting it) or on the rest of the HASH.
The evening started ominously as we headed sou’west (nautical term) from The Fox at Ibstone, skirting the common. Kevin confessed that he hadn’t realised that it was so hilly around there. We soon found out why he said that.
The route lead us through Commonhill wood and downhill along S7a. Downhill was a common theme this night, as was its conjugate, uphill. So that we should not be too concerned with what was to come, Kerry ran with us (first time in 2 months). That’s all right then. If Kerry’s with us, it can’t be that bad (Oh yeah!).
S21 ran into S7 which was a gentle slope downhill.
At the next check with S22, the trail turned hard left across a very smelly field newly sown with manure. Most hashers trotted on, but two lingered a little way across the valley. They were Helen and Dick. Eventually they caught us up. H explained that she was helping Dick free a (young, attractive) sheep from the barbed wire. I think Helen is too trusting. Why was the sheep caught in the fence in the first place? (more on this later).
Through Hale wood, Great wood and across the common. Matthew still had his two sons with him. Godammit. What does it take to tire them out?
Right along Gray’s Lane and the next of the downhill sections. This would have been quite peaceful except a herd of deer decided to panic and fled up hill alongside the path. Never seen that before. Quite coincidently, Dick was out front, checking.
I16 led us Turville Wood, in a downwards direction. By this time we had finally twigged that uphill followed downhill, and both were equally steep.
Just to confirm our hypothesis, I4 appeared and the trail turned to the heavens.
Gasping in the thin air, St Nicholas church appeared on our right. Oh to rest on a horizontal surface, but it was not to be. Churchfield copse gave way to Ibstone Lane and across we went.
Twigside passed by in a blur. We were on a roll. We were going down. Fast.
No matter. We hit the Interstate I-14 and turned north along the valley, the ground undulating benignly. As breath was easier to find, Leslie told us about a pair of running shorts that she had tried on recently. Very comfortable they were, with a gusseted mesh vent at the back. Very functional they were too. I was concerned that the mesh might chafe, but that was not the reason that Leslie did not buy them. Seems the mesh was rather revealing and that all of her bodywork, from waist to nether regions was visible to all who might look. Being a sort of “make a virtue out of a necessity” guy, I thought it an ideal place to push a red rear light. Safer running and all that. I was in a minority of one.
Twigside Bottom. Penley wood. We saw the world that night.
Another hour, another ascent into Hartmoor Wood. It was still night time (just).
One last fling with S34 and we saw lights. We saw civilisation (-ish. Well, it is stlll Stokenchurch-like around there.
On-inn to sound of a police helicopter hovering over the common. And that is the last I will say about that (except that not all women in uniform take their clothes off)(and that is the last time I make a public announcement about indecent behaviour with an animal).
Thanks Kerry. You socked it to us. Thanks Kev. You made her dreams come true.