Hash 950

That night, Rasheed visited here room again.  But instead of smoking in the doorway, he crossed the room and sat beside her where she lay on the bed.  The springs creaked as the bed tilted to his side.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then his hand was on her neck, his thick fingers slowly pressing the knobs in the back of it.  His thumb slid down, and now it was stroking…

Oops.  Confusing the day job¹ with the Hash report.

Back to real life, standing (not jogging on the spot, indicative of an elevated temperature) among the pot holes in the car park of the Royal Standard, Widmer End.  Just a quick stagger along the road from the Hare’s House, but still sufficient distance in which to make a stain in the gutter.

Helen was the hare tonight, and as befits her occupation, the planning was meticulous.
There was to be:

1. A basic loop, 3.533 miles, run time 73.6 minutes, not very hilly.
2. Something in between, bit hillier, and
3. An aerobic work out, 5.562 miles, run time 91.2 minutes, 2+ hill climbs.

Best of all, the energy expended on the run was going to be greater than our fuel reserves, so we would be making a “profit” as well as sequestering carbon dioxide that would allow us to apply for a government grant.

Before we could get to grips with the accounting, we were sent on our way, 4 virgin hashers in thrall. 

Cryers Hill was reached in moments, where we bade farewell to the basic loopers, who headed southwest along H56.  The rest of us continued on towards Piper’s Corner, across fields that thankfully were drier than of late, and were only very slippery rather than impassable.

Here, the hare showed how considerate she had been in the planning.  We could have been taken down Boss Lane (steep, stream bed, flint rubble), or H55 (unbelievably steep).  Fortunately (for us) the Hash herd was lead around Piper’s school where the going was better.  (Aside.  Piper’s school is one of the places that the Hare could send her daughter ²).

Back down in the valley, we had the pleasure of a dry dash towards Hughenden Manor (excepting when it wasn’t and we didn’t, respectively), before we had the displeasure of the first (serious) uphill, Church Lane.  While some of us stalled and/or overheated on the way up, the Hare encouraged us all the while by performing serial acts of heroism by observing her own on-backs (Q.  Would we follow her to Hell and back?).

Eventually, thick valley air gave way to thin as we reached the plateau near Brand’s House.  This was the point where intermediates and longs parted company.  The hare’s husband went with the i-hashers, under instruction from Helen to Troy and find his way home, unaided (rumour has it that he foundered en-route, within metres of his home).

The rump of the Hash lumbered downhill through Millfield Wood, only to turn homewards after we had descended back into the valley.  Another steep climb ensued, only to end up at Brands House again.  However, once there, it was but a simple matter to slide to Grange Farm, along some dog walkers’ paths, and on-inn.
So thanks to Helen Hare for:

1. Setting it on her own,
2. Getting up a 6am to do it
3. The chips. 
   
   ¹There is a small prize to anyone who can tell me my nom de plume.
   ²The reader should not read anything into this.  It is hypothetical speculation.  If the hare had a daughter, then this action becomes a possibility.