Quite a crowd

Date: Saturday, January 15th, 2012.

Hares: Bin Dealin’ and Bin Breedin’.

Location: Leopard’s Hill Forest Reserve – deepest darkest bit.

Hash Number: 1651.

72: The numbers of hashers who braved the rains and potholes to make it out into the hillier woods of the forest reserve. Blimey.

Hash Trash rocked up at 3.15pm to find the woods inundated with newcomers  - 33 to be precise -  and a load of returners. Hash Trash applauds their efforts for coming back into the fold. What else is there to do on a Saturday in Lusaka? Exactly.

Look out: Oxygen thief.

The start resembled the London Marathon, with newbies stretching and limbering up for the off.  And off we all went at a blistering pace! Far too fast for Hash Trash as the rain came down and Orca blew her horn.

Beer taps: Boy Blue

Bin Dealin’, renowned for finding hills where there aren’t any, didn’t disappoint and straight away the frontrunners, followed at a more leisurely pace by the old guard, dived down into the bush, with claps of thunder ringing across the forest reserve.

Cries of “on-on” were heard as a big gaggle of Yanks set the pace. The pack skidded and slid down the slopes past mealie meal markings that the heavy rains threatened to wash away.

Thankfully, old pros Bin Dealin’ and Bin Breedin’ had marked the trees and the pack snaked its way through the undergrowth.  And then it happened. Uphill. B*llocks. As the young, fit things made mincemeat of the incline, the rest of us wobbled on, clawing our way up what seemed like the north face of the Eiger.

Neon: Just say no.

 Ears popped and crampons slipped as we rounded the crest of what was surely the only steep section of the route No. There was another. And another.

Up and down we went - the mother of all climbs. Hash Trash made it to the top crawling, white-spotted tunnel vision setting in, while Orca guided in the pack with her trumpet (snigger snigger). Call Boy and Dominatrix rode their hounds to the summit while no-one had seen Boy Blue since the off.

The pack gathered and was off again, the newbies continuing on the path while Bo Pip scampered up the hill counting one, two, three, four, five and then on-on. We levelled off and the pack spread out through a valley.

All Smiles: Despite the rain.

Thankfully the worst was over, the end in sight and the incline not too severe.  Look If You Like, Condom Man and their oxygen thief made a devious short cut which brought them in just in time to flog a load of hash T-shirts and mugs from the back of the Condomobile.

Ladies' favourite: Bo Pip.

The walkers, who had certainly taken the longer of the walking routes, eventually joined the runners and we all waited patiently for the beer taps to arrive with Boy Blue.

And we waited. And waited. A search party was sent out, not with any concerns for Boy Blue’s welfare, as the softies ran out. In the meantime, Call Boy fished a tap out his pocket (as if a beer tap is the most natural thing to carry around in your short pocket) and the beer started to flow.

Eventually, Boy Blue appeared on the horizon to a hearty cheer and all was well. The circle formed and the antics began.

Hash Sh*ts: Call Boy and Dominatrix.

Such was the number of newcomers, their welcome resembled a conveyor belt, each given about 3 seconds to shout their name, as Condom Man and Hamster dished out the beer in a jug. Next up were the returners  - 2 and a half to be precise -  Will, Rachel and their bump.  Batman’s hearty singing was duly noted and the down-downs began.

First up was an absent-minded newcomer who was foolish enough to leave his keys on his car, while a pair of newcomers  were lambasted for their glow-in-the-dark vests.

King of the jungle: Tarzan and co.

Barrel Boy and Matoke’s nuptials were toasted and their return welcomed by all. Child Abuse and Child Abuse 2 were penalised for abusing Hamster on the run (now there’s a sentence you don’t write every day) and Ngweye was penalised for taking a nosedive from his bicycle.

Last, but not least, came hash sh*t nominations. Dragged into the middle were Dominatrix and Call Boy (minus the hounds).

“Their crimes?” I hear you ask? Well, pretty severe.  Engagement without explicit consent of the HM. Out came the hash sh*t T-shirt, freshly iced, and the couple’s misfortune was toasted by all.

On-on.