The Hash of 06.06.00

Having missed nearly a year of hashing through the decline of my body, it was comforting to return for the summer of 2000 (albeit with wheeled assistance), to find the Cheshire Hash still continuing to exhibit its own peculiar eccentricities. For my 3^rd appearance in 4 weeks, I pedalled the marathon distance to the Bickerton Poacher. On arrival, the first 2 of the pack careered into the pub car park, & engaged me in suitable ribald banter about my unusual mode of transport. 90 seconds later, the trail layer arrives steaming like a Derby winner, grabs one of these Hashers (who professes to be a Doctor), says "You're needed, Max has had an accident!"

Indeed our Webmaster had. With the pub two fields away, and the bulk of the pack now enthusiastically hurrying up behind him, he had caught his toe on the top of a stile, got 5.7 for artistic impression, and led with his follicaly challenged head into a cow pat, that was stuffed with some local Old Red Sandstone. The blood was everywhere.

Temporary repairs were carried out, and Webmaster & medic returned to the pub, for some sustenance. Now you may say, there is nothing eccentric about a Hasher nearing the bar, getting enthusiastic about the prospect of a couple of pints of Theakstons, and doing an Olga Korbut, without the appropriate equipment. Agreed.

However, in the pub, the Doc (complete with pint in hand) is going round the pub asking if anyone has brought their glasses with them. (Reading glasses that is, not pint.) It becomes apparent that Doc wants Webmaster to go to the local cottage hospital with him for further examination. However, like many of his patients our Medic's optical equipment is not as good as it once was, and he is a little dubious about his ability to see where he might be stitching. As I can't see anything within about 3 feet without a set of milk bottle bottoms, I volunteer these glasses. Doc puts down pint, picks up pub menu, peers through glasses & pronounces himself satisfied.

Webmaster on hearing Doc's proposed course of action in dealing with his cracked cranium, starts to mutter about, "…hoping Doc is better with his optics, than NASA was with its Hubble.", & in the mean time has another quick Theakstons, & starts talking about "suitable anaesthetic." Yes, they are all still mad as Hashers.

P.S. Both stars of this saga found the local hospital, and a substantial amount of Cheshire muck was removed from the battered brain, & 9 stitches used to screw it all together. Doc & Webmaster are doing well.

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Hash - 13^th June 2000

Having witnessed the acrobatic demise of our Webmaster at the Bickerton Poacher, I really had to make the effort to pedal to the White Lion at Alvanley to see how the IT man was progressing. This cycling thing isn't too bad - it's much less strenuous than running, although typically the summer venues for each Tuesday nights extravaganza seem to be threatening to be outside Cheshire.

My original planned route, looked ace in terms of distance. But looking at those nasty straggly brown lines that occur on OS maps, prompted a rapid rethink. A longer but less contour challenged route was devised. As I arrived in the pub car park, so did the pack. Our technical guru cantered in, complete with a zip across his forehead. Apparently, the stitches had only just been uncovered from their protective covering - Mrs Webmaster had not even seen them. (She had clearly decided that her first thought about "not trusting him out alone", was perhaps a little harsh). Our man was his usual cheerful self, & tonight only alcoholic rather than medical assistance seemed to be required.

In the pub, confusion reigned - Euro 2000 on the telly. Yugoslavia had just scored 3 quick goals to get even with Slovenia. I heard one of the locals explaining that Yugoslavia was now really Serbia, & that Slovenia had once been part of what was once a much larger Yugoslavia. Wow, modern political history being discussed in a boozer 2 miles from Widnes! The Hash was much more interested in Martin's plans for his 40^th birthday, involving a Hash, a marquee, food, camping & a little modest imbibing.

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Hash - 20^th June 2000

As this was the last chance to pedal to a Hash for a couple of weeks, the 28 mile ride to the Shropshire border at Audlem, was a challenge to be met. Actually, it was less arduous than I thought - none of those nasty straggly brown lines that caused the route planning rethink last week. If the ground was kind, the weather was less so. Pedalling through beautiful downtown Crewe past the Mornflake Oats factory with another 11 miles to go, & God using his sprinkler, brought thoughts of "Why the .am I doing this!"

For the pleasure of the apre Hash I suppose. I was a little earlier than planned in Audlem. So whilst poring over my map contemplating a little loop to use up a minute or three, an orange blur shot by followed by a grey one. The comment of "I see you're here again" came from Mr Orange , our young Vet. (Vet as in Veterinary rather than Veteran). The grey blur, one of the many David's was silent, concentrating on trying to keep up with Vet, who has not even reduced the training regime he was on for the London Marathon. So, another finish before 9 p.m. Things have either got quicker since I had to stop running, or they aren't running quite so far. Still, more drinking time.

The pub was packed with football supporters. Tuesday night was "England out" night. The TV was by the entrance door directly over the pool table. Our scouse teacher walked in & asked the increasing anxious & sullen mob, "All right for a game of pool then?" As this is a family web site, their reply will have to be imagined. Our educationalist has taught secondary school kids in Runcorn for years, so was not remotely worried by the threats to his anatomy, and retired outside to the canal bank with his first pint & a Cuban cigar. The Hash having its priorities right, made sure their 2^nd round of pints was delivered before the final whistle went, when clearly some serious alcoholic consolation would be indulged in by the locals. They did - very quietly.

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The Hash of 11.07.00

2 weeks holiday, meant far too much red wine, & a panic stricken feeling about getting the weight off on my return. A Tuesday night cycle to some far flung part of Cheshire seemed in order. A quick trip to the Hash Website revealed the venue as being300 yards from my front door! It's the medics annual Treasure Hunt Hash barbecue. It's bound to be wet! As a twist Hashing cyclists were encouraged. So I was not the only Tour de France refugee.

Dr R gathered the pack together for instructions, & gave them from a pulpit! He & Dr T handed out maps and pens to each team, with a very firm message - "No cheating". Each year they give this edict, & each year are ignored. This year the maps & rules were stapled together very firmly, & any evidence of tampering with this security system would meet with the ultimate sanction - no beer!!

Wow, the variety of kit used for pedalling is amazing. Dr D, (who recently starred with our Webmaster in the epic 6^th June hash), came packaged in a multi-coloured dayglow collection of Lycra, that looked very expensive, & like the Great Wall of China could be seen from Outer Space. My worn gardening cords seem painfully inadequate. As did my 15 year boys racer. It belongs to my eldest, who hasn't seen it, let alone ridden it for 10 years. Unlike modern titanium encrusted, Teflon coated mountain bikes, it doesn't come with 300 gears, a streamlined frame, and an all up weight of two 1^st class stamps.

I was feeling quite sorry for myself, until I saw my team member's steeds. Bill's wheels weren't quite round - (really), whilst every time Simon changed gear, Bill & I were reduced to the old cliché, "There's one in there somewhere!" Inevitably, we won. Equipped as we were, a quick strategy meeting decided, "ignore any checks off roads". So we stuck to the black stuff, & had a very pleasant trundle round the back roads of North Cheshire. Some sweat, but no mud. The dayglow Lycra man was somewhat mucky on his return. As was young Martin. He got teamed with the triangle Kev, sorry triathlete Kev, who is training hard, while Martin has just returned from 2 weeks on the Costa Lot. Kev really does look triangular, so the all this work has his body in great shape. The effect on his mind is open to question. One of the checks involved knocking on the door of a house, & getting the owner's surname, who clearly had been primed in advance. Kev knocked on the door of someone who wasn't primed! Confusion reigned! Martin was delighted, it was the only rest he got all night.

We won, but so did most other Hashers. The medics in charge had devised a list of different categories, so nearly everyone benefited. The younger of the "two Tones" told me after we'd finished, (as we battled with the midges & the cold over a can of Boddingtons), "I've won the Veteran Mixed Doubles". It turned out that he & the On On Sec, had formed a sexually mixed team with a combined age in excess of any figure an English batsmen will score this summer. As the only team in that category, they won it. The maturer "two Tone" also won his category - the Very Veteran Male Singles.

You're still wondering about the pulpit. So did I, until it was explained to my peanut brain, that it was really a wooden fort (a la John Wayne) for the medics kids!! Gets 'em away from the computer I suppose.

Anyway, an excellent evening. The trail layers, & particularly all the people who contributed to the preparing & cooking of the grub are to be thanked for all their efforts.

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4 Hashes in one go!!

I've gotten lazy. Haven't bothered to write anything about Tuesday nights, since the Doc's barbecue. So what happens? People start complaining I've not done my weekly report. I've even been accused of not giving the full results of the athletic activities at the barbecue do. I'm to tell everyone Eleanor & Karen won the running overall, beating all the elite?? men. I ask you, elite men!! I only started the writing for a bit a bit of fun, but certain Hashers seem to think to think they are entitled to my literary skills on a regular basis. I wonder if I could charge? (Fat Chance of that muttered the webmaster)

The younger two Tone produced a trail from everybody's least favourite venue on the 18^th July. The Leathers Smithy is a smashing pub, but it's 500 feet above the Cheshire Plain, with scope for a further 500 feet up. It's not flat is Macclesfield Forest. Good news - Tone got the pack back by 9. Bad news - he only got 75% of them home. The more mature Tone had his usual map & was designated to "help the aged". He did bring them home, 15 minutes late, & from completely the wrong direction. Nothing new there then. As pints were ordered the hardier Hashers strode outside to sup ale, & admire the views across the lakes & hills. Us old veterans who have run from here before grabbed the only spare seats in the bar & waited. 5 minutes later the score reads Hardy Hashers 0 Little Bitey Things 5. (Oh, did I tell you, Eleanor & Karen beat all the men).

In my current wheeled guise, I set off for the Leathers Smithy at 7.45. Having pedalled a few hundred yards, I found the mush that passes for brain, was suddenly calculating. You're aiming to be there for 9, so 1 & 1/4 hours to pedal 17 miles, & you average 12 mph - oh God! I'd planned a back road route the day before, done my calculations & worked out 7.30 was a good start time. By Tuesday, I'd decided 7.45 was OK. I spent the 1 & 1/4 hours bent double over the bars, as though it was a Tour de France time trial. I haven't been so knackered since I last ran. The bike crossbar is starting to rust from the sweat that dribbled all over it. (Eleanor & Karen won, by the way).

A week later, young Mr Lever was our guide & comforter around the rural delights of Frodsham. Still not flat, but definitely not Macc Forest. Nobody lost & a cheap pub - excellent. On the way home, I scrunched up in the back of my benefactors new Espace, with a Doc, a Vet & 2 dogs. Mike & Pam have very generously put their bike rack on the back of their motor each week, to allow this scribe to get home - pissed. Greater love has no man (or Pam), than to give a fellow Hasher regular lifts & not make him drive. Anyway to return to the medics & canines. I asked the pilot, "You've decided to let the dogs in then?" "Oh, I think so" said Captain Kirk (sorry Mike). The following week, when dogs & owners were absent (school holidays - a weak excuse), I discover the new generosity to the canine world has evaporated. Apparently, allowing Bonzo in on Tuesday night, meant 2 hours hand to hand combat with the Hoover on Wednesday morning. (Did I mention Elea or).

The following week & it's a new month, nights drawing in, how much longer can the wheels be used? The On Sec is in charge at Rode Heath. Recently returned from an arduous sailing campaign in the arctic wastes of Cork, & unable to call on the skills of her "I'm only a foot soldier" husband, she laid the trail herself. Bombing around, she gets nearly 5 miles into her planned route to find the trails layers nightmare, what's on the map ain't on the deck! A time consuming & frustrating undoing of paper ensued. A lady of normally very modest language, she said in the pub after the run, "It's a good job I did lay it on my own".

This time the pack were able to sit outside despite the canal by the pub. The landlord had installed external overhead heaters which were very effective & welcome, particularly as 10 minutes into drinking time, a sonorous announcement over a PA system, coupled with monumental feedback, announced, "The quiz starts in 5 minutes, get your drinks at the bar". I'm getting to feel so reactionary. I've just added pub quizzes to the long list of things I would ban (given the chance), that starts with mobile phones. (Oh, Eleanor says!)

Another week, evenings even darker - the end is nigh. It is for Lynn. At the Swan with 2 Nicks, she announced, "See you all in May". Lynn has been running since the mid 1980's, & holds the record for lowest consistency of today's regulars. 64 appearances out of a possible hundreds & hundreds. She likes to see where she is going, so restricts her activity to high summer.

The On Sec produced Athletic Association membership cards for us Hashers. Bureaucracy has even overtaken fun running. The fun thing about the membership cards is that the North of England Athletic Association has issued cards for all the current Cheshire Hash, including the dogs. They like us can now get lower entry fees for races, & in certain shops discounts on their trainers.

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The end is nigh, or is it?

The end is nigh, or some such biblical bullocks. Mid August, grey skies, & its going to be dark by 9 p.m. If I can't find a light with a bit of oomph, my solo Hash cycling career is coming to an end, until at least May 2001. The trouble is I've got back into the hashing thing with these summer pedals. Spending an hour & a half chaffing my groin, grinding my eldest's wheels round Cheshire on cold wintry evenings doesn't greatly appeal, but its better than Eastenders. I'll have to investigate this lighting query.

The 15^th August & it's dark by 9! It's also wet by 8! I think I just introduced a new rule about not cycling in the rain. That should reduce my attendance consistency in the winter, even if I can sort the illumination problem. Anyway, Helen's trail (ably assisted by Mr Lever). He's such a helpful fellow is Dave, always ready & willing to provide guidance & succour to other trail layers - particularly Helen, Heather, Karen, Eleanor, Kathy etc. Sorry Dave.

I got wet, so did the runners. The trail was over 7 miles when Helen & Dave measured it, so as with all quality trail layers, what did they do? Panic of course. A rapid reassessment was carried out. Apparently it was not clear on the night whether they had planned a short cut in advance, or made one up on the spot. Anyway, the trail was fast, wet & the foliage large & angry. Kev complained he had been slashed by a vicious briar. "Nothing unusual in that you wimp!" said Mike. "Across the forehead!" retorted Kev. Much learned discussion followed on the growth rates of various hash eating plants at the end of a summer that's been warm & wet. Just like the beer!

A week later, & darker still. The maturer 2 Tone had chosen the remote fastness of Barrow near Chester. 25 miles by the sensible cycling route. Knowing Tone's trails of old, I asked him for a copy of the route in advance, which he kindly provided. This revealed at least 3 parts of the route that did not follow those nice brown lines called roads, or green dotted ones known as paths. Ah, one of Tone's adventure trails! He occasionally decides that he will define what is a right of way, not the local council. To help this aim, he owns a pair of secateurs that Steve McQueen could have used in The Great Escape. The map also revealed the trail was a good 6 1/4 miles. I reckon the pack will be lucky to be back by 9.15. I want to be in the car park by 9 because of this enduring light/bike problem.

Time for a think. I ring the driver, to see if he can leave a key by the car. "Why?" says Mike quite reasonably. I explain. A slight pause. "OK, I'll put the key inside the rear wheel" says Mike. What a very nice man.

I arrive at 9. No one there - no surprise there then. 5 minutes later, in careers the thinnest Dave. "No one back yet?" he queries. "Only you" says I. "God, I've been running flat out for 20 minutes!" he gasps. Seems he got off the front of the pack, thought he'd missed the trail. Kept hunting around, found some markers, followed them, hoping to catch up with the pack. Where was he? Still miles in front! Another 2 minutes Doc Dave arrives, with a similar story. Another lone Hash trail blazer.

At 9.20 the pack straggles in, with stories of 8 feet high corn blocking footpaths, virtually non existent stiles, (could be its the non existent public footpath guys!), people calling "On On" from all points of the compass, trail layers not knowing where they were etc. Yes, a good hash was had by all. As we were changing the driver quietly said in my ear, "In view of your prediction of a late finish, I've brought a torch, & extremely helpful in avoiding the stingers it's been!!"

2 weeks later, I've had a relapse with the feet. So instead of being in a restaurant in the West End, I'm contemplating a cancelled holiday, & should I pedal to the Greyhound at Ashley on Tuesday night? No question of a lift back, as Mike has knackered a knee, & Pam still has her creaky back. It's all that slaving over a hot stove Pam, you should retire!

Also, there's no question that Halfords best front bike light would not be of any use to Blackpool Corporation. It seems ordinary bike lights are designed to let car drivers know the bike is there, but not to put any usable light on the road. A brief discussion with the specialist Northwich bike man, means I either retire until next summer, or take a second mortgage & buy some real wattage.

He shows me a twin headlamp set up complete with a rechargeable battery pack that weighs 3lbs. Twin headlamps on a bike for God's sake! He assures me that this bank breaking piece of kit will get light on the road. The trouble is, there is no way of knowing without buying it & finding out. I hesitate - he offers 10% off - I give in.

So, Tuesday night, the Archers has finished, I pack my bag & set off. By 8.15, the spread beam of my new kit is in operation. 10 minutes later I switch on the spot. They aren't bad. Sharp corners are interesting, as you can see the road turn before you move the handlebars, so you end up turning into the dark. But I survive to the pub. Now, the interesting bit, a couple of pints & a 6 mile ride home in complete darkness.

In the pub, the Hon Sec is checking whose available for the Hash weekend. She asks Martin if he would like 2 rooms for his family if she can arrange it. He says "Fine, one at each end of the Hotel please". The younger 2 Tone enquires whether he just wants the kids in a separate room, or whether he feels Lindsey should accompany them so Martin can have a room on his own.

Meantime, Kev arrives & says "What's the wattage then?"

"Pardon"

"Your lights, what's their wattage? I've been in the car park having a look - took me ages to find out how to switch them on." Existing readers will remember Kev is a quality triathlete, who bikes as well as runs. Now, most Hashers on finishing a run, go into the pub gasping for a pint (or three). It seems Kev has broader priorities, although to be fair to him, it turned out Tuesday night was Quiz night in the Greyhound! Anything to avoid being stuck in a pub on Quiz night.

I didn't know the wattage, but if he's reading this, I've looked it up, & the answer is 6v-10W P13.5S Halogen. Further details are on wwwanorak@hhh.com.

I got home safely. The new candles are good, cars even dip their lights for you, so they must be shoving out some reasonable amount of juice. Maybe I can carry on a bit.

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The Missing Hash 19th September

It's not that the Hash missed anything, it's that I missed the Hash. The evening of Tuesday 19^th September was not the most Hasher friendly of this new Millennium! Having had a week away in Cornwall with no petrol, and a car with a leaky hose pipe, then discovering from the lady looking after the cats that there was water plunging through the lounge ceiling at home, the thought of a quiet pedal to exercise my new bike lights was quite appealing.

Except that at 5 p.m. on the said Tuesday, it started to rain. At 6 it was heavier, & John Ketley then predicted "Worse later". So to quote from "Porridge" - "a quiet night in".

Apparently, it became wet T shirt weather! Now some of the Hash are not pretty sights when it's bright & sunny, let alone after a 6 mile trudge through the mud by the Manchester Shit Canal during a Cheshire monsoon. It would have almost been worth making a special effort to go to the pub for 9, just to witness the finish - except there's this drink & driving thing. Ah well, maybe next week.

26.09.00 - Mr. Eden's 200^th!

Having been a pathetic "no show" for last week's Monsoon run, I checked our Webmeister's run list for the 26^th & discovered we were starting from the Garden of Eden. Mike & Pam's, my mobile benefactors, who have been regularly returning me & my wheels back to base from all over Cheshire during the summer. I wonder if they'll give me a lift home this week!? Not a likely prospect - but it's only 4 miles home, so I can either cadge a lift & leave the bike in their garage, or pedal home steadily.

To my great surprise, Nick one of our tooth fairies & consort to the On Sec says he's going to take the mothballs off his wheels & cycle as well. But only from his flat direct to the Eden's. Apparently he has no interest in my normal hour's ride to work up a thirst beforehand. We agree, I'll do a "quick" 15 miles, & bang on his door about 8.45 for a direct blast to Mobberley. He's doing the cycling bit because he's been crocked for about a month. Apparently, he knackered his back whilst tacking or jibing or some other sexual perversion, whilst playing Captain Hornblower on the Irish Sea. He'll be fit to run next week apparently.

All goes according to plan. We're pedaling away, then Nick mentions its Mike's 200^th run. A flash of horror crosses my mind. For the uninitiated, the Cheshire Hash has only one real tradition - namely, to slip a stripper as a "reward" on anyone achieving 200 runs. Nick has taken upon himself the onerous task of finding & vetting "suitable" ladies for these evenings. He is alleged to approach this task with enthusiasm & vigour - & he's normally such a quiet, reserved character. Tonight's venue is private, but would Mike want such a "treat" in his own home? Knowing some of our dedicated runners, he may not be given the choice. One or two would regularly have their 200^th again, & again & etc. Some others have run 199 times at least twice.

Nick & I arrive as the pack is finishing. A good muddy one judging by the state of their legs. A quick change & into the house. Gentle conversation commences varying from Adrian & quick Dave discussing yields, P/E ratios & other lifeblood items for the entrepreneur, to teacher Mike describing how he had today received the worst torrent of abuse from a student in 20+ years of teaching. As Mike comes from Liverpool & teaches in Runcorn, it was definitely a bad day. Didn't affect his appetite though. Pam, as usual, had produced a spread (thanks Pam), & Mike like one or two others was determined to leave Pam & Mike with only clean plates to wash up.

After half an hour or so, we are all quietly asked to gather in the lounge, as the "proceedings" were due to start. Now we'll find out what Mike's in for. The answer - a poem is read to him! Ah well, maybe the Hash has gone cultural in my absence. The On Sec tells everybody, that Mike has a unique record. He started running seriously about 5 years ago, & immediately became one of the most consistent Hashers. However, he also ran once in about 1984, before returning 11 or 12 years later. Taking this into account, instead of challenging for the title, he is in danger of relegation.

Someone asks "who is next to 200?". Heather says "It may be (teacher) Mike". He says he'd like to return to the Cheshire Hash tradition of strippers. But he'd like something slightly different. Eleanor had been "graced" by "The Full Monty" when she got to 200. Not Robert Carlyle Tom Wilkinson etc, but by the Cheshire Hash first team of Nick, Tony E, Roger etc. Her choice too! Anyway, Mike felt he ought to get Eleanor & her fellow lady hashers to return the compliment. Some thoughtful faces appeared. I must try & keep my collapsing body together for a while!

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Hash 03.10.00

Now this sort of Hash suits me. Only 3 1/2 miles from home, so I can pedal my alcohol sodden body back, without vehicular assistance. The only trouble being a dreadful forecast. By 7 p.m. the wind is blasting down the chimney, but there's no precipitation. So, shorts on, bike out, lights on, let's do it.

Earlier in the day, I'd had a word with the mature Tone seeking his guidance re the Hash Weekend. Turned out he had "assisted" Nigel in laying his first trail. "How far is it?" says I. "Quarter past 9!" says Tone. Apparently, the last section is Equatorial jungle deep in mud. Nice! So the pack won't finish early. Probably the only advantage of not being able to run is missing the mud.

I arrive at the Drovers pedalling by a stream of Hashers who bear a passing resemblance to the old Black & White Minstrels. Yep, Spinney Wood has done its worst. Tone is looking after the rear, & there is a bit of a delay before they manage to wade through to the pub car park, but there's only the normal whinging. Bill & one of the Dave's (I never established which), impressed the trail layers by getting lost at the 2^nd check. After 1/2 an hour of thrashing around calling "Where are you", & inevitably only getting a "What's going out there?" by way of reply, they stumbled on some markers. Dave said "It must be right". So, off they go, and inevitably (again) it's not. Still, no-one lost, and the precipitation hasn't, so into the pub.

Since I was here last, the landlord appears to have introduced Mr J C Bamford's finest yellow machines to the inside of the building. Still, not a bad job done, & the fish seem happy. The pub has a 7 x 5 aquarium & that's feet not inches. Plenty of room for the hash, who as I sit down, are unusually all gathered in a big circular group. The younger Tone appears to be the centre of attention, & seems to be well through telling a joke. Just then Karen & Heather arrive. Tone throws up his arms & loudly announces he couldn't possibly complete such a story with ladies present.

Rob immediately suggests "They won't mind, they're honorary men". Oops. He calls for a vote on whether Tony should finish or not. This is the first time I can ever remember the Cheshire Hash showing any democratic leanings. But it seems that if there's an opportunity to embarrass Tony, the Hash can be flexible, & hands shoot up, so the vote is overwhelmingly in favour of him finishing. He won't of course, so he is encouraged to save it for the Hash weekend. And the joke.

Seeing all these hands in the air, prompts Martin to think "Ah, that saves me asking". He counts the hands & speeds to the bar & orders the second round. Good man - I don't think he was driving & intended to get his share!! He wasn't the only one. I had a very swift 3 pints, & found myself firmly telling fast Dave how to organise his pension arrangements. Very sensible - he's only been Financial Director to a PLC for the last 10 years. Ah, how the alcohol liberates the tongue. It loosens up mine dramatically, unfortunately what it then says is usually bollocks.

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Hash 10.10.00

Another Tuesday evening, another rampaging Low Pressure area! Monday was dire, precipitation all over the country. Tuesday dawns with more rampaging. John Ketley smiles & says "It'll improve to heavy blustery showers later". Oh super! By teatime, it's calming down, clouds dispersing. Apparently, the weather is saving itself for a further blast on Wednesday. So it's quick, get the pedalling gear on

Halfway to the Hash, & my poor thighs have turned leaden. It's a combination of the physical effort & hard drinking involved in a Hash Weekend. (That will be another story!) A fumble for the readers, & in the dazzling bike light, my digital says 8.40 p.m. A problem - the final half of this planned route is distinctly undulating. So a tactical retreat becomes a necessity. It'll have to be straight up the A34 to Alderley, & under the Edge to the Bulls Head, otherwise I won't be there before chucking out time.

I beat fast Dave into the car park by 25 seconds! He's rapidly followed by the other Hares. Much discussion follows over where in the league table of muddy ones, this (allegedly) only 5 mile creation by Daniel fits in. He seems to have qualified for the play offs. Martin is wondering forlornly around the car park. "Driver not back yet?" says I. "No, Max hasn't been seen for a bit." replies Martin, "but he should be all right, (mature) Tone is at the back with a map". Nick says Martin could be about to freeze. So, our Webmeister astray again, maybe I get to write up this Hash all on my own. No, that won't work, Max is the only one who can work the website.

We all plunge into a deserted Bulls Head. Now this is a big boozer, & there is no one in the bar. There's a sign outside the door saying, "Welcome. Fully open. Refurbishment postponed". I think they need a bigger sign. We all crowd round one table, & within half a minute Doctor Tim is trying to auction off a pair of muddy (but dry) trainers. When asked "Why?" He says "I'm fed up of them". They really must have pinched his feet. Turns out, someone left them at his house on the Barbecue Hash. Of 1998! I never did establish what prompted their appearance at the Bulls Head, but he got no takers.

By 10 p.m. I'm beginning to gather my gear together. Christine is playing taxi drivers tonight, as my usual chauffeurs feel 4 weeks in Portugal in October is better than anticyclones in Cheshire, & I'm in no condition to cycle 10 miles home. Anyway, as I'm preparing to depart, an enormous cheer greets the arrival of Max and Daniel. Wow, that's nearly the latest arrival ever. It seems that Daniel & Martin went to look for the lost souls of Max & mature Tone, when they didn't beam in by 9.30. Apparently, Tone decided, he'd just say "Hello" to a friend whose house he was passing. He told Rod what he was doing, but Rod had to go straight home after the run, & didn't tell anybody else. Are you still following this?

Somehow, Tone & Martin ended up in the pub at a reasonable hour, with Daniel & Max out looking for lost souls who were tucking into some Boddingtons. No, I don't follow it either.

Anyway, the Webmeister materialised, so I can safely HTML this to him, for the perusal of any anorak able to find the site. "On On" to next week's Hash cycle pursuit championship! It's just occurred to me, that I have to go however much Low Pressure there is, as I'm IT.

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The Global Warming Hash - 17.10.00

Just as we were drinking up on the 17^th, Dave L came up & said "Do you remember the droughts of a few years ago, when the media told us it was global warming. Now because it's precipitating all the time, they still say it's global warming. Well, I want the drought!!" He didn't actually use the word precipitating, but this is a family Website. I feel we all had a lot of sympathy for that view. Before he left home, Peter R had already decided that his house guest, an American Hasher, would be best off watching Eastenders, & not tackling an autumnal saturated Cheshire Hash, although Peter's wife would bring him for a pint. Your scribe wouldn't have attended given God's use of his sprinkler, if I hadn't rashly decided that despite being footless, I would wheely like to set a Hash. To add to the idiocy, I had promised to do it "live". So despite the inclement conditions, I was committed. And probably should be.

With a bike, trail laying should be quick, but it limits the Landrover possibilities. Still, a little judicious forward planning showed a 6 1/4 mile route from Chelford, that had potential for perhaps five short 4 X 4 sections, could be laid from a road, where all I would have to do would be lay the two On On markers, & scurry back to the pedals. Game on!

The first "green" bit led down a regularly hashed path. Apparently, God has been using Miracle Gro in his sprinkler this year. The On Sec said there were nettles taller than she was. Tim felt no human could have been down the path within the last 6 months. Faced by an inch & 1/2 thick briar, Daniel wanted to turn round & use the other 2 sides of this triangle, which he'd worked out were roads. No way, the pack weren't so sure of their navigation. Young Tone estimated it took 20 minutes to get to the end, whilst Rod was muttering about machetes & Malayan jungle.

The second "green" bit attracted even more comments in the pub. I know this field looked a bit wet, as I laid the second marker, but apparently it had a depth possibly unsurpassed in Cheshire Hash history. By common complaint the water in the field was knee deep, but apparently the icing in the jock strap was where the trail left the field & went under the railway. Here there was apparently not only bollock deep water, but instead of grass under the H2O, there was primeval ooze. Of course, once one or two hashing Nikes had disturbed the bottom sediment, some of it decided to come to the top, bringing it's malodorous contents with it. Sorry guys!

At this stage, Kev decided that bringing his "road" shoes, as clearly this would be tarmac only Hash, was perhaps not the day's best judgement. In the midst of all this mayhem, le pleuvoir est continue.

With the trail layer being bike bound, the On Sec had been given 2 laminated maps with all checks marked thereon, so she could get 2 volunteers to do the navigating bit. Mature Tone had one all for himself. Having finished the trail, I decided to get on the back of the pack & play tail gunners. First up was a marooned & solitary Mature Tone, who was studying his map with the benefit of what looked like a WW2 searchlight.

Now it's funny how even the most detailed planning, fails to spot something obvious. Laminated maps seemed a good idea in case it rained, as it is a guarantee against disintegration. But if it rains, then shining powerful torches on flat wet plastic means very bright reflections. Still, we managed to establish that in his enthusiastic short cutting, he had turned right in front of the Gay Dog, not left away from it. Not a good plan. Revised directions were given, & he paddled happily away into the night, not to emerge in the car park! Just as I was about to mount the velocipede & mount a search party, Tone ambles out of Chelford Station buildings, all dressed for drink. He was the only one of us with the sense to realise there was a perfectly dry waiting area in which to change, rather than use the rain soaked car park.

In the pub, an Australian guest got up & started to speak. We once had a guest from Copenhagen who sang! Basically, the Oz was promoting Perth's bid for 2004 Interhash - who says Hashing is disorganised. He asked, "Do you get many visitors?" Nick said, "Not as many as we used too!" Oz replied, "That's because the original ones that survived have spread the message about your trails!" On on to the 2^nd Hash Pursuit Championship.

My thanks to Heather for dealing with the navigation, & most particularly to Roger, whose Espace saved me a second dousing if I'd had to cycle home.

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Half Term Hash - 24.10.00

Another Tuesday, another Low Pressure area! This is becoming a habit. We used to jokingly say "It never rains on a Tuesday", & it rarely seemed too. Well, not this autumn baby! We have a small sink sized pond in our garden, which with one more of John Ketley's specials is going to do an Uckfield! Problem is, the pond is in the back garden, which is higher than the house. I wonder what Direct Line will say, if I have to report the source of a flood claim as "garden pond". (The household policy doesn't seem to exclude it.)

Anyway, at 7.30 a strange silence descended over Knutsford. A glance through the front door revealed no rain. OK, I'll risk it, where's the foul weather gear? A steady pedal past Great Budworth, Antrobus & Little Leigh brought me to the Leigh Arms a couple of minutes after the pack had arrived. Must have been a somewhat more normal trail than the previous week, as there seemed to be no cursing, or questioning of the trail layers parentage going on.

The pub has been rebuilt since I was last in residence. There were 2 customers in the main bar & I can't remember hearing a pub so quiet! My instinct was to whisper. A half term depleted pack settled in 3 groups & placidly discussed subjects ranging from pop concerts, house prices, European football etc. Adrian even seems to get half a dozen hashers happily listening to his holiday tales of Egypt. Nearly everyone had gone home by 10 p.m. A very restrained evening, really quite unlike last week. Perhaps normal service will be returned when numbers return to normal, as the ankle biters go back to school.

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Hash - 14.11.00

I've never been a religious man, & particularly not a supporter of Old Testament style tub thumping, but I'm beginning to wonder whether there's something in it. I vaguely remember from the propaganda sessions at Sunday school, stories of plagues of locusts, smiting of Gideons, parting of seas etc, all apparently designed by God to cow his supporters & keep them in line. Well now I see the current deluge from on high has led to the Bridgwater Canal bursting its banks & flooding the odd road in Lymm. What have Hashers done to upset the aged white bearded one?

We had a weeks holiday at the beginning of the month, so I missed a Tuesday night. Returning from our aquatic adventures in the Cotswolds, where one of the main tourist traps has been aptly renamed Bourton under Water, the next Tuesday evening (07.11.00) was again cyclonically challenged. So with a bit of a poorly chest I was easily persuaded to stay cuddled around my medicinal Jamesons. Thus, two weeks missed, & no exercise taken. So I have to make the effort on the 14^th.

Ah bliss! A dry windless evening. There was the odd mist patch around Pickmere where the road dipped to go over a couple of streams, but otherwise a super cycle. As I changed in car park, this looked to be a fairly rare Hash - no dogs. The main dog handler, Doctor Dave is apparently sailing in Australia. That's a long way to go to practice an activity he could currently do in his back garden.

The trail was laid by Dave Lever who appeared to have produced a 6 mile, 30+ check route which was never more than a kilometre from the pub. A short cutters delight! Also, he was very popular for virtually avoiding sodden public footpaths. Apparently, the previous week's trail had not only tested the porosity of the human body, but lacked a certain something - checks. There was some disagreement over whether the trail layer had produced 8, 10 or 12 checks, but the consensus was "Not enough!" I think that Martin may have even failed to find the lay by start, whilst Pam apparently said loudly "I'm not doing this ever again!" I was personally delighted that over the week she had relented, & was available to taxi me & the velocipede home. How selfish can you get! Next week is the Stag at Warford, so I should be able to get myself home from there, floods & Gideons permitting.