BMH3 Run report

Run 1653, 24 November 2014 Ex-GM’s run
Hare: GM Emeritius Jim 'Virginia Slim' E
Co-hare and General Man about Town: Frank 'Noreiga' A
Time: Boat Run – Left the pier at 17:18:37 Sharp
Where: Ho Kitchen, Rama III, Soi 52
Weather: Light overcast, expecting darkness

In case you ever want to find the Ho Kitchen on a map, it’s usually found at 13°41'14.1"N 100°33'02.4"E (or13.687262, 100.550662).

Whist waiting at the Ho Pier for the pack to arrive, Noreiga offered a bit of wisdom. We all die someday.' I thought it was a gratuitous remark. Later the thought occurred he was musing about the trail he’d set earlier with VS.

There were two long-tails ready to ferry the pack across. AKM noticed that the smaller and sleeker one was named “Jew Racing”. He pointed this out to several of us. The main pack boarded the usual fat, squat, ugly long tail. We held back, figuring the opportunity to go “Jew Racing” across the Chao Phraya wasn’t likely to ever come again. By the time the old tub had managed to turn itself around, we were already across the river. We sure beat the crap out of those Jews in the other boat.

Back to the run itself. The unusually large attendance could be attributed to the new regime, but more likely because the hare announced the week previous that “If you get me drunk enough, I may spring for the OnOnOn.”

As the pack disembarked at the Wat Bang Gra-jak Pier, we were visibly disappointed to see the hare. That’s the usual reaction to VS, but even more disappointing, he was still vertical. Nowhere near drunk enough.

The written instructions, mailed out with the newsletter, were “I will keep the run short, and keep the second half of the run out of the forest, but everyone should bring a torch just in case.”

The hare’s verbal instructions were slightly different. “There’s a long run and a short run. The split is after many small bridges. If you don’t like bloody small bridges, don’t go on the run. Instead you can walk with me to the beer stop.”

The ten Harriettes heard “small britches”, and were even more disappointed. And so they immediately lined up for the beer stop. About half the Harriers shrugged and lined up behind the Harriettes. Yours truly said WTF and set off on trail, counting on the young, the fit, and the foolish to help deal with the small bridges.

The run itself was something new in my experience. About one-hour long, with half of the hour at the beer stop for the runners. A 100% beer stop run for the rest. If the new mismanagement is listening, I’m thinking this is a great precedent. Combine that with Bullit’s campaign promise for “free beer for old people”, and I think attendance will double, and double again.

Back to the small bridges. The hare had promised to keep the run short, and keep the second half of the run out of the forest, and that he did. However, the bit about the “small bridges” should have been amended to “no bridges”.

The smallish pack almost immediately came to the first no bridge, and bunched up behind it, kinda like penguins jostling to see who’ll fall into the water and maybe get taken by a shark.

Stevie Blunder was having none of that, and leapt like Spiderman across the open ditch. We watched apprehensively as he ran hither and dither through the orchard, and sure enough, he found shreddy. Damn! We HAD to cross the ditch. Tinker pushed forward (Civil Engineering degree) and within seconds built a sturdy bamboo bridge. OK, that’s pure bullshit. He edged across on a stick that wouldn’t have held Sheepshagger (if he’d been there), prayed, discovered God, and made it.

The rest followed, each one turn steadying the shaky piece of bamboo for the next one. Teamwork rarely seen on the Hash.

For future hares, this is a very effective way to string the pack out. Each succeeding “small bridge” spread us out further and further, so far apart that the half-dozen of us in front never again saw or heard the laggards. To give the hares credit, sometimes there actually was a stick across the water, and once there was a float. (Constructed by the hare at great expense, a rotten piece of plywood.)

Yours truly is eternally grateful to Drunken Donut and Claptrap for assistance over the trickier ones, but I just threw in the towel (so to speak) at the next to last “small bridge”. This was the best – two palm fronds laid across a soggy mass of floating water hyacinth. (The alternative was a Stevie Blunder climb up a half-metre palm stump and a flying leap to the opposite bank. Bloody well done!)

Actually, hashing doesn’t get much better than this, especially when the last small bridge was a real, honest-to-goodness plank! I’m serious! This was a return to the glory days of the BMH3. People used to die on those Monday runs.

So – the plank led up to a concrete walkway, and the afore-mentioned split. I doubt that anyone did the short run. Either way you could sense you weren’t far from beer. So an easy jog along the concrete, slowing for the occasional motorbike, and there it was, the beer shop and the beer stop.

The beer was offered freely, the shop was lit up brightly, and hashers were coming in through the darkness like moths to a flame. Once inside, it was a hash version of the Star Wars Cantina. Again the dark side of the force had been overcome and everyone was an FRB. Khun Mae sat at her table and took it all in. Virginia Slim (still vertical, dammit) was basking in the glory of the light reflected from a hundred beer cans. Well-done hares, and as I said, a precedent for the new committee to consider.

The rest is prologue. Or postlogue. A short stroll back to the pier with one’s favorite beer can in hand, then on the long-tail passing by the ships moored in the darkness, their lights sparking on the dark waters, and a feeling that life doesn’t get any better than this. And it doesn’t!

More beers, snacks, including Tim Daly’s mother-in-law’s wondeful deviled eggs, more beers, the circle, more beers, and then VIPs were recognized by Bullit. Returners included Nick “Mr. Bean” Morton (a dead ringer for Stevie Blunder’s old man), Marcel “Claptrap” Kloesmeijer, and Kim “Abnormal” Chaubert. Fred “Sweetie” Ayris was leaving for Cyprus. (Go away slowly, come back quickly, Sweetie.) The four visitors were Lobsterman (Neville), Noy (let’s have more of that!), Mushy P (formerly of Concord, NH and now a citizen of the world) and Rick (a virgin; Three-Dollar Bill, made him cum). Sizzler and AKM offered numerous and varied rewards (e.g., acknowledging Bog and 4x2 for their tenuous association with “Jew Racing”), and as usual, PotW was a put-up job. Virginia got the honor, carried it off well, and even better, announced that he was thinking about being drunk enough to shout the OnOnOn.

And so he did.

Another shitty day in paradise. OnOn.

Bangkok Monday Hash House Harriers