Run #1845 from the Cridford Inn at Trusham with hares Forrest and Manpig
'I'm late, I'm late, for a most important date...' did I mutter incoherently as I sped towards Trusham, en route for the Cridford Inn. 'Try and park in the village!' Forrest's advice was etched firmly in my mind. Not if I'm in time in my tiny chariot..
A place, a place, my kingdom for a place! Paranoia had Shirley set in early, Oh Dearly Having a Panic, but there was a place next to Manpig's pantechnicon (special dispensation as he was Shirley hare). Seconds later, caps were tipped as the Grand Master Himself arrived in a cloud of dust and slotted in alongside. Didulikethat? No? Well...
From every hidey-hole, nook and cranny within Trusham, hashers wended their way, circle-bound. Amidst the phalanx of Penners shone a jacket so bright and clean - Shirley not used for many a moon.. Why yes, heeeere's ROXANNE!
𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔..
Proudly did Red Light Roxanne enter the car park, escorted by his motley crew: Poker faced assassin Wet Johnny with Erection [definitely sic] - no you fools, pay attention now! and Ravi - he came back, a man like him...
And there was a face I recalled, the hasher who sav-ed my life* from this very pub and I rack my brains trying to recall what we named him on April 29th 2019 Run #1792**. Well, it's just Chris for now but another merely magnificent mover to watch out for on trail.
Mine eyes discerned:
Piltdown, Georgie, GM Shitfaced, 3Sum, SatNav, Roxanne, Ravi, Erection, Wet Johnny, Polyfella, Popeye, Olive (AH3), Gaga4It, Manpig, Forrest, Wood Lend, Chris, Strap-On, SM Ellie, Big End, Well Hopped, Screwed, BB, Beefy, Pisswell, Archangel, Coldtits, 69, Triple Jump (welcome back).
Circle spaced summoned, Manpig and Forrest dispensed details of the upcoming saga: A long, about six miles, a short and supporting walkers pick me up, all laid mainly on the right in Forrest best sawdust. Wagons rock 'n' roll!
The L/S split was laid merely a hundred yards or so up the hill and so it began, the duel in the setting sun o'er Trusham. Come on, do ya feel lucky, Popeye? Well do ya!
Oh Ye Hashing Gods On High, the FRBs were Shirley on a kamikaze mission. In a blur, Wet Johnny, Beefy, Chris, Polyfella and Wood Lend had only gone for it and rapidly disappeared from view down in the darkening hollows of the Goblin Wood.
Fearing a fall and not so nimble as he was fifty years ago, the Bird doggedly tried to limit his losses, though close behind, Popeye called encouragement: 'You're going like Twinkletoes BB!' I wish my son...
Fortunately for the flightless one, the technical off road section petered out and resurrection road resum-ed, Roxanne.
Cometh the hills, cometh the Big End... I had a bad feeling when Ned, red LED attired, cantered gaily past on the half mile heartbreak hill, as Shirley Big End would be close behind. And so he was tobesure tobesure and the Bird wiped a tear from his anguished eye as the doughty hasher climbed like a stag, leaving most toiling in his wake.
Strap-On was having a right go-go in hot company; 3Sum managed a morale-boosting run round after her recent op; Screwed and Bella were out and about again and Archangel, he of the late arrival, was destined to complete the long, ravine and all!
Two miles in and another check to fool the FRBs, yet another triumph for the wily Manpig. 'He's one of us after all!' the FRBs agreed. Wood Lend had not come back from scouting, so with cutlasses drawn, down we plunged into the boondocks.
I am sorry lads, but I wasn't paying attention and failed to see the footpath on the right and had to be summoned back from my reckless excursion by Beefy. Oh the shame of it... But SM Ellie was quite pleased to make contact with us again - it can get lonely out there, can't it!
Over a gate into the red diesel aroma farm and a flurry of head torches appeared on the far side of the field - Shirley the shorts, though Manpig was a bit perplexed pubside as he didn't think the trails overlapped, but Forrest, apparently laying independently, was just as cunning as his co-hare..
Twists and turns, varied terrain and 'interesting' gradients kept us on our toes (literally). Beefy detached up the road aways and it was the merry band of Big End, Ned, Well Hopped, the Bird and Chris - still looking magnificent but with a few frays appearing as the hills began to take their toll - who continued into the unknown reaches of the Teign valley.
What goes up must Shirley go down and an arrow left took us down, Way Way Down to - I don't believe it, we've done it again!
Wearily, the house owner came out to enquire if we were Desperately Seeking the footpath and kindly directed Chris and the Bird back up the hill.
And there it was, the deadly Ravine of Death and what suffering did it inflict on the hapless longs.. sigh
We came upon Wet Johnny, looking for a possible exit up into the high field on the right where, unbeknown to us, the shorts were having a gay day, skirting the gruesome gully.
Delirium set in and a demented howling could be discerned from the deepest depths of the ravine and an unknown hasher began to recite (some said babble) the epic poem 'The Salutation'***. If things were dread down there before, they quickly became desperate as hashers tried to flee the torment.
Caught between a rock-strewn gully and the demented reciter, Erection and Ravi endured until mercifully, the echoes faded into the distance...
Arriving in higher Trusham, a suspicious little huddle had assembled at a check. Polyfella began searching up the hill - away from the pub - and then we descended to within a stone's throw from the beer, whereupon another check tantalized. Beefy was disappointed that the fun didn't continue, but the ON HOME was eventually shouted and thus we had finished quite an adventurous and eventful trail. 𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗔𝗬 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗦!
The shape of things to come at the Cridford as Paul the landlord took orders when individuals were seated at the 'six a table MAX' - did you get that Popeye?
*Pulling me to safety as I tried to jump the Ravine of Death.
**We tried a naming but failed, such was the uproar made by various harriets!
***Search for it in vain, for it is not listed on the much vaunted and assumed all-knowing internet.
A tremendous Trusham trail, and, Oh Dearly Hold Your Breath and Fingers Tightly Crossed, unless you hear differently:
𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 to next week, Monday 28th September from the Stover Country Park car park with Hare Wigwam.
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