BHHH2 Hash Trash Run #1361 Bali Bird Park 24-Feb

BHHH2 Hash Trash
Run #1361
Bali Bird Park 24-Feb

Too Too Plot Losing


Last week’s run from the cassowary, sorry, customary car park near the Bird Park (I was going to say cassowary car park but it wouldn’t have been that funny, wait, I did, it wasn’t) proceeded much as it started, really – a bit of an “up of the cock”, in bird language. About 60 of us listened attentively to a Hare enlightening us that it was about 60 mt distance to a right turn up the Jalan on which we were at that time situated, but nobody seemed to have their tape measures or folding rules on their persons and at least half of the nobodies ran past the intended turn on to the T junction at the end of the jalan to turn right.

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The result was of course mass confusion with emissaries from each group, righties and T junctioneers running past each other and back to see if anybody was more informed than they or their group, in the other group. Nobody (again) was. The reason for this was that the right (by which I mean correct) turn contained NO paper until intrepid scouts finally stumbled on it almost at the end of the jalan. The other right (by which I mean incorrect) turn contained NO paper because no paper was ever laid in it. With me so far? Me neither. Just a note here: the fact that there was no paper laid on the T junction turn, by no means deterred at least half the Hashers that started from continuing up that fateful jalan in the hope they would “hook up with the paper”. It wasn’t until about mid-course that I happened on a lucky refugee from this group who proclaimed that there were “a shitload of people back there who are totally lost”.


None of this in any way was the Hares fault. As so often happens, they meticulously laid their paper, marked asphalt and cement with chalk or crayons, then it pissed down in a hugely troppo manner, (which even the locals underestimate in such endearing ways in, let’s say, the streets of Denpasar or Kuta), and much of their effort was obliterated. I for one never found the split. Maybe “found” is too strong a word here, I’m unsure it was there to begin with. I did find myself on the long and wasn’t in love with the idea of an advertised 11k run. Later I was told this was more like a 13 k muddy trudge.


Myself and two other guys, names will not be “bandied about” mainly because I didn’t know one of them and the other was Parashit (whoops), made an incisive, considered and completely accidentally correct decision to backtrack. Aided only by our intellects, unerring senses of direction and a phone with Google Maps, in the spirit of the pioneers and because there was paper to follow backwards, we found our way to the teak plantation we had previously passed through flanked by a massive white villa both of which blind Freddy could have made out wearing Polaroids.


I prevail upon you, dear reader, not to form the wrong impression. There was, or would have been absolutely nothing wrong with this run. In fact it was quite pretty, extremely green and mildly challenging in its own way. The river crossing was wet, both times, the mud was pleasurably slimy and there was the odd distant mountain vista, though obscured by clouds. Now there’s a great name for an early 70’s style prog rock album, maybe the sound track to a French art house movie. Somebody contact Pink Floyd. What? They Did? In 1972? Oh. No, I don’t remember much about the 70’s. I was there.


Ahem, back at birdland a shape vaguely resembling a circle was formed and opinions of the run were offered up “What run?”, “I’m lost… for words”, “I’m still lost”, “Too much paper and chalk” etc. Don’t listen to such rash facetiousness and naysayers, I counsel you. There was nothing wrong, as I said, with this run that couldn’t have been fixed by a nice, long dry season. The entertainment continued with the Grand Master’s appearance which was nothing short of legendary last week. The rampant political incorrectness he unleashed culminated in his telling a group to “shut the fuck up” – vintage Night Jar. The man, in his own words, is a ‘National Fucking Treasure’, which doesn’t mean he should or will be buried any time soon.


We’ll see you next week at Nusa Dua and don’t forget your cards for the toll road. They don’t take cash any more and it would be kind of embarrassing having to reverse back to the Benoa lights on the Bypass. Almost as embarrassing as missing the split on a Hash.


On On,

J.B. Hash Trash