投稿日: Dec 17, 2016 12:30:6 PM
Scribe: Bloody Nipples
Hare: Gerbil Stuffer
Strat Time:14:00
Start Location: JR Kinugasa Station
Weather: Sunny
Run Type: A to B
Runners:12
In celebration of the great concurrence of birthdays; that is, of Jimmy Buffet and of Jesus Christ, the Hayama Hash House Harriers delighted in the “Jesus and Jimmy” Hash. Also, it was a chance to celebrate and appreciate margaritas. Given Jimmy’s “Margaritaville” and that I’ve always assumed Jesus was Hispanic (I mean, do you know any white guys named Jesus?), I think this was eminently appropriate.
And our Hare was going to ensure that we earned those margaritas. Even from the beginning, our start point was hidden just out of sight below the Kinugasa station, requiring a quick hop down from a concrete embankment. The hashers donned appropriate costumes of Christmas cheer, or appropriate woodland animals, and hopped gently to themselves, hoping to warm up in the coming run.
The crowd was light, but with more than a dozen and several veterans, no one was concerned.
Our Hare was live, and began his run with a poem to a Lady’s flatulence, blasting a puff of flour, and then running into the town. To improve his odds, the Hashers were denied chalk, and no “On-On’s” would be labelled—rather, the Hashers would need to remain sober enough to count the marks and remember the rules for staying on trail. Chilling odds indeed.
After waiting five minutes, the Turkeys took off, and after waiting a respectable ten minutes, the Eagles followed suit. The dash led along a few roads and into neighborhoods, but the Hashers were quickly slowed by a profusion of checkpoints—seemingly every fifty or hundred meters, another checkpoint would scatter the Hashers down streets and alleyways, yelling familiar calls of “R U?” and “SCRU U 2, buddy.”
But soon the Hashers would have been grateful for such pedestrian checkpoint mayhem, as the chase of the Hare led them into the hills around Kinugasa. Far from marked trails and gardened paths, Hashers clambered hand and foot, trespassing (possibly in both a metaphorical and literal sense) through bamboo forests and grabbing vines to crawl up embankments. Thorny trees clawed at Hashers, who picked burrs of their leggings (or their hairy legs, as the case may be), before the finally broke into the trail paths through the parks around Kinugasa. Some eagle-eyed hashers even caught the candy canes that had been laid by the fleeing Hare—who perhaps knew that such curiosities and delights would only further delay his hunters.
The parks were a mixed delight. Now woodland creatures made of timber delighted the Hashers—but each checkpoint brought one relentless rule. Where there is Up, it is always Up. And then more Up. And then another bleedin’ forest?!
But the forest adventures had other delights as well. A caring angel who went by “Margaret” appeared, bearing respectably decent beverages of the brewed kind, giving a moment of reprieve to the runners, some mid-Hash carb loading, and a bathroom break.
Alas, sometimes the Hash demands a blood sacrifice. And in answer to that demand, Pasoconti bled for the Hash, brought low by the beer stop parking lot. Luckily, the finest medical support of the Hayama Hash House was available, and It’s Not Too Hard quickly took control of his medical care.
Pasoconti’s sacrifice was not in vain, and the Hashers arrived to the Hare in a park (uncaught, as his stratagems to delay his pursuers succeeded), deploying a small margarita stand for the Hash. Quickly crafting salt-rimmed glasses for top-notch margaritas, while the dulcet tones of Jimmy Buffet filled the air, the Hash agreed that even JC would approve. And although he had declined to trouble with the annoyance of traipsing through the forest, when Hayama’s very own Santa arrived, the children of the park were amazed and delighted, gathering around him as he bestowed garlic pita chips upon the cherubs.
Amid the chilling air and the frosty margaritas, many Hashers began hopping foot to foot, trying to keep warm. Others gorged themselves on pita chips and jalapeno chips and amazing little gingerbread men cookies—before remembering there would be an On-On which might involve more food….
And good heavens, did the On-On have more food! The Hare led the remaining hashers to an Accidentally Chinese restaurant, which was glad to bestow plate upon plate of food relentlessly upon the hashers. Charming fried veggies, delightful sliced chicken and perfectly fried honey shrimp—all assaulted the hashers, amid cheers with sho-chu, beeru, oolong tea and “Chinese alcohol.” Finally, as the evening drew to an end, the hashers downed the last beers and compared the ways home, before scattering into the Japanese diaspora.