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 HASH MAG ARCHIVE 1990: RUN NO.334 Run Date: 9 April 1990 The Phantom Hitchhiker Disappears I've been asked to scribe this as IAT? has metal fatigue - sorry, I understand that is supposed to be mental fatigue. Hands up those who can tell the difference. As I had tried to sabotage the run completely by giving the wrong instructions for the 'next run', with a bit of luck there wouldn't have been any run to write about. Not until Monday night will we know how many went to Lanehead - and enjoyed themselves. I had the doubtful pleasure of being driven to the run by IAT?, I can see why Mimi arrives somewhat tense when he does the same thing. Coming out of Moretonhampstead I gave quite clear vague instructions about taking a short cut, only to be ignored. Only reluctantly did he take the next one. He had some deeply seated tribal instinct about having been here before and 'knowing where he was'. Incidentally IAT? is going to feature large in this mag, so if you want to throw it away, now is the time. Deadly had chosen perhaps the smallest parking lot we've had in a long time so it was as well that not too many of us turned up. Lorraine thought that perhaps things might have improved so gave it another try. I think we'll have to call her 'Dynamite' as she was sporting a T-shirt with TNT writ large upon it. Her husband Fred came along with two pairs of trainers (talk about fine tuning). I'm afraid Limpalong was in his Kermit shoes again. There was another new chap but in the general disorder after the run (caused by you know who), I didn't catch his name. Strangely, on his own run. Deadly did not insist that we left dead on 7.30! The first check occurred where the footpath went up to Cranbrook Castle (an iron age hill fort with superb views over the Teign valley). IAT? had to suffer verbal abuse to stop him going off down the main track where he insisted "it is bound to go". As this would have sent him around the trail the wrong way it might well have been a good thing. The check at the Castle caused multiple confusion and eventually involved a complete circle. I wonder if Poll Tax will be charged on the Castle? I'm sure a case can be made out by our Council spy. Down beside the wall on Cranbrook Down we went and then across Uppacot Down before finally entering the woods across a quite disgusting mire. A complicated gate/wall combination provided a challenge to both Mimi and Minder who were doing battle trying to get over - looking at them doing this you get the impression one has too many legs and the other hasn't enough brains. By fits and starts we descended through Whiddon Wood to the river. This is where it all began, IAT? and HT2 (keeping strange company) checking a path along the river were called back by Deadly. IAT? claims not to have heard him, well one does switch off when he opens his mouth. Dynamite, Fred and I, who were ensuring that there was someone at the back, were short cutted up the hill only to get lost around a fallen tree. The pack came up to find the route and we all trekked back through Hannicombe Wood, having to negotiate a number of fallen trees that the hare had omitted to remove. And back up the Fingle Bridge track to the cars. Of course IAT? wasn't back and the hare sensibly said he wasn't going out to find him. Has anybody ever found him? Against our better judgement HT2, Endo and myself (well he was my lift) walked back to look for him. Cries of T-O-O-N-N-Y-Y just brought back echoes of 'tony' from across the valley, the wild animals of the wood shifting uneasily as they realised we were back again. But what was happening to the subject of this hash mag? By dint of close questioning of IAT? and and an interest in anthropology and behaviourial science a reconstruction has been made. Deserted by HT2 down by the river he proceeded in an easterly direction until the path petered out. Retracing his steps he got back to the check to find that everybody had disappeared. Realising that he would not catch up if he followed the trail, he went back along the sawdust towards the start. Back up the hill again, through the woods, across the gate/wall, across the mucky bog, back across Uppacot Down, up Cranbrook Down towards the Castle until he was standing on the very ramparts of the defences, whereupon he lost the sawdust. His torch was still working, he was but three hundred yards from the cars, indeed only two hundred yards from the track back to the cars. Success was staring him in the face - one false move and he would be on the slippery slope to ruin, ending up as a mindless babbler forever going on about his orienteering results, his run over the weekend and finally a broken shell rambling endlessly on about the Albaston Relays. A reputation carefully nurtured over the years would be swept aside, no longer able to hold his head up in the company of those who gather in dark corners of public houses. But I do him an injustice, this was no mere hasher, of no value to scribe or character assassin. Using the inimitable IAT? Lateral Thinking he headed resolutely off towards the bright lights of Chagford. This brought him eventually to the unsuspecting folk of Uppacot Farm. Now, examining the map one will see that there are no trees between these two places, however he claims that he had to struggle through a lot of trees to get there. He gets a lot more out of hashing than we do! The family had settled down for a comfortable evening watching television only to be disturbed by this strangely dressed would-be hitchhiker carrying an ancient cow horn trumpet. They'd probably moved out to the country to get away from this sort of thing. Having listened to his highly unlikely account of why he was there, they undoubtedly decided that the best thing was to do as he said and give him a lift in their car to get him out of the way as fast as possible. So, there ensued a quick trip to the Sandy Park Inn to release him into the interior. But, just as the 'Good Samaritan' was attempting to make his escape, lo and behold his passenger is back again complaining that no one in the pub would give him a lift back to his car. The poor chap must have thought he was going to be stuck with IAT? for the rest of the night! Meanwhile, of course, the meat and two veg had been delayed, but after the last imbroglio there with Rudolf and a dog fancier, the publican had had the forethought to put us in the back room. This is becoming a habit! So, IAT? eventually got back to his car, and after a quick change returned to the pub to collect his plaudits. But as for me, I'm still out in the bloody moors shouting T-O-O-N-N-Y-Y and the echo's still coming back 'tony'. That and the owls. One time in the Yealmpton area he claimed to have been following the calls of owls, and so if he was still doing this he could be anywhere. Of course, when I get back to the cars there was nobody there. I start walking, and in fact had nearly got back to Uppacot Farm. Now if I had gone in there to ask for a lift it could well have been the last straw for the poor chap. You only get IAT? on Monday nights, I play golf with him as well, and it's taking a lot out of me.
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