Run in the Sun

The day could not have been more beautiful for the Hash as, shortly before the 6.30 firing gun, the clouds opened up over this island and let loose a rain storm that cut the heat in the air but sadly turned small patches of flour into mushy lumps well suited for hiding from eye-sight.  But this group is not one to be deterred so easily.  John Paul and Ron were our hares this week and a fine trail they set beginning at the Cable Beach Golf Club and striking out westward on the southern side of resort row.  Puddles and partially washed away flour made the going tricky at first but the trail was sniffed out and we had a smooth run leading to the first box, situated by what smelled suspiciously like a sewage treatment plant.  Luckily there was no camera so we moved on from that fragrant position quickly.  The trail picked up through some small underbrush marked not by our typical white flour but by John Paul’s artistically inventive red flowers.  We emerged in a lovingly destroyed field of sand, dirt, glass, rocks, and wires, which took Mark as the sole sacrifice and allowed the rest of us to pass unscathed. 

            From there, we reemerged on the western end of resort row and took off on a straight dash down Bay Street, being waylaid momentarily by Frank proclaiming that the “O” of the stop sign painted on the ground constituted a box.  This proved to be false, so far as I could tell.  Dave had continued down Bay and once we had caught up with him, found a true box at the first roundabout.  John Paul directed us to the northern side of the street to find the continuation of the trail and that barely took us east before a backcheck sent us along two residential roads ending at a box… and the ocean.  He claimed many times that there had been a low-tide when the trail was set but now, we were greeted by the lapping waves of the ocean where the trail was supposed to be.  Most people took the high road of rocks while others worked through a low level of water.  And than we arrived at a dead-end that actually amounted to a fork in the road: some chose to stay on land and begin hopping over fences (behind which Stefan claimed were less than friendly dogs) and the rest chose to abandon sneakers and socks and make off through that slowly rising tide.

            The water stretched on for a distance longer than originally expected and it was some time before we all reemerged on slippery rocks, got our sneakers back on, and ran down the road next to Dickie Moe’s, pondering which bar would allow us entry sopping wet.  Upon reaching Bay, a look to our left showed hashers heading east and an ON-IN sign that had survived the rain surprisingly well.  From there it felt like a long run with wet clothes back to the cars but at least it was not as bad when the passing cars splashed us as they passed through deep puddles.

All told, a fine run and a nice wade through shallow ocean.