But before we get to that, I wanted to say thanks to the commenters who took the time to offer thoughts and insights on my possible entry into the bar biz. Much appreciated!

Once again, I shortcutted the trail because one climb (out of three) was more than enough for me. My version provided a 4K hike rather than the six the Hares intended. I’m pretty sure they’ll get over it. Several members of the “sane” group followed my lead, so I didn’t suffer from loneliness on trail.

I know, I know. Less talk, more pictures. Here you go:

One more Hash in the books. When the festivities were done, I marched myself down to Snackbar and spent too much money on thirsty girls. Oh, well. You gotta spend it on something.

I went home early and pigged out on ice cream. It’s not just the beer that’s making me fat. Maybe I’ll make a New Year’s resolution to lose the gut. Still, with whatever limited time I may have left here on Earth, should I really spend denying myself the things I enjoy? What a dilemma!

Half a Hash trail is better than no Hash trail. And sometimes half a trail is better than a whole trail. That was the case for me yesterday. Some of us retreated from the first big climb and took an alternative route. Still had to do an up, but this one was not so steep or long. Our “sane” path came in at 6K of the original 10K slog the Hare, Almoranus, had laid out for us.

It was good to be back on the Hash trail again. That makes one in a row! Next week we are doing an outstation run at Pundaquit in San Antonio. Looking forward to that one.

A pretty darn good Hash trail yesterday. At least the parts I did. Difficult enough to get the heart racing but not so hard that it stopped being fun. Of course, avoiding the first and biggest climb of the day helped in that regard. Credit where it is due, though, to the Hare, Leech My Nuggets, who actually found some new paths for us to tread, and he did his usual fine job of marking a trail that was easy to follow.

After the Hash, I continued my drinking spree at Alaska Club, bought some lady drinks, then triked home for a smoothie and some sleep.

And now today is the tomorrow I worried about yesterday. I guess that’s the carousel of time thing Joni Mitchell sang about.

And here is today’s installment from the SOB dance competition–The Whiskey Girls.

No, I’m still moving at a slow speed, but yesterday’s Hash trail was a little different and actually quite nice. Cumslinger was a first-time Hare (assisted by Fucking Cupcake), and while the area we hiked was familiar, the actual paths for most of the trail were new to me. There was one climb at the end that I managed to bypass, so I consider that a win too.

The meet-up location was at the junction of the National and Govic highways. From there, we took a hired Jeepney all the way out to Naugsol, which surprised me because I had signed on for the “easy” trail. Just walking the road back would have been a good slog, but as it turned out, the paths through the fields, forests, and landfills cut some of that distance down. I logged in at just over 6K, start to finish.

We had a heavy rain in the morning, but by the afternoon start, the sun was shining. The Hares had a unique way of marking most of the trail–stapling pieces of paper to leaves and tops of thatch grass. It actually worked pretty well visibility-wise, at least on my portion of the hike. I’m told the people who did the long trail got lost in places because some of the locals apparently removed the stapled paper the Hares had left. That’s the thing with powder and shredded paper on the ground; it’s much harder for malicious individuals to remove.

Here are some pictures from the journey:

Well done!

You can Relive the hike here if you are so inclined:

So, I made it out to Angeles City and back unscathed. We signed up for the anniversary event at Premier Hotel, the ACH3 On-Home, then followed the jeepneys full of Hashers out to the trailhead, a thirty-minute drive over some very dicey roads (my driver’s vehicle bottomed out once and almost got stuck in sandy soil). Getting out again in the dark wasn’t much better, but we made it.

On the way to the start, I kept telling my Hash companion Scott that the scenery looked oddly familiar. He kept insisting we’d never been there before, but there was a dream-like “I remember this” quality to the views throughout the trip. And then, when we pulled into the field where the Hash event would be held, I knew for sure I’d been there. It was almost two years ago with the Corona Hash group. Scott hadn’t attended that run, so we were both right. And as it turned out, we wound up doing the exact same trail that I had Hashed with the Corona H3. So much for seeing something new on this trip.

That said, it was a nice trail on a beautiful day. A tough steep up, but it wasn’t too long. Some meandering along the hilltops, sometimes with a precipitous drop on either side, then a not-too-difficult climb down (on the medium trail anyone, I understand the long trail required a rope for the descent–no thank you!), and then a walk back to Hash circle on a flat dirt road. Took us about two hours from start to finish.

As usual, let’s tell the story in pictures:

As Hash circles go, the AC version was pretty tame, if not lame. But everyone has their own style, and I can find plenty to criticize about how we do it in Subic, too. A long and expensive trip for a few hours of fun, but no regrets.

UPDATE: Well, I’ll be damned. Turns out that Corona Hash I mentioned was in March 2021. It’s a little scary that my memory of that trip was so vague. Ironically, that linked post was titled “Things can always be worse.” A couple of days later, I came down with the Corona, as did several other attendees. We all lived to tell about that, too.

A pretty nice Hash yesterday. A lot of the trail I did was unfamiliar to me, and that’s always a plus. It was challenging enough without being insanely difficult. Which is not to say I didn’t shortcut; of course I did! I was dead last amongst the early group, and when all the runners from the late group had passed me, I figured I’d best get back On-Home before all the beer was gone. If I have any regrets, they are too few to mention.

Some after-Hash beers at It Doesn’t Matter. Agnes greeted me with a hug. I was polite. No, I didn’t buy her a drink.

I’m happy to report I survived another trail by the notorious Hare, Vienna Sausage. Weirdly, the “sane” group I was with was in sync with Vienna’s thinking, and thus we were able to avoid the worst of what he had planned to put us through.

A challenging and steep climb in the beginning, which for me, is better than at the end when my energy stores are depleted. Still, this up had me huffing and puffing, and when we were finally near the top, the trail turned back DOWN the mountain. Fuck that. We looked around for an alternative route and saw a trail had been blocked off with a bamboo stick. Hmm. Easy enough to remove the blockage and continue on to the summit. And surprise, surprise, after a very short walk on the alternative path, we found ourselves back on the Hare’s marked trail. As we suspected, that downhill was just a diversion to make things harder than they needed to be.

The same thing happened a couple more times during the hike–we’d see the marked trail divert in a way we didn’t like, so we went our own way, and before long, we’d be back on the Hare’s trail again. Near the end, we found our own way back down and took an alternative route back to the On-Home at the VFW. So, it actually worked out well. We did the “best” parts of the trail and let the die-hards have their fun on the rest of it. Win-Win!

After the Hash circle was concluded, some of the group moved to It Doesn’t Matter to drink a little more. As usual, I was buying lady drinks for my favorite, Agnes, and then something weird happened–she disappeared with a full bottle of beer I’d just bought her (200 pesos!) left sitting untouched. Okay, she’s a waitress, and it was busy with all us Hashers there, so I assumed she was taking care of customers. But when she didn’t return after several minutes, I knew something must be up. It was.

It turns out Agnes wasn’t performing waitress duties, or at least I’ve never had a waitress do what I observed her doing. She was standing in the middle of the crowded room with a man in motorcycle club attire. Well, standing ain’t quite the right descriptor–she was kissing him. Eh, I mean deep tongue kissing. And he had his hands all over her. I had never seen such a blatant PDA in any Barretto bar before. I still would have found it offensive if they were an old married couple. I’m surprised no one shouted, “get a room, for chrissakes!”

I’ll tell you why. To begin, I purchased her a drink which comes with an obligation to drink it with the customer who bought it. If she wanted to go be all kissy-face with the biker dude, she should have just declined my drink offer. Or if she had said, “I’m sorry, John, but a friend of mine is here, and I need to see him.” I would have told her fine, take your beer and go. But to just disappear was extremely rude.

The other bothersome aspect for me was being so totally wrong about someone. Now, Agnes isn’t the typical bargirl. She’s 38 and has four kids. But I have enjoyed her company for several months now, and I always saw her as a hard-working mother doing the best for her kids. She told me she didn’t have a boyfriend. I don’t know if that was a lie or if I was witnessing love at first sight with this guy. There is no question those were passionate kisses, and she was an equal and willing participant, even when he was rubbing her tits. I was having a hard time believing my eyes, and I was disgusted with my failure to see the true nature of her character.

In retrospect, I don’t know why I should have been surprised. My previous IDM favorite waitress turned out to be a lesbian, unbeknownst to me. Heh, I guess I’m just easily fooled. Oh well, time to find a new favorite again.

Switching gears, I think this explains why my blog is not very popular (less than 200 daily readers this week):

And I didn’t know what to make of this ad that appeared on my Facebook newsfeed today:

Life’s mysteries abound.

Well, better than expected anyway. The rain stopped just a few minutes before we started out on a Hash trail designed with potential rain in mind. That meant the back streets of Barretto, a walk on the beach, more Barretto streets, then an exploration of Alta Vista. The hike ended at Da’Kudos on Baloy Beach.

And so ended another Hash Monday.

One of the wettest Hashes I can remember. I think the last time it rained that hard and that long, we wound up just doing a bar crawl instead. Once again, the rain held off until I was out the door and well on the way to our starting point on Govic highway. Honestly, though, I doubt I would have carried an umbrella anyway. I definitely needed my walking stick for the muddy slopes we traversed. Needless to say, I was as soaked to the bone early on. After that, it didn’t really matter anymore. The rain made it difficult to get many pictures, but here are what me and my fellow Hashers managed:

Yep, a wet and wild afternoon. I was soaked and feeling chilled. I stopped at McCoy’s after the circle for another beer, then caught a trike home. 6:30 is pretty damn early, even for me. But into each life, some rain must fall.

Raindrops are falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothing seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling

So I just did me some talking to the sun
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done
He's sleeping on the job
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep fallin'

But there's one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me
Won't defeat me
It won't be long 'till happiness steps up to greet me

Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause, I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining

Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me

It won't be long 'till happiness steps up to greet me

Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me, 'cause,
I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining

Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me

At least, that’s what Shakespeare says. Kinda.

The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.

Sir John Falstaff in Henry IV, Part 1

Of course, in the context of that play, Falstaff’s discretion was acting cowardly. Regardless, I am alive to tell about yesterday’s Hash adventure, and that’s the most important thing, at least to me.

It rained most of the day, and then, as if by magic, the rain stopped and didn’t start again until we were safely On-Home at It Doesn’t Matter. But the damage had been done with the steep climbs and descents laid out by Vienna Sausage (Guenter) being a muddy and slippery mess. My usual wingman, Pubic Head, opted to stay on the pavement, saying that the planned trail was difficult enough on a dry day. The other members of the “sane” group had already departed, and I was loathe to make that steep climb on my own, given that my unfamiliarity with the area would make it hard to shortcut should I deem that necessary. I reluctantly decided to forego the trail as well.

I waited at the start until the scheduled 2 p.m. departure time for the sane group, expecting Black And Dick Her’s arrival. She turned out to be a no-show, so I headed out on my own pavement hike. I began on Abra Street, then circled back around randomly until I found myself on Rizal Extension. The Hare had said in his pre-hike briefing that the first part of his trail came down from the ridgeline, crossed Rizal, and then continued over another hill on the way to the On-Home venue. I decided to check that out and decide what to do from there.

When I found the trail again, I recognized this portion was one I had previously hiked, although my recollection was vague at best (pretty much like everything else in my garbled brain these days). But at least I had some familiarity which gave me the confidence to go forward, knowing I could always bail and go back the way I came. So off I went.

These days, when I hike alone, I keep things pretty flat in areas where other people reside. My nightmare is to take a plunge somewhere way up in the hills where no one would ever find me, and I’d suffer a slow, agonizing, and lonely death. Hey, I have a good imagination! But this trail started with steps and paved sidewalks, and when the concrete gave way to dirt (and mud), the climb wasn’t scary difficult, and there were no big dropoffs–even if I were to trip, the fall wouldn’t kill me. The higher I went, the more familiar my surroundings became, and at the top of the hill, I found myself on the well-known My Bitch trail. Now I had the confidence to continue on the Hare’s well-marked path the rest of the way On-Home. I also reminded myself that even if some tragedy were to befall me, the main body of Hashers were all coming from behind, and at least someone would find my corpse while it was still warm.

I successfully completed my journey to It Doesn’t Matter without a single trip or fall, just a couple of minor slips that kept me focused on the task at hand. It is certainly more fun to have some companions along on a hike, but I was kind of proud of myself for finding the courage to go it alone.

Here are some photos I took along the way:

After the Hash, I took my drunken ass to Sit-n-Bull for some grub.

It turned out to be a better day than I expected. I’m glad I lived to tell about it!

Well, you can rock it you can roll it
You can stop and you can stroll it at the Hash
When its muddy and you're spinnin'
You keep on movin' when you're feelin' chicken at the Hash
Doing the trail the way you like it all throughout the nation at the Hash

Ah, let's go to the Hash
Let's go to the Hash, (oh baby)
Let's go to the Hash, (oh baby)
Let's go to the Hash
Come on, let's go to the Hash

Well, you can swing it you can groove it
You can really start to move it at the Hash
Where the paths are the smoothest
And the hiking is the coolest at the Hash
All the dudes and the gashes get their kicks at the Hash
Let's go!

Let's go to the Hash
Let's go to the Hash, (oh baby)
Let's go to the Hash, (oh baby)
Let's go to the Hash
Come on, let's go to the Hash
Let's go!

My sincerest apologies to Danny & the Juniors for my bastardization of their hit “At the Hop,” a song nearly as old as I am. I don’t know what got into me. And no, it wasn’t drugs.

I actually rather enjoyed yesterday’s Hash trail. Well, as much as you can enjoy heavy breathing and becoming a hot, sweaty mess. Hmm, that sounds almost like passionate lovemaking. To be clear, the trail was NOT that satisfying! Still, we did a comfortably short 6K jaunt from Calapadayan to Baloy Beach. My version featured a steady but not too steep climb in the beginning, a relatively gentle downhill, then a mostly flat valley walk. There was second climb to the top of Black Rock, but I opted to go around rather than over that one. Finished with a pavement walk through Matain where we caught a banca boat across the river to the shores of Baloy. A pleasant beach walk led to our On-Home at Da’Kudos. All in all, one of the better trails we’ve done recently. It had been a while since we’ve hiked that area, so it was a nice change of scenery too.

Here’s a slew of pictures, you decide:

Hope you enjoyed the journey.

A rain-soaked Hash yesterday. Light rain when we started, heavy by the end. There were two trail options: the “turkey trail” and the “eagle trail.” I took the high-hard route for some reason. It got a little dicey towards the finish as everything was soaked and muddy. I bailed on the last hill climb because it just felt too dicey. But considering the elements, it was a nice challenge to get as far as I did.

The On-Home was at Fireman’s (Todd’s) house, and he had food catered from the kitchen at It Doesn’t Matter brought in. It was all good and a very generous gesture to feed forty-odd wet and hungry Hashers. Here are some photos from the day:

It will be hot again eventually, and I’ll be able to stop complaining about the rain. On those sweaty days, I’ll be longing for the cooling feeling of a rain-soaked shirt.

Life is all about taking the bad with the good. And everything in between.

I came. I climbed. I slipped, I fell. But I accomplished my goal of completing the trail. Well, the “sane” hashers version of the trail, which, as is our custom, contained some shortcuts and deviations. Still, I hung with the group, a little slower than normal, but that wasn’t unexpected. What was different for me was experiencing some lightheadedness during the main climb of the day, which manifested itself as a feeling of being unbalanced.

A light rain began falling just before we headed out, and I overcame the urge to use that as an excuse to bail out of the hike. I did feel obligated to at least try. The rain put a fine glaze on the mud, which made for some slippery going, especially on the big downhill portion of the trial. I eventually lost my feet and came down hard on my ass, but luckily I landed in mud and not on a rock.

The On-Home was at Blue Butterfly, and I sat in the outdoor area for my pre-circle beer drinking, as did many of the other Hashers. Speaking of beer drinking, I had another example of my sense of taste being potentially altered–I did not like the flavor of my old favorite San Mig Zero. Kind of a bitter aftertaste, and even after several bottles, the flavor still sucked. Weird.

The AC was blasting inside, and I was still wet with sweat, so I made the decision not to participate in the circle. I did get called in to sit on the ice for my Hash crash which seemed out of order to me, and I groused about it some. Yeah, I wasn’t kidding that another aftereffect of this illness has been to make me grumpier than usual. Oh well, this, too, shall pass.

And so endeth another Hash adventure.

The Corona Hash group from Angeles City did an outstation run here yesterday, and I was pleased to take part. I even did some of the trail, well, the part that ran through Alta Vista on the way to the Baloy Beach On-Home at Da’Kudos anyway. I did participate fully in the beer-drinking socializing and Hash circle rituals. A nice way to kill a few hours on a Sunday afternoon.

The Corona Hash rituals and songs are very similar to what we do here at the Subic Hash, so no surprises. Today is the SBH3 29th-anniversary run, and the Corona group will be there to participate in the festivities.

After the Hash, I was feeling a little hungry. Da’Kudos is the sister resort of Mango’s, so I asked about the pork chops I had been denied on Saturday. Yep, they were in stock.

After dinner, I caught a trike back into Barretto and had him drop me off at Kamto.

A few more beers, and it was past time for me to call it a night. But I wanted to make a quick visit to Outback to see my friend, Bhel. I was the only customer, and I felt sorry for the waitresses just sitting around looking forlorn. So, I rang the bell to buy everyone a drink. That’s always an indication that I’ve had too much to drink myself. Ah, well. It’s only money, and maybe it qualifies as an act of charity.

Finished my beer and headed back home for a good night’s sleep.

And here it is, Hash Monday. No rest of the weary, it seems. But then again, in the prophetic words of Tom Petty:

Yesterday’s Hash went well–lots of compliments on the trail, no one got lost, and no one was injured. Some of the hard-core guys were surprised that the trail was as challenging as it was. I told Pubic Head (Scott) as we marked the second hill that people aren’t going to believe you did this climb voluntarily. The skies were threatening in the early afternoon, but the rain held off until we had completed the Hash circle rituals.

During the circle, we honored Fucking Old Man for the rare accomplishment of completing 1000 runs. I just did the math in my head, and that’s at least 20 years of Hashing with the Subic Bay Hash House Harriers (SBH3). Coincidentally, next week our kennel will celebrate its 29th anniversary.

We also named one of the gals I’ve been sponsoring (there are three) upon completion of her 5th run with the SBH3.

I’ll share some photos from the Hash trail later in this post.

When you Hare, you are not required to hike the trail you laid, although some Hares do. In fact, 18-Kilo Ass did that yesterday. We’d finished marking the trail at around 11:00. I went back to the VFW at 2:00 to give the Hashers last-minute guidance and then sent them on their way. I figured we would not see anyone back until 3:30 or so, so I took a walk to the Snackbar to kill some time. I was disappointed to see the Dick sitting outside, but I’m not going to be dissuaded from going where I want by some asshole. I went inside and had my first beer in a week. Bought all the girls an ice cream cone, had a second beer, then headed back to the VFW for the Hash circle.

By the time the circle was completed, I’d had a few San Miguel Zeros and wasn’t feeling the need for any more. The girls I sponsored were even drunker than I was and wanted me to join them for some after-Hash bar hopping fun. I declined and suggested to the drunkest one that she should go home. I even offered to pay her trike fare. She refused my offer, insisting she was okay. A few minutes later, she dropped her beer, and of course, the bottle shattered and sprayed its contents around. Shortly after that, she fell down on her ass. Well, I sponsored her, but I’m not responsible for her actions. I’d seen enough, though, and headed out. (For the record, she did message me this morning apologizing and saying she would refrain from overdoing it in the future. I respect that and tend to believe her.)

I decided to walk to Kamto and grab a bite to eat before heading home. But before I’d gone far, the skies opened up, lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain poured down on my umbrella-less head. I took shelter in the recently reopened Johansson’s. They didn’t have Zero available, so I did a Light. It wasn’t busy, and I didn’t know anyone there, so I entertained myself with my phone. And that’s where I encountered a beggar. She was relentless and didn’t want to take “no” for an answer. I know she had been drinking, but damn, I wasn’t in the mood, and I told her so, but she wouldn’t accept my refusal. I was actually getting quite perturbed, so I just ignored her continued entreaties.

Oh, one thing was different about this. She wasn’t asking for money. She wanted to come home with me. And as hard as it is to believe, I just wasn’t interested in what she was offering. Now, regular readers may be thinking that doesn’t sound like me, and yeah, I can’t really remember saying no to an otherwise attractive woman so clearly in the mood. Just goes to show that my “big head” still can veto the usually horny little head on occasion. (She also messaged me this morning and apologized for her “naughty” behavior blaming it on all the alcohol she had ingested and feeling overwhelmed by loneliness. I told her no apology was necessary; it just wasn’t the right time to get together.)

After my second beer, the rain let up, so I paid my tab and made a dash for Kamto. A couple of friends were there as well as the sexy and sweet bar staff. I ordered up some food (quesadilla and chicken wings) and a beer. I’d been there maybe thirty minutes when it occurred to me that the waitresses might be thirsty. I reached for my wallet to ascertain that I had sufficient funds for that act of generosity–and it wasn’t there! I checked all my pockets–nothing. Looked under my seat and on the floor–nope. Well, I had just used it at Johansson’s, so I must have left it on the bar after paying my tab there. I dashed out of Kamto and literally ran up the highway back to Johansson’s.

The bartender seemed surprised to see me back. I asked her if I had left my wallet there. “No, sir,” she told me. I looked around under my barstool and thought, “oh, shit. I’m fucked.” I had my credit card, a little cash, my Alien Registration Card, and some other stuff in there that would be a pain in the ass to replace. I decided to retrace my steps to Kamto on the slim chance that I might find it on the street. The bartender followed me outside as I began my search. I’d taken just a couple of steps when she called out, “what’s that on the sidewalk?” I’ll be damned; my black wallet was lying there soaked with rain. I picked it up, looked inside, and all the contents were intact. I must not have placed it securely in my pocket and it fell out unnoticed not far from the door as I exited. That was dumb. I was lucky that no one had walked by and noticed it on the sidewalk (most people walk on the shoulder of the road).

It was quite a relief, and I was glad to be free from the burdens that would have ensued trying to replace my shit. Back to Kamto, bought the drinks for the girls, ate my food, and triked home, resolved to be smarter and more careful in the future. Could be I’ve used up all my luck.

To the Hash pics then:

So, that’s how things went down before, during, and after the Hash. Is there a common denominator?

As Fridays go, yesterday was a good one. And I’ve got the pictures to prove it. Oh, if you don’t like hiking photos, scroll on down for the pics from the SOB dance contest. If you don’t like sexy Filipinas either, you are on the wrong blog!

First, let’s take a gander into the future, shall we? Next Monday, I’ll be Hareing with Scott and Martin. It was sunny yesterday, and the forecast is not showing any rain on Monday either, so we tweaked our planned trail to include a hill and some off-road trekking.

A nap, a shower, then I was off to the Whiskey Girl bar for the SOB. I was pleasantly surprised to hear from Lydell, my favorite Snackbar waitress, asking if she and fellow waitress Heidi could attend the SOB with me. Come on down!

Alright, you want to see the dancers. I get it. Well, none of my photos came out (too dark), but I lifted these from the sponsor’s Facebook page:

All of the teams put on a nice show, and I had an enjoyable evening, especially since I had company. We all went to the Aftermath party at Wet Spot at the conclusion of the contest. I was doing my best to moderate my gin intake, but going non-stop from 4:00 until 9:00 put me higher on the inebriation scale than I like to be. Made it home safe and alone. As usual.

Back at it this morning with my solo Barretto walk.

I made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies this morning. I hadn’t done that in a long time. I had more dough than space on my cookie sheet pan, so the glops of batter turned into one giant cookie. No big deal, I just cut them into squares, and they tasted fine.

At lunchtime, I pulled the ingredients for some burritos out of the fridge.

And that is where things stand as of now. It’s fixin’ to be Saturday night, and I’ve got a bunch of SOB raffle coupons to spend before they expire. Damn, I’m retired, but it feels like I’m working in the bars these days. Hmm, maybe if I call it a hobby instead. Yeah, that’s the ticket! I’m retired and pursuing a hobby in my free time.

Life is good!

What do I owe to you
Who loved me deep and long?
You never gave my spirit wings
Or gave my heart a song.

But oh, to her I loved
Who loved me not at all,
I owe the little open gate
That led thru heaven's wall.
--Sara Teasdale

Just an old poem I came across today via Facebook memories. Don’t read too much into it. Yeah, I’m not feeling loved these days, but I’m okay with that. Mostly.

I’m always slow on the Hash trail, normally near the back of the pack. Yesterday, there was an older guy I didn’t know in our sane group, and he was so slow he made me look like a runner. Now, the ethos of the Hash is that it is to each his own, the trail is marked so anyone can follow it, and you are welcome to set your own pace. For whatever reason, I felt responsible for this guy, so I hung back to make sure he found his way and didn’t get hurt. It felt like I spent as much time standing around waiting for him to catch up as I did hiking.

About halfway through the trail, I elected to take a shortcut. I usually do that to avoid a difficult climb, but this time my motivation was to shorten our hike because we were moving so slowly. And once I deviated from the marked trail, there was no way the slowpoke was going to find his way back without my guidance. Anyway, it was a little frustrating, but the guy thanked me afterward for hanging back with him. And honestly, if I were Hashing with a group I didn’t know, I’d hope someone would care enough to keep their eyes out for me. On-On!

After Hash, a few of us went up the road to Johan’s for some more beers. Then I got a message from my friend inviting me to join her at Snackbar. How could I say no?

I feel like on the cusp of something; I’m just not sure what it is. Nothing to do but stick around and find out what happens next. Y’all are welcome to follow along right here.

I made some poor choices yesterday, including the one to attend the Hash. Nothing against the Hash; it’s just that the first pool party in over three years was being held at Treasure Island during the same time frame. Well, I’ve got something like 130 consecutive Hash runs, and I wasn’t ready to break my streak just to look at sexy girls in bikinis. But I shouldn’t have been so quick to ignore the fact that Vienna Sausage (Guenter) was the Hare. No one to blame but myself for the subsequent misery.

The trail began at the end of Rizal Extension. There’s no easy way to get there, and now that the Hashmobile is deceased, we were on our own to reach the starting point. Of course, walking is one method of transport, but it’s a long hard slog uphill. In fact, it is so steep that some trikes don’t have the power to reach the top. From my house, the shortest path is to go over the mountain via the My Bitch trail, and that’s what I did. It took me a hard forty-five minutes to reach my destination, and I was hot and tired when I arrived.

And then the fun began. Vienna described the trail as “6K with a few humps.” It felt much longer than that, and those humps equated to four hard climbs and steep downhills. Not to be completely negative, it was mostly new territory for me, and that’s something I usually enjoy. The problem was I wasn’t familiar enough with the area to be able to discern a saner course of action by shortcutting.

After the first hard up and slippery down (there was a light rain falling early on), we came to a decision point–climb again or take a flat route on the streets to the On-Home venue (also Vienna’s house). Half the sane group took the easy way, but I stubbornly chose to go on, thinking I’d shortcut from up top if needed. That choice proved to be ill-advised. After another tough uphill slog, the trail almost immediately turned back down. My visions of finding a shortcut were misguided, so I had no choice but to plod onward. And what awaited me at the bottom was yet another climb to the top. And guess what? Yep, the trail once again descended. Nope. Not me. I had a pretty good idea that if I continued upward just a little bit more, I’d intersect with My Bitch. Turns out I was right about that. From there, I knew where I could pick up the trail again without any more ups and downs.

And that’s how it turned out. I was one of the last Hashers to reach Vienna’s house, and I was soaked in sweat and in a decidedly foul mood. Again, this is all on me. The Hare has every right to lay a path of his choosing, and I can choose to follow it or not. My inability to recognize viable alternative routes early on is my failure. I won’t be sucked in with talk of “humps” in the future. Lesson learned.

I had three San Mig Zeros before the beginning of the Hash circle and then was informed that there were no more Zeros in the ice chest. I switched to SML (twice the alcohol and twice the calories), had one, said “fuck it,” and made an early departure from the Hash. So yeah, I only had four beers all night. I went to Kamto for some grub and switched to gin and sodas.

Alright, now that I have all that off my chest, let’s go to the pictures.

So, let’s conclude with something positive–I’ve got a new plan to cut out drinking:

Sorry to disappoint, but this is a Hash post. My usual deviant behavior posts will resume tomorrow.

Yesterday’s Hash trail was okay, at least the part us “sane” Hashers completed. A moderate climb early on, then mostly just street walking back to the On-Home at Treasure Island on Baloy. Admittedly, we did bypass the portion of the trail that included another long climb and a longer hike back to the beach. We also avoided having to wade through a shit creek. A couple of Hashers that normally do the long trail gave up rather than immerse themselves in toilet water. I honestly don’t understand what the Hares were thinking; there are better ways to get to where they were going. Anyway, here are some photos from the journey:

I went to the Snackbar after the Hash for a few more beers. The girls there were as nice as ever, but I’m getting bored with it all now. Time to change it up. Stay tuned.