In the afternoon of October 23, 2011, Sunday in Beijing, Cloudy and Shower and about 10-15 degree, oddly enough, Once I become a hare to set the marks along the trail for the hashers, the weather must kid me about washing it out via the rain, as has occurred secondly with the unavailing result that was merely twice to be a hare towards me too. My next hare’s job would be as same as raining it out, wouldn’t it?

Thanks to restless Cock Sourceror my hare partner, who alone went to re-set the marks on the trail before the hashers turned up the rendezvous as usual, where the hares pinpointed at Datunlu southwest exit, located in Northern 5 ring road, for heading off to intraday hasher’s hunting field namely Beijing Olympic Forest Park. Albeit in a clammy drizzly day, just within thirty minutes, the hashers’s cline phenomenon emerged one after another, extraordinarily sticking out through the street. Angel Later was accustomed to collect the hash cash as the hash cashier. Some hashers can’t wait, especially me. The more earlier to run, the more warmer to feel. The hashers entailed to accommodate the winter’s vibe. The final 18 hashers joined in today had outnumbered one in my mind. Pony as my other hare partner was in charge of walking hashers. I was taking care of running hashers. ‘Move! Getting warmer!’ I shouted, Just sighted a platoon of sporty chattering homo sapiens flashing through the streets. Soon got to the hash restaurant. It seems that Cock Sourceror and Pretty Woman had a bit bickering for extra-hare’s job that the hares had to go to set the marks anew because the chalked marks on the road we hares labeled yesterday had been cleared by the rainwater. Pretty Woman repeated don’t worry to Cock Sourceror. After I geared in my jersey and my running shoes to get out of the restaurant for assisting Cock Sourceror’s job, he had disappeared alone right away. Pretty Woman presided a simple circle paraphrase for today’s attentions towards the hashers. And the majorities were runner. Soon were the hashers scattering to the four winds. ‘Open check!’ 

However the new flour marks Cock Sourceror just did ahead was not easy to find out, even to me. I had to run counted on my memory to identify the hash route. Mainly I need to take care the hashers. Don’t have somebody else lost the way! Indeed if I wouldn’t lead the way to run on right track, the hashers could go astray readily or make a big detour being required the serendipity of the hashers for detecting on the right hash track. So I forwardly run on the right trail banked on my memory at a time of open check and ensued to spot an array of visible new flour marks impending, constantly heard the exclaim of the hashers, ‘On-on!’ ‘On-on!’ As a hare, I had to slow down to watch and guarantee all hashers whom were capable of catching up together. Behold! Some hashers verily made a good run. Even if One Nipple Up is a young lady, each moment at the turning point needed to open check, she must race ahead all the time. I even suspect before she could an athlete for some sport. Anyhow, she’s cool! Also, there were other hashers whom I still cannot call their names, did professional run as well. The hashers were surely showing off a kind of performance on the streets as a radiant hashers-scape in the public. Each area where the hashers arrived in, always hit the spots without no-views from the onlookers and drifted the applause from the streets every now and then. Be proud of you, Hashers! You have been the celebs in Beijing. Before long, the hashers had marched in the entrance of Olympic Forest Park. I still kept watching what’s going on and avoided no-lose with all running hashers.

Black Eyed Tits and other two Chinese virgins have been left behind. Notably Black Eyed Tits have started to walk and jog between times. This young lady carried the thick cockney accent had actually performed much more respectable than ever and gained more slender as her award. I recalled her just being walked all the way previously. Well done! Young lady! Do better. Try harder! While I took care of this last group to catch up with the forwards on right track based upon new flour marks. Fortunately, we can see a handful of blur chalked marks along the trail we hares set yesterday. As if the marks were speaking sorry to hares, ‘we cannot resist the rain’s mightiness to hold onto longer till the hashers eye us. So most of our marks faded away’. Blimey! At last we hares can be proof of it, yesterday we hares for sure fulfilled our duty to make the marks on this trail. Ha! Ha!

Having to take an exclamation for the scenery of Olympic Forest Park. Even though it’s man-made park, it must be most signature park in Beijing. Plus, the late autumn painted a picturesque poetic vista with its instinct of ripe token in which the tract of withered yellow leafs of the maple and the ginkgo were reluctant to part with their trunks and twigs to nestle the ground so supple as to streamline the next cyclic flora chain, coupled with the pavement hills interspersed the landscape. Due to the allure of the surrounding view or the decline of the body vigor, while we climbed up the hilltop and were poised to descend, I as a hare got confused to lead the way out. Other hashers began to doubt my soberness and asked me stunningly, ‘Are you kidding?!’ I murmured too, ‘Where is the switched new mark?!’and I was scrounging here and there hastily solely. And overheard they were whispering about the punishment, We could spend about 5mins stuck around the hilltop. Black Eyed Tits reminded of checking the map, literally which displayed such humanity-oriented panoramic space diagrams in interval of dozens meters set up by the park designer. Afterwards, we confirmed our location and the east entrance was what we were going to be way out. We started to make our way through down the hill foot. And finally I placed us on right track by hunting high and low the new flour road signs to continue to move forward. At the time my earshot started to lodge the light music of symphony by Mozart wafting from the curb’s post speakers in the park. Just felt genial and laid-back.

Upon the arrival of the last beer shop, the advance hashers had drained the lager and just waited for us those straggled because of my mis-guidance. Wow! When I settled down, an old hasher held a diminutive bag of flour with mischievous smile and approached me, ‘Lay down into this circle! Pickle Boy!’ and he pointed the ground where the 80cm-diameter circle was drew by the flour and wrote three abbreviated plump letters B inside. He explained in condescending manner, ‘First B means ShaBi (Stupid Cunt in English). Second B means NiuBi (Cool Cunt in English). Third B means ChaoBi (Over Cunt in English)’. I sat down into this circle immediately and a shred of the sense of sacrament was cranking up the electric-shock over the body and mind of mine, which could be a rite of passage or circumcised baptism or ritual adult mitzvah. I previously saw some hasher’s fanatical scenarios in outlandish and chastening way under the rinse of the blustering beer. But today I could be confronting with the flour peppering over me. And there were the voices from the hashers, ‘Pickle Boy should be named to Losing Boy!’ I was perplexed too. Last time I was a hare. After my job got done, then the rain washed it out. This time was alike again. The effect of Vatican Roulette bursted out from my mind too would kick in. I myself devoutly poured the flour over my head and my body and it’s like an alternative massage. I turned into the Santa Claus in a no time. At that moment the screams and the laughter blended together. The embarrassment had given way to the joy. That’s such big fun.

Again, the hashers asked for me to bring this bag of flour back to the restaurant as a solo. The next route, owing to my miss-guidance, far is it from me to guide the way anymore. I insisted on taking care of this group. My hare partner Cock Sourceror was so kind to pick up this bag of flour to scud towards the restaurant. Now, I can re-lead the way to head back the home base. On the way back, some hashers semi-jokingly asked me, ‘Are you sure this way?’. I firmly responded, ‘For sure! Absolutely this’s right way!’. Accompanied a succession of new flour marks along the trail with ceaseless various arias at the levels of the tenor and the basso,’On on!’’On on!’ the hash troopers trundled back the original starting point. The scratchy chilling breeze was counteracting the simmering hides of the hashers. That’s refreshing and delectable. Thanks the welkin for dewing over the hashers physically and mentally.

Of course, the Down-Down Circle is necessarily the integral part of the process of Hasher Cult. We sited a quiet place in a living community. Pretty Woman still functioned as an anchorman. We celebrated to accomplish another greater run by guzzling up the hash nectar and looked like a poussetted circle to link these 18 hashers’s souls on hilarious basis. Each was banteringly jacked around in the midmost of the hash circle to relate facetious episodes happened on the running way. Disclosed other hashers’s bashful acts usually solicited the romping screams and the thundering laughter in tandem with the corresponding hash song out of the hash song’s repertoire, along with a round of drinking it down-down the bottle by another bottle, my capacity for drinking was indeed bred under the auspice of hash events a time by another time. That’s a kind of Gongfu too. What depends! After each hasher got through the hash baptism, 8 hashers moved on the hash food and swept out the food in the bowls and plates as far as they can. Later on, I and the last die-hard three hashers (one from Boston, two from Ireland) hit the road to congregate with other hashers at Paddy’s bar whom did not show up for running scene. That’s another spell of story. Wherever we go and whenever we start and whatever we do. Never forget to On-On! Orgh!


Pickle Boy
Peripatetic Matador