Most that did were under teenage reflecting their exalted recovery powers. Phil (no longer a teenager) took the first live trail with the enthusiasm of a man possesed. Finally VC and Rx persuaded him to check in before we all died of dehydration. Momentarily 'Mike' brought us back - down and car wards - but turned us uphill again. Biffo the Blade (if I remember) had hardly any less mercy as the sun got hotter glaring its menacing heat off the bright sand. Twas still and the slithy hashers wilted in the borogrove. Thank goodness for the Palm Tree Fan who got us back in one piece.
We all wanted the bucket. Some were found stealing it as drinking water.
Thanks again to those wonderful hashers who get up the morning after the night before and tidy up all the mess of the night before the morning after.
On On
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