After a series of unusually wet sundays we at last had a day living up to its name on which to stretch our legs. There were rumors going round that there might be a beer break en route which gave added intensity to the anticipation that the participants were experiencing with regard to the thought of starting the run, as "Two Jags" might say.
Of course being a Hare meant that Miss Perfect was not last to arrive this time. There was a welcome showing of our walking wounded, with The Gnu, Humble Scribe and Spiderman turning out, the latter test walking his bionic hip. As usual the Hare's briefing although erudite and well intentioned gave us no clue as to what was to follow.
So we trotted off towards the remains of Cowdray Castle to find the first check on the far side of the bridge over the river Rother. Trail was soon found to the south then west following the river bank ending at a check at the foot of a steep incline. Here we ground to a halt, All obvious ways out false including the path up the incline. It was Sinbad who found the way up via an off piste route that was near vertical. Mussolini, adopting his classic arms folded pose, just gloated as the pack somehow managed to scramble up.
From the top we sussed out several easy checks that took us beside the pond and out to the main road, hey nobody warned us about crossing all these dangerous roads! and then to a big check on the eastern edge of Midhurst Common. It was now rather obvious that we were on a circum navigation of Midhurst as the trail took us up to the cemetary which although it is on the outskirts is in fact the dead centre of town.
Then it was Northeast and out on to main road again which we might have followed back into town had not Sinbad smelled beer amongst the houses to the north, so we followed him and sure enough found a small street party had been set up for us. Reluctantly we forced ourselves to stop and force foul tasting semi poisonous liquids down our parched throats with total disregard of the government's recent health warnings, shame on us !.
Suitably refreshed we headed out for what might have been presumed to be the second half of the run but which turned out to be small excursion through the fields to the north before heading directly south and back to the chariots, which was just as well with all that liquid sloshing around inside.
Nominations for the Hash-it were scarce because apparently we had all been so well behaved, so it was awarded to Mussolini for being so smug about making us all scramble up that first pitch and also because he has not carried it under the new regime.
We all departed for "the pub on the right hand side on the way back" but not before Hash Flash had set off the alarm on his car once again - hey I've got a Lexus!.
Thanks to the hares for taking us to places that we have not seen in a while and also for laying on the beer.