Bali Hash House Harriers 2

Wiking Vankers

Sorry, I couldn’t resist that. This is not a slur or an ethnic insult (honest Injun), but merely Hash speak for a term of endearment (Jackie Jackie say true). Our own Grand Master, Night Jar, often employs such “language” in addressing some of our members of Chinese heritage, clue: it rhymes with “stinky cankers”, or some of our American visitors or regulars, this rhymes with “Zippo bankers”. Alright then, if you must absolutely know for certain “chinky and seppo wankers”. He flings these epithets around with varying degrees of abandon, concomitant with levels of mutual embibement, no offence at all is meant and no one takes any whatsoever. After all, an Australian greeting such as “G’day you old bastard” does not necessarily mean “Greetings, elderly person born out of wedlock”, although I might just try that one to see what kind of reaction I get. (The recipient would possibly think I was a Vulcan or Yoda or something, without the ears.) So now that I’ve managed to be politically incorrect about several ethnicities including aliens, let’s get to the run.

Last week’s run, you guessed it, was Swedish National Day. I think there may have been four whole Swedes there most of them related by blood to Dahncing Qveen, our estimable Religious Advisor and Hare for the run, in a magnificent new location in Sidemen. There were also a Dane, a Norwegian and a Swiss (can you say “a Swiss” or is that a kind of a phallic, multi-racial sponge cake?), but they didn’t count. We were expecting the hills to be alive with blondes, horned helmets and painted blue and yellow faces intimidating luckless locals, but alas there were no actual adult Swedes or rutabagas on the actual run. Perhaps it was the distance that discouraged them, Sidemen is not exactly Sabah or Singapadu distance from Ubud, Sanur or Kuta, but it was pure tropical splendor once you got there (another story featuring non-sign posted forks in the forking road and other forking problems).

The short was three kilometers, yes correct, THREE, 3, III ! Now, nobody likes a short short more than I do but after a drive of close to an hour and a half including a bloody forking not very entertaining diversion, I, yes even me, who is not particularly famous for being a jockstrap, wanted to make it all worthwhile. Thus (I don’t know why but I love that word) in the company of three other Hashers whom I cannot mention for fear of Bangladeshis with axes coming for me (Mudflaps, Hardcase, who is a genuine jockstrap by dint of his Scottish-type nationality, and Dynamo) struck off following the long backwards at the risk of being mowed down by Labia and FRBs at any second. It was stunningly vastly beautiful scenery up to this point what with pristine paddies watched over by a gigantically close and looming Mt. Agung (the Bapak of them all), but it got even better. The views across wide and ludicrously green valleys to distant hills were unarguably knockout ridiculous once we had reached higher vantage points. Last week in praise of the run and waterfall at Kemenuh, I remarked that Selak Selut’s run was a challenger to Spook and Organ Grinder’s Banjar Gagah outing. All bets are off now that we’ve had Sidemen. It was unbelievably beautiful and well worth the drive. Both M. Jagger and D. Bowie have been there a few times unaccompanied by their bands. Evidently Sidemen is no place for sidemen (har).

There seemed something vaguely Arabic or Middle Eastern about the name and sure enough on the on in and back at the run site there was the unmistakable sounds of a call to prayer from a masjid, something not usually heard at run sites in Bali, but haunting nevertheless in the gathering evening under Mt Agung’s majesty on one side and an orange sunset on the other. (I checked, it definitely wasn’t Mt. Putu or Mt. Ketut.)

So now, inevitabubbly to the circle. This is the place it usually inhabits, so me being the edge-living innovator that I am will do something completely unorthodox and leave it right damned here, okay? And if you don’t like it you can get behind the wall with all the other Mexicans and semi-Mexicans. I guarantee it, okay? I have some terrific people working for me, terrific people, and I’ll make a few calls. I love Mexicans, and they love me… Sorry, a little too much CNN lately.

Night Jar and Jangle Balls were diverting but the night belonged to the Swedes. Much was made of Viking invincibility, perfection and influence, plunder, pillage and rape by D.Q. and a fellow Swede. Days of the week originating from Norse God names were examined etc. Anybody foolish enough to turn a deaf ear was severely iced, and there wasn’t much ice so it was pretty severe. It was side splitting stuff, but unfortunately no “midget and jo yo string” yoke this week. There’s nothing funnier than a Swede mixing his “Js” and “Ys”. I have no idea why, but there just isn’t.

Verdict: A great new run site, thanks to Hares D.Q. and Root Canal for extraordinary location finding above and beyond the call of duty. And a circle that made me want to jippie and jahoo and jee-hah with yoy. Bring your own HHH2 signs next time.

On on,
J.B.