On Friday I had received an email from EZ Over asking me if I would help set the trail on the “Ball Breaker Run”. Every hash event has one really long run for the masochists and IAH07 was no exception. On the registration form it asked if you wanted to sign up for the Ball Breaker and I thought “No thank you” when I registered, but being a pushover when asked nicely by a lady I replied “OK”.
At some stage during Saturday evening I had a chat with her and about 5 other lunatics who had agreed to help out on the run. The run was meant to be a joint Mexico City H3 and Brussels Manneke Piss H3 trail with EZ Over as a member of both hashs leading the show, but as she explained she had got gravel in her shoes when setting the Friday trail (from wading through the rivers) and has scoured holes in both her Achilles tendons, so she asked me (from BMPH3) and Haemorrhoid, another American from Mexico City whose name I forget, and a very fit looking hasher from Denver who had been a hare on the Iguana Trail with the wonderful hash name of “Barely Man Below”. The trail sounded fairly straight forward when being discussed over a beer or two, and somehow I remembered to set my alarm for 7:30am and so I found myself in the IAH2008 presentations in the conference hall adjoining my hotel at 8:00am with only a cup of coffee for breakfast
Spare Rib handed me a fluorescent hare’s jacket and said it was time to go, just as the hilarious bid by the Rumson H3 started. They bid every year with no intention of winning.
We (Spare Rib, Haemorrhoid, the other MCH3 hare, Barely Man Below and I) climbed into a large RV and headed for the hills. We drove to what was meant to be the end of the run (it was an A to B run) in a little village in a Bay called “Boca Somethingorother”. There we met our two local guides. The idea was that we should split up with to of us setting the trail backwards from Boca (lets call that Point B)
to a spot further along the coast called Las Animas (Point C)
and the other two to set the trail from the start further inland (Point A)
out past the ranch belonging to one of our two guides down to Las Animas. We would meet up at Las Animas (Point C) at around noon-ish, take a water taxi back to Boca (Point B) and then go back to the hotel to collect the runners at 2pm for the run to start at 2:30pm.
A good plan; the only problem was, none of us knew how LONG the trail was going to be. The guides seemed to be very vague about it. The ranch owner was clear that the trail “A” to his ranch was 5kms, and then the distance from his ranch to Las Animas (“C”), well, that was “only a kilometre” and the other guide said he had walked from Las Animas (“C”) to Boca (“B”) in under an hour.
This meant we had a seriously short Ball Buster trail – or so we thought. It was decided that each team needed a Spanish speaker, so the other MCH3 and Barely Man Below formed one team and Haemorrhoid and I the other. Spare Rib was to stay with the car and ferry us around. Haemorrhoid and I were to be driven to “A” while the other two and their guide were to start in Boca (“B”).
Each of us was given a bottle of water and each team 3 bags of flour and off we went. Point A was just a lay-by in the road with some very bashed in gates leading to a trail. In the excitement neither Hemmy or I managed to remember to pick up our bottles of water – a big mistake. Off we went having checked our watches – it was 10am. We had plenty of time… or so we thought. It wasn’t an easy trail to set as the track to the ranch had very few turnings. We had been going about 10 minutes when the landowner went past us in his Jeep 4x4. He stopped and chatted to Hemmy before heading off down the track to his ranch where he said he would meet us. We walked and talked scattering blobs of flour as we went and sure enough after about an hour we got to the ranch.
Here we said hello to the ranch owner’s family and then walked down to the coral where we were to be pointed in the direction of the path, allegedly used by the family to collect fish on a regular basis from Las Animas. We were just about to set off when the Ranch Owner had a change of heart.
“I’ll come with you, otherwise you will get lost. Hang on a moment and I will go and get my machete.”
So after a few minutes the three of us set off with the Ranch Owner swinging away at the undergrowth. The going got hard immediately and stayed that way. We wandered up hill and down dale for kilometre after kilometre. We had been going about 45 minutes when I asked Hemmy to ask the Ranch Owner how much further. There was a long discussion in Spanish and eventually Hemmy said “He says it is another half an hour to the house and then it is a kilometre from there”. “What house?” I asked. “There is a house on route and then it is a short walk to Las Animas”. “Oh, OK”…
So on we plunged through washed out paths that had turned into cliffs along riverbeds and through a lot of jungle complete with vicious creeper thorns we used to call Razor Creeper or “Stay Awhile Creeper” in Malaysia. Pretty soon both Hemmy and I were bleeding from our lacerated shins. And still we walked and walked and walked. Given that we were in the middle of nowhere there was a lot of barbed wire around. Deviding the jungle and pastures up into large plots. Fortunately there were improvised barbed wire gates in the fences made up of a series of posts connected by the barbed wire that were tied at either end to fixed posts. The Ranch Owner was very keen to impress upon us how important it was to keep these gates shut. Hemmy and I both nodded in agreement and both privately wondered how likely it was that they would be closed by the pack.
Both Hemmy and I were seriously thirsty so it was quite a relief to see the Ranch Owner stop for a drink from a small stream. He said the water was clean and safe – we didn’t need telling twice and both had a good drink. That helped a lot, so our only worry then was the amount of flour we had left. It was rapidly disappearing and turning into a horrid paste at the same time, but on we plunged across a plateau where donkeys and cows were grazing. Again we asked the Ranch Owner how much further it was – “Just over that hill, but it is the worst bit…” and on we went with the Ranch Owner still hacking away at the jungle.
Eventually at about 1:45pm we spied ‘the house’. As we approached it turned out that it was a long low shed with a barn at one end and some sort of shack at the other. The occupants, two very drunk wild-eyed Mexicans turned out to greet us. I was glad I was with a couple of friendly locals as these two didn’t look particularly friendly. One of them, the leader, immediately reminded me of of ‘Gold Hat’ from ‘The Treasure of the Sierra Madre’.
(Gold Hat from The Treasure of Sierra Madre)("Hai don' want your stinkin' badges...") except he didn’t have the moustache, sombrero or bandalelros (but otherwise he was the spitting image – honest!).
Gold Hat and his cross-eyed friend were surprised to hear what we were up to. He asked us in for some tequila and then apparently offered to sell Hemmy a donkey, Hemmy declined each offer. When he asked him for water the reply was “There is plenty of water falling from the sky” and Gold Hat was right, there was – it had been raining gently almost since we set off from the car (thank goodness). So we then asked if had any flour as the last grains had been used as we walked up to his gate “Sure, I’ll sell you a bag,” he said, “only 80 Peso”. Given that a bag of flour costs about 8 Peso in the supermarket it was a bargain (we were in no position to negotiate and he knew it). All we had between us was a rather soggy 200 Peso note in my back pocket. Gold Hat made change giving me an odd assortment of grubby notes from his none too clean trousers including a $1 bill.
“Las Animas is just half an hour away down that trail” Gold Hat said pointing off through his rubbish dump into the jungle. Hemmy and I left the Ranch Owner chatting to Gold Hat and his chum and started along the trail that almost immediately started going down hill. It was immediately clear that Gold Hat and his chum used donkeys on this trail – it was almost vertical and nearly impassable on foot. It descended at an amazing rate down very heavily eroded muddy gullies lined with nothing but vicious thorn trees. It was hell! We stopped frequently at streams that intersected the trail too cool down, but remembering that Gold Hat’s rather dirty farm was at the top of the hill neither of us were tempted to drink from them.
Eventually, after over an hour slipping and sliding down hill, I came out into the open right by the ocean. Hemmy was about 5 minutes behind me. I was again almost completely out of flour, and was therefore greatly relieved when I came across the other the trail that must have been set by the hares who set off from Point B.
It was now 2:45pm, so it was no surprise to find no trace of the other two. We staggered along the beach to a bar where I used all but 20 Peso of my remaining money to buy some much needed water and beer.
Hemmy and I sat too stunned to talk for a while. When the effects of the rehydration started to cut in we congratulated each other on surviving and agreed that only a madman would run the trail we had just set. As we sat there shaking our heads and wondering what had happened to the other hares and when the poor fools following our trail would appear, we saw a water taxi approach the beach and the two people aboard start to unload boxes of beer and water. It was the other two hares!
We limped down the beach and discovered that they had wisely decided that it wasn’t safe to start the pack off from Point A as they assumed that we were probably lost in the jungle or dead and sending the pack off to follow us wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead they had started the trail from Boca (Point B) and had taken a water taxi with the water and beer to Las Animas to set up either a Beer Stop, or if we weren’t there the end of the trail (using water taxis to get the pack back to Point B if necessary).
They told us that despite 120 people registering to run the Ball Breaker only 32 had turned out to run it – that was a relief. They estimated it would take the pack about another 45 minutes to get there, their leg of the trail being about 8kms. Hemmy and I described the trail we had set and the other two hares fresh from a long break decided to set off and reset it so it could be run backwards, so that the end of the trail would be Point A. I promised to try to persuade as many of the pack as possible not to run the trail and that Hemmy and I would accompany any drop-outs on the water taxi back to point B where we would then take the coach to Point A.
So off they went. Hemmy and I sat on the beach guarding the beer in the gentle rain, and as predicted, about 45 minutes later the pack plus Spare Rib in a hare’s jacket arrived. We let them have a drink and relax for 15 minutes and then I read them the riot act. I asked them if they had written their wills. I described how to deal with the thorns and creepers and showed them my cuts, insect bites and bruises. I told them it would be not be a disgrace to give up now, rather it would be the sensible thing to do as the Ranch the next drink stop was about 3 hours away and they would take over 4 hours to reach the end of the trail. Given that it was now about 3:45pm it would be getting dark as they approached the end of the trail and that there was a high probability that they would all get lost en route. I managed to persuade 6 runners to quit there and then. I escorted the other madmen to the start of the trail and counted them out wishing them good luck.
As I walked back to the beer stop I started worrying about the trail and the pack and all the things I had forgotten to tell them, like about the fences and gates, and that there was no one acting as a ‘sweeper’ to find the lost souls at the back. I decided that if there was any water left back at the beach I would take a bottle and follow the trail. As I was sure there wasn’t an water I was sure it would be OK and I would be able to go back on the water taxi as planned. I told Spare Rib that I had seen 27 hashers off on trail and then said “Got any water?” “Sure”, he said, “here”. So true to my word I then told him that I was going to follow the pack. He and Hemmy tried to persuade me not to go, but my mind was made up.
I started climbing and it was even tougher than I expected! I found stout pole at the side of the trail, just the right size to be a walking stick and that really helped. I had been climbing for about 10 minutes when I was surprised to see a hasher coming the other way. “You are right” he said “it is too tough. I’m going back to the beach." I told him to hurry as the others were about to set off. I asked if he had any money and he said he had, so I told him to get a water taxi to Boca where he would find the others. I forgot to ask him his name. He was never seen again!
A little while later I passed another hasher who said his name was “Sin D Bear”. He said he was having problems because of a hangover and old shoes. I asked him why on earth he was doing the trail. He mumbled something and kept on going. A little while later while I paused for breath on the steepest part of the trail he passed me and I didn’t see him again. I later discovered he caught up with the rest of the pack which at that stage was only about 5 minutes ahead and told them I was following.
Further along the trail I met Gold Hat and his chum on their donkeys in their “Sunday best” obviously going to Las Animas for a night out. He looked puzzled as we had told him we would be coming from the other direction. He said something like ‘Que passa?’ At that moment I couldn’t remember a word of Spanish so I just smiled like an idiot an carried on up the trail. He laughed like a madman and carried on down the trail – I caught the words “Loco” and “Gringo” as he and his cross-eyed chum descended on their tiny donkeys.
Finally I reached Gold Hat’s rubbish dump and the edge of the jungle. There sitting on the trail was a young chap who turned out to be a 25 year old Marine Sergeant with the hash name of “A Salt My Ass”. He was exhausted. So after a short break we set off together. It was good to have someone to tackle the trail with, but on two occasions we were so busy chatting that we wandered off trail for over 10 minutes before realising it. Thereafter we agreed to sing out “On On” each time we found a flour blob. The trail just went on and on and several times we lost it completely having to check in all directions to find it. ASMA asked a couple of times how much further it was. I always replied, “Oh, about 20 minutes or so”. The third time I answered that way he realised I didn’t have the first idea, so on we walked – running was out of the question at this stage. We stopped at a little stream and filled our water bottles and each drank about a litre of water. That made a huge amount of difference to both of us, but ASMA in particular. He was rushing off in all directions to find trail at each check, but I was pleased that he didn’t run off and leave me. Finally I started to recognise features from near the Ranch and then we heard a distant call of “On On!”. We replied and within 15 minutes found Hemmy down by the coral close to the Ranch. He gave us some water and told us that there was no more water at the ranch as the car Spare Rib was driving wasn’t a 4x4 and couldn’t make some of the hills. Down at the Ranch we met Spare Rib. He was worried about tackling the hills in the dark (it was now about 7:15pm) and suggested he and ASMA ran back to the car. To my surprise I felt like running too, so jogged along behind them. At the car there were two other hashers who had only just come through. There wasn’t enough room in the car for all of us so Spare Rib suggested that they should walk the remaining 4kms or so to the coach. ASMA and I on the otherhand agreed that as we had got this far we weren’t about to give up now, so we followed them and Spare Rib drove past us with just Hemmy on board.
We caught up with the car on the next hill – it couldn’t get up it. After a lot of burnt clutch and a bit of pushing from everyone but me (I was too tired) the car got to the top of the hill and gave the other two hashers a lift. ASMA and I just jogged along for the next 4Kms and eventually arrived at the end of the trail to find the car stuck again. We ran past it to the gates were we were welcomed with a huge cheer by the rest of the pack. I looked at my watch, it was 8pm, or 10 hours since I had last been here.
Once Hemmy got the car up the final hill the circle was reformed and the hares received multiple down-downs. Everyone loved the trail – they were all clearly mad. Eventually we were moved on by the local constabulary. I decided to travel back to the hotel in the coach as there was more room as I was getting quite a lot of cramp by this stage.
I am not sure exactly how long the trail was, but I have managed to approximate some of it using Google Earth.
If Point A to the Ranch was 5 kms then the Ranch to Point C must be around 10 kms, through jungle... If you would like a close look then click here to down load the files. (I recommend you use the tilt view from Point C to see how steep that hill was.)
We had a great sing-song in the coach led by Barely Man Below. When we got back to the hotel I returned to my room and had a shower. My legs were in a bad way and I had huge cuts on my Achilles tendons because of the grit that had got into my shoes on trail. Afterwards rather than eating at the Krystal I went across the road to the “Outback” steak restaurant. While we had been walking ASMA and I had agreed that what we really needed was a steak and he recommended the Outback. I joined him and two other victims of the trail at the bar and ate myself to a standstill – wonderful.
Afterwards we went across the road to the Christine disco where the hash ball was underway. As the theme was “Rocky Horror Picture Show” there were loads of cross dressers and people in white lab coats and Y fronts. I couldn’t get a drink as the bar was about 5 deep and the as noise was overpowering I decided not to stay and went back to my room for a much needed night’s sleep.
The next day the IAH07 Mismangement awarded me and Barely Man Below a commemorative bottle of tequla each for all our efforts...
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