This hotel is permanently closed
Rudolf 'Bermuda Triangle' B
Ralf 'Mother Ducker' G
Venue: Pines Beach Hotel at Ban Phae (Rayong) Suan Son Beach.Hares: Rudi "Bermuda Triangle" B and Ralf Goehrenger.Date: 29 November 2008. Ride no:- 304.Scribe: Sarah MaurerSATURDAY’S DRINKING DAY . . .The pack pushed off from the Pines Beach Hotel, Rayong (a concrete monster visible from space). The city of Rayong wisely provided the pack a police escort through town, which kept nudity, bike-sex and public urination to a minimum (but failed to stop GOLDEN SHOWERS). Once the cops departed, hashers returned to their normal deviant ways and were (justifiably) shouted out of a forest monastery by a tattooed monk (monk for the dry season?).Their images of the Land of Smiles now dashed, the addled pack tiptoed around the wat in search of paper. Back on trail, they raced down 5k of zippy pavement, only to find themselves on the in-trail. Much whinging and nashing of teeth ensued as the spokes backtracked uphill in the blazing sun while the vultures circled overhead. They finally reached the forest, only to begin snaking up a twenty kilometer stretch of crumbling scree that shall forevermore be known as Dog Poop Mountain (are we having fun yet?).After a sphincter-clenching descent from DPM’s lofty crest, the trail traversed stunning lake and mountain scenery. It could have been mistaken for Switzerland but for the ubiquitous scent of rubber tree that laced the air (or was that a bloated cow rotting in the hot sun?) At the 25k mark, the thirsty spokes rounded a corner to find the words ON ON WATER and an arrow pointing at the summit of what appeared to be either Mount Everest or K2. Unsheathing their ice axes, the spokes battled over the pass (known forevermore as Mount Bunghole), stopping along the way to collect rocks with which to stone the hares.At the water-stop, CPR revived a few spokes who carried on through the rolling hills of Rayong, taking in sunbeams and rolling hills freckled with wats. Imagine the buzz-kill when one of the townies, offended by one hasher’s friendly full-moon salute (was it you, LITTLE MISS PRICK?) locked her gate, forcing most of the pack to finish the ride by dodging tanker trucks on the frenetic Trat-Patthaya Highway (forevermore know as the Skid Mark Express). Fortunately, even those poor spokes sans GPS were able to navigate by sight toward the mighty concrete beacon of the Pine’s Hotel and all arrived safely for the circle.The hash welcomed new spokes HEATHER (Toronto), JACKIE (Germany) and DI DI (Thailand). Proud parents NO NAME MARTIJN, PUSSY VIRUS, NO NAME FRANCIS and D(R)UNKEN DONUT celebrated new arrivals (Giant, Gary, Special-needs and Santa respectively, each eighteen inches , no word yet on the sex). PUSSY VIRUS, called up with DUNKIN DONUT to drink out his new shoe, drew gasps from the crowd by remarking, “If you were more evil, you’d make us switch!” KLING-ON The Merciful ignored him and handed the circle over to RA BLOW JOB, who slammed the hammer of justice by giving down-downs to the Floor Seven Spokes – the only ones in the behemoth hotel with hot water. (DAVE offered showers at his for 500B, and even offered to share his towel. Wotta guy!)RA Jerry Springer (oops, WEED EATER) attempted to establish the paternity of SUCK HARDER’S baby between hopefuls WOLFGANG, STAIR-MASTURBATOR, and NN RALPH. NN PHIL drank for wearing a salad bowl as head protection while awaiting his orders from the PAD. MAVERICK was singled out several times for his mysterious injuries, which he claims to have sustained in a parking lot. Various conspiracy theorists claimed that he couldn’t get out of his flat pedals, was beaten by his wife, was thrown by the Nana Plaza mechanical bull, or that the whole ruse was a cover for erectile dysfunction. A rousing debate ensued about whether MAVERICK was a Hash Hero or a Wuss. BLOW JOB declared him the latter, along with fellow Hero NN RODERICK, whose rented bike shed a derailleur on Dog Poop Hill, forcing him to complete the ride with only one gear.Nominations for Piss Pot of the Month were lively, with NN MARIA getting a nod for her Trek’s gang-land paint job, CAMP GYNECOLOGIST for his bike’s Velcro condom, STICKY TROUSERS for his sexy shoe fetish, CRASH TEST DUMMY for his magazine cover and subsequent divorce, and THE HARES (by PUSSY VIRUS, for trying to kill him). Full honors for December went to STAIR-MASTURBATOR, who modeled with an eleven year-old during a recent photo shoot in a deserted apartment (yes, the hash can twist anything into absurdity, even a sweet family advert). Hashers were encouraged to gather later for the AGM party, which promised lucky draw, wife swapping, and a full-cavity search for any hasher showing up without a ticket. Thus adjourned the circle.The AGM party kicked off with yummy Thai dinner, free piss and a video of your humble scribe’s daring bicycle stunts. The award for “Most Senior Moment” went to the absent DYKE DIVER, who was the only nominee, albeit for three separate incidents. POCAHANTAS swept the fashion category, while thirteen bone screws and two steel plates snagged SNAP the “Crash Of The Year” award. DAVE, who will not be buying his wife a Santa Cruz, still managed to win the “Santa Cruz” award. CAMP GYNO took honors for “Best Write-Up” and STICKY TROUSERS was awarded “Best New Name.” And finally PUSSY VIRUS capped off the evening with “Piss Pot Of The Year” for . . . for . . . hell, for just being PUSSY VIRUS.The piss flowed, the hashers welcomed the new committee, and right around here I can no longer read my notes. There was dancing, there was massage, there was howling at the moon on Pines Beach and NN BRUCE tossing ladies into the air . . . and here any coherent narrative must end.SUNDAY’S HASHING DAY . . .The purple cow jumped over the moon. Wait! I have the magic pinto beans! NO GOOD BOYO, Trix are for kids. (Just wondering, is anyone still f*#@ing reading?)During the circle, newly installed GM WEED EATER welcomed new spokes DONNA (England, but 17 yrs in Thailand), MINT (Thailand) and YANNICK (Germany). Visitors NN RODERICK, NN PHIL, NN JACK and NN YOSHI graced us with their presence while failing to buy a membership. Guess some people can’t pass the admissions test! NN SHIYO defended her failure to whistle on the ride by claiming, “my husband is my whistle.” BUTT CRACKER took one for trashing the new GM’s car (not the GM’s new car). $100 SKID MARK (yes, your humble scribe) and GOLDEN SHOWERS drank for their domestic in the stairwell. The circle then adjourned and the hashers retired to their room for one final cold shower. On-on until next time . . .