The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[The Saucepan Man]

An Unexpected Corporate Event

Bilbo Baggins peered nervously out from the curtains of Bag-Endless-Fuel and then fell back into a chair and put his head in his hands.

"Goodness gracious," he thought to himself. "All those people! And if I know these Middle-earth types, they'll all be wanting to come in for tea. I really do not know if there is enough in the pantry for all of them. I was rather hoping to save that large seed-cake, the pork pies and cheese, the carrot cakes and a few bottles of that porter that we picked up from Eryn Lasgalen on the way for the celebration of our victory."

He peeked out again, but the crowds were still there.

"Confusticate and bebother those Dwarves," he said aloud, his thoughts drifting back to the occasion which had prompted his participation in this race ...

One quiet, sunny morning some months previously, just after second breakfast, as Bilbo had been sitting outside his front door smoking his pipe, Gandalf had come by.

"Good morning, Gandalf!" Bilbo had said innocently.

And Gandalf had peered at him from underneath his great bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. It was a look that Bilbo knew only too well.

"No!" he had said immediately. "No, Gandalf. I'm not interested in any more of your adventures. And, before you ask, I wish you good morning and mean that it is a good morning whether you want it or not and that I feel good this morning and that it is a morning to be good on. All of them at one and the same time."

"Calm down, Bilbo," Gandalf had replied. "It's not breaking and entering this time. Or dealing with Dragons. Or even extended Ring Quests. It's just ... er ..." And at this Gandalf had cast his eyes to the ground in a rather embarassed manner. "It's just that I met this Dwarf and we got talking. And he told me about a little race that he was organising. And, well we had a few ales together, and one thing led to another as it does, and ... well ..."

"And ...?" Bilbo had enquired impatiently, and not a little fearfully.

"And ... er ... well, I ended up entering you in the race."

"Well, you can just go back and un-enter me."

"It's not quite as simple as that, Bilbo," Gandalf had continued rather uncomfortably. "I .. er ... well ... I placed rather a large wager on you."

"Sorry! I don't want any races, thank you. Not today. Good morning! But please come to tea any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Good-bye!"

And with that, Bilbo had turned and scuttled inside his round green door, shutting it as quickly as he dared, not to seem rude. Gandalf in the meantime was still standing outside the door, feeling rather abashed. After a while he had stepped up, and with the spike of his staff scratched a queer sign on the hobbit's beautiful green front-door.

The next day, Bilbo had almost forgotten their conversation, when a knock had come at his door.

"Bah! That pesky Wizard!" He had thought to himself. "Wager or no wager, he can count me out of this silly old race. I'm too old to be driving helter-skelter all round Middle-earth."

But it was not Gandalf. It was a Dwarf all nicely doled up in a corporate suit. And it was not long before another arrived, and then another, and then yet another. Before long, there were thirteen Dwarves and one arm-chancing Wizard sitting in his living room eating him out of burrow and home. The most important of the Dwarves seemed to be a grand old fellow with a long, grey beard, called (rather appropriately) Dwarfy Dwarf. It seemed that they represented a company called Mount Zoom Challenge Enterprises and that they were keen on Bilbo entering the race. Before long, they had brought in a whole range of instruments. Dwarfy Dwarf himself played a great, green and black kazzoo marked Barrow-Downs™. And, as their voices struck up in song, Bilbo was transported to pit-lanes lined with gold, running with rivers of axle-grease and high octane fuel.

The Dwarves of yore made mighty races
With drivers skilled like flying aces
In circuits wide, where crowds went wild
And testing tracks put them through their paces

Then Dragons came with blazing fires
And turned the tracks to burning pyres
No more did drivers come from Arda-wide
No more did crowds thrill to spinning tyres

The time has come to race once more
To fill the stadia with crowds that roar
With punters willing to pay in gold
For tickets priced at twenty score

Far over the misty mountains cold
To hospitality corporate and circuits old
We must away, ere break of day
To claim our audience ratings gold.

And, as the night drew in, Dwarfy Dwarf had unfurled a great map of the race course and begun to explain the rules. And, of course, it had not been long before Bilbo's Tookish side had kicked in, with some rather self-interested encouragement from Gandalf it must be said, and he had started asking all kinds of questions.

"But what shall I drive?" he had eventually asked.

And Gandalf had raised his hands to indicate the burrow in which they sat.

"Behold Bag-Endless-fuel," the Wizard had solemnly intoned.

"Confusticate and bebother those Dwarves," Bilbo repeated, surveying the various cogs, wheels, pipes and gears that now ran throughout his beloved Hobbit hole. He was rather regretting having employed Ted Sandyman as Chief Mechanic. Not to mention Gandalf's wizadry in the engine room. Bilbo wondered how long a vehicle could run on fireworks alone. Of course, he was now rather regretting the entire enterprise and his mind was racing for a way out. And before long, a sly smile crossed his face, just as his nephew and co-pilot entered the room.

"Uncle Bilbo," Frodo said. "They're waiting for you to make your driver's speech."

"Are they indeed, my boy. Well, I shall not keep them waiting."

And so Bilbo Baggins was soon standing on the podium, his tiny figure dwarfed by the huge crowd.

"My dear Gondorians and Rohirrim,", he began. "And my dear Rivendellians and Galadhrim, and Hobbits, and Dwarves, and Arnorians, and Isengarders, and Orcs, Trolls, Ringwraiths, Easterlings and Southrons. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am."

Deafening cheers. Cries of Yes (and No). Bilbo was thankful that the ale tent had been open for some hours already and that the hordes before him would therefore have cheered anything that walked and talked, and some things that do neither, by this stage.

"Well, I don't know half of you as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. But I must say that I am most honoured to have been invited to participate in this race. Bag-Endless-Fuel is a wonderous machine, crafted and honed to perfection by the greatest craftsmen of the Shire. And not a little wizadry to boot. I have no doubt whatsoever that it shall be taking the chequered flag first, when eventually it arrives at the Grey Havens."

More cheering. Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes and flutes, and other musical instruments.

"But I must, alas, tell you, that I shall not be accompanying the vehicle myself. It is high time that my nephew and heir cut his teeth, and I shall be handing the enterpise over to him. Elrond of Rivendell has offered me a nice cushy little number transcribing old tales in the Last Homely House. It was an offer that I could not refuse. And so this, my friends is goodbye. I give you the driver of Bag-Endless-Fuel, Frodo Baggins."

And with that, Bilbo, who had been fingering a rather familiar band of gold in his pocket during the speech, vanished!

The crowd went suddenly quiet and all eyes turned to a rather shell-shocked Frodo.

*******************

Edit: Caranlondien, Bilbo will be preparing for his journey to Rivendell in Bag-Endless-Fuel if you want to discuss tactics and direction before he sets off.

He shall of course be kicked out of Rivendell by Elrond before long and return to resume his role in about a week's time.

Sorry to lump you with the first few legs ...

[Meneltarmacil]

VROOOOOOM!

"I say we head through Moria, my lord," Grima replied.

"WHAT?!" Saruman practically exploded. "You want to get us tossed into Khazad-Dum by that Balrog? You must be crazy!"

"Let me explain," said Grima. "If I install some of these rocket-hovercraft things on the tower, we can float over the depths and not have to worry about anything happening. As for that Balrog, if he tries to fly after us, you can easily trick him into thinking he doesn't actually have wings so he crashes."

Saruman just stared at his underling.

"Ummm, but the final decision's yours," Wormtongue hastily added, then dashed off to one of the other levels of the wheeled tower.