MYTHICAL CREATURE RACE NEXT SUNDAY!

Next Sunday will be the first annual MCR (Mythical Creature Race) where contestants set out on an epic journey across the globe!

Starting from the town square on foot, you will try to find (and tame!) a mount, whatever you are able to ride is allowed, under the condition that is WAS COMPLETED WILD, NEVER UNDER HUMAN CONTROL and NOT HUMANIOD OR INTELLIGENT (for example, you could ride a troll or golem, but not an elf) and continue to the check point in Castlerock (see map below) where you must duel with the next opponent to arrive, if you lose, you must abandon your mount and find a new one.

From Castlerock you will continue to Eldenwood, then to Mystic Mountain, ect, ect. (See map below)

The entry fee is 20 rupees, and any damages caused by action outside of regulation will be paid by the racer.

THERE IS TO BE NO:

• Public disposal of Unicorn Dung
• No fighting outside of organized duels
• No mounting un-wild creatures
• No mismatched socks

For a complete list of rules see the local wizard.

The prize for winning is 1200 rupees, a story in the “Medieval Globe”, and two Bob Ross toasters.

If you are interested, send a pigeon to:

195 MCR Dr.

SEE YOU THERE!

Chesterfield Chipmunk and his mate Kimana left Trinidad in the wee small hours of the morning, around 1 a.m. The drive to Castle Rock was 170 miles and should take just over 2½ hours. They planned to set up the catering tent for participants and officials at the Great Mythical Creatures Race and their food truck near the grandstands where the race spectators would be.

Poor Chesterfield! It was difficult for him to comprehend the long sentences of the opening paragraph! However, he had no problem driving the catering truck while Kimana took the food truck. Both were excellent short-order cooks.

The team from Trinidad, under Kimana’s leadership, efficiently readied the catering tent for the day’s business. Chet needed only minutes to set up the food truck.

Kimana’s first customer was the Head of Security, a former bodybuilder and governor of California. He ordered a surprisingly light breakfast of two scrambled eggs and biscuits with sausage gravy. As he was finishing, a platoon of burly gnomes arrived; they parked their gargoyle mounts side by side in the early morning sun. Just coffee and cinnamon rolls for them, please.

So far, Chet’s morning had been quiet and unhurried. Two groundskeepers had gotten coffee and Danish. A janitor had also ordered coffee and a fried egg sandwich. Even though it was quiet now, Chet knew business would be roaring like a chimera with a toothache when the spectators arrived.

The Head of Security patrolled the grounds on his sturdy black destrier. He saw the dueling area was securely fenced and free of debris. His ‘Eyes in the Sky’, those gnomes on their gargoyles, were already aloft. Hmmm, this job aloft was certainly a change for these former miners. Tall chain-link fences were in place to direct the movement of the spectators and to keep out those who tried to enter without buying tickets. Two dozen Sasquatches were assigned to crowd control; these hairy giants had come up from their home territory in nearby Castlewood Canyon. (I must remember to thank that little chipmunk for recruiting them.)

A quartet of trumpets sounded the “Call to the Post” fanfare. The race announcer cried, “Riders, take your positions!” Then a pistol shot signaled the start of the race.

Waltraud Wolpertinger lingered near Chesterfield’s food truck. When she had learned of the fabulous MCR, she was eager to compete. Alas, she was just too small; none larger than an elf could ride her, and she couldn’t hope to keep up with larger cryptids such as griffins and the mighty Snuffleupagus. Lonely and desolate, she took no interest in watching the competition.

Chesterfield took pity on the miserable German herbivore. The poor, sad thing looked miserable. “Here, Girl! This will cheer you up.” He tossed her a jalapeño popper. Waltraud sniffed the unfamiliar thing. Ugh! Bacon! Cheese! How disgusting! When Chet saw this rejection of his treat, he realized that the wolpertinger would not eat meat, only vegetables. This time, he tossed her an Anaheim pepper. Waltraud sniffed this and took a nibble. Mmmm, that’s an interesting flavor. She took two larger bites. Suddenly, she jumped back, and her eyes grew large in surprise and panic. She hopped about on her rabbit legs. She flapped her pheasant wings but didn’t take flight. She shook her antlered head like a male caribou in rut.

Chesterfield was aghast at the wolpertinger’s antics. He recognized the reaction, that of a hot pepper ‘virgin’. Oh, no! He had caused this creature to be in pain. He offered her a tidbit of cheese. “I know you won’t like this morsel, but it will ease your discomfort.” Waltraud looked at it with suspicion but then ate it. The fire in her mouth and throat cooled to a mere smolder. Chet said, “You see, Cheddar makes it better.”

Waltraud was now full of energy. She gave a great hop five feet into the air; she flapped her wings and was soon fully airborne. Castlerock was no place for a wolpertinger. She fled, flying south to Colorado’s Black Forest, which resembled her homeland in Bavaria.