Through the darkness and blizzard we ploughed along, in a trusty old Suburban with no heat and no speedometer, towards the Bavarian city of the Rockies Kimberley. I was nestled in a sleeping bag with a flask of scotch to help numb the cold, surrounded by some of my British friends who were oddly jovial despite the notion of freezing and falling into the arms of sweet Death.
The purpose for this near death road trip was to check out a fabled Bavarian restaurant located up the mountain from Kimberley. For some reason the drive took forever. Perhaps it was the scotch, the highway three near Cranhole worm hole or maybe it had something to do with the fact we didn't know how fast we were driving? Or maybe it was the retro rock music we listened to that slowed things down to crawl. Then again it was probably just Death using the cold to prepare us for our seat on the boatsman's canoe.
As we pulled up in front of the Old Bauernhaus restaurant a light snow was falling and it felt surprisingly warmer than inside the Suburban. As we walked down the narrow path to the front door a Hobbit charged me from beneath the red cedars surrounding the front of the restaurant. It bit deep into my wrist as I punched it repeatedly to the face and nose. I managed to grab my pewter flask from my pocket and bash in the Hobbit's eye, which sent the evil dwarf cartwheeling through the brush and dry snow tumbling towards the lights of Kimberly screaming into the darkness. I grabbed a block of firewood from near the front door and launched it at another Hobbit charging through the trees. The wood connected with the Hobbit's face and the screaming dwarf tumbled ass over tea kettle onto the icy road. I laid the boots to him briefly and he too left screaming into the Bavarianesque darkness howling into the air over the pretend mountain village.
Inside I washed the Hobbit blood off my hands in the washroom. Luckily the bite wasn't too bad, the leather strap on my watch prevented the Hobbit's gnarly teeth from making to the bone so I was spared the indignity of being turned into a Werewolf. Pounding Hobbits is a tiresome task and had left me famished. It was time to eat and eat large.
The Old Bauernhaus is a 350 year old Bavarian shack shipped from the motherland in 1989 to the hills of Kimberly. It had initially been built as a servants quarters outside a castle but has seen many different incarnations over it's many years and is thick with ambiance and ghosts of the black plague. A great place to dine after a Hobbit massacre.
We ordered the Bavarian Feast and all shared in monstrous helpings of Wienerschnitzel, Jagerschnetzeltes, potatoes, root vegetables and Spatzle. The wine and beer flowed like a river and we all laughed and enjoyed the warm haunted space. Most excellent.
We stumbled back out into the cold and I picked up the bloody chunk of firewood from the road and shook it at the two wounded Hobbits who were hissing at me from across the street. I climbed back into my sleeping bag with my scotch and slipped into sleep with retro new wave buzzing from the Suburban's one good speaker.
Do check out the awesome Old Bauernhaus. Be sure to pack a stick or metal rod for the Hobbit bitches.