NEARLY KILLED, IN A RANGE ROVER, TWICE

I posted this once before and it disappeared with no explanation. what gives?

I worked pretty hard on this, and I think it's a fun, cheeky contribution to the community, and I don't appreciate it getting deleted without a message from DT as to why. Trying again.

PROLOGUE

First, let me make things perfectly clear by stating - I am not Jeremy Clarkson. I'm just a man, a man who lives in California no less. Am I a fan of Jeremy and the boys? Sure, enough so to have scored tickets to the studio audience premier of The Grand Tour, now showing on Amazon, which was amazing. Am I the type of fan to write fan fiction? HELL NO. However, the circumstances here are unusual. I've recently had some stress, and occasionally, I get bad headaches. If I catch it earlier, and can manage to pop a few ibuprofin and take a nap, I'm usually sorted. But sometimes I oversleep, and when I do, I sometimes have vivid dreams, and remember every detail. This was one of those dreams, and it was so incredible, the world needs to hear the story. So I had a cup of coffee to boost my memory and wrote everything down before it was all quickly erased, as ridiculous dreams usually are in short order. Enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE - THE GUN HOARDER

It all started with my friend Phil. Phil, being an American, was apparently something of a gun nut, and had been collecting them for some time. This resulted in him garnering the attention of the FBI and probably some other departments whose names I don't really know because I'm British and Trump has probably shut down most of them by the time anyone reads this, so we'll just say the FBI. Phil was a clever guy though, and when he realized that the mounting pressure of multiple federal agencies was going to be too great, he concocted a strange plan. He found some obscure law that allowed him to register as some kind of privately operated standing militia ARMORY. What brass balls! But apparently it was legal - thanks to the zany American court system that upheld it - and as part of the vetting process the government decided to run him through (they were actually considering this nonsense!) they were calling everyone he knew, including me. Jeremy Clarkson, in case you forgot.

After my conversation with someone named Agent Masterson, I had a moment of fantasy where I was a talented, cool, young, thin FBI agent - running around, shooting baddies, and saving beautiful women like James Bond. I don't own any guns, so I decided to call up Phil. We made a day of it, shooting at gophers in his wooded fortress paradise somewhere in the mountains. It was cold, but when you have secret agent fantasies to play out, you suffer a little. Please do not write to me about how this book eventually features snow and how gophers actually hibernate in winter or something James May, it's dream logic, shut up and go with it.

CHAPTER TWO - THE RUNAWAY RANGE ROVER

I visited Phil in a Range Rover - a loaner, I had just emcee'd some kind of fundraiser gala about saving the galapagos turtles or something, I don't even remember, I was a little drunk, and I owed someone a favor that may or may not have involved bail (who got arrested and for what, yada yada, it doesn't matter, let's move on, shall we?). They said they'd send someone around to the office later to pick it up - the poor sod has swung by three or four times now from what I've heard, and I'm always piddling about with his car. Haha.

After the gala seemed like a great time to visit Phil, because I still had my tux and I still had my delusions of grandeur of being a spy. After our day, a few friends had gathered round the Range Rover and we were having a chat just before I was about to head off. I was in the back seat, explaining some obscure feature nobody cares about to someone who didn't want to hear about it. Apparently I sometimes act a bit like May when I'm drunk. Next to me was a book I had recently begun to write about my many adventures, a recent test printing that I was showing off. Just then, someone thought it would be funny to point out how they could start up and drive away with the wireless keyfob and push button start, both of which are stupid. Even funnier, the person thought, would be to start the car, put it in gear, and hop out, with me in the back seat.

I could hear them howling with laughter as I drifted slowly down the road, frantically trying to steer from the back seat. I tried to put it in neutral, but the little button on the gear shifter that allows you to do that was behind it, and just slightly out of reach. In retrospect, I realized I could have just pushed the stick up and it would go into N without having to push that button, but I was in a runaway car careening very slowly down a mountain, OK? Several near misses later, and I have to make the call - I'm going to have to climb into the driver's seat.

This scared me. You see, the levers to move the seat backs down were also out of reach, but more importantly - I'm not exactly a small person. Despite the roomyness of the Range Rover, the gap was minimal, the car was moving, but I didn't have a choice. I slammed my mimosa, which I had heroically still carried IN A GLASS for the last five minutes, and I went for it.

The struggle was intense, and I nearly crashed many times. I made it through, and managed to secure the car, while grumbling about what jerks I have for friends. Normally a day out with people other than Hammond and May proves to be a good time, but today was shaping up to not be one of those days.

CHAPTER THREE - THE MOUNTAIN

Feeling a bit bold and heroic at this point, I see a path leading upward, and I thought it would make a fun climb. Of course, the Range Rover handled it easily, but it started to narrow, eventually forming a tunnel. I began to sweat, as there was so much forest and mountain seemingly wrapping a circle upward and around the road, enclosing me, but I saw light on the other side. I peeked the Range Rover's stubby nose through the opening, and saw a drop. I couldn't help myself, and down I went. It was fun, but the fun was short lived, because I realized there was no way I could get back up - it was just too steep.

I looked around to gather myself, and realized I was in a snow covered valley. Of course a valley only goes two ways, so I had to pick one, so I did. Progress was a bit slow due to the rocky terrain - I had abandoned paved roads long ago - and I didn't know what lied ahead. Then, I heard it.

CHAPTER FOUR - THE AVALANCHE

The rumble of an avalanche is a frightening thing. A sense of dread overpowered me like nothing ever has before, but emboldened by my tux and my incredible sense of direction, I believed it was behind me. The belief quickly turned to fact, when through the rear-view mirror, I saw it - a wave of snow, as large as a building, coming at me. It was probably two to three miles back, and what could I do? I did what any sane person would do in that situation - thank the Lord that I was in a Range Rover, and I gunned it. POWER!!!

The avalanche snaked forward like a conscious demon, coming for me, ready to punish me for my mistake, but I wasn't about to go down without a fight! I expertly navigated the rocky terrain, dodging huge boulders and dangerous drops that would have surely parked even a Range Rover, hoping that I'd reach the end of whereever this valley led and somehow find safety before being overtaken.

CHAPTER FIVE - THE BUNKER

I rounded a corner just as the avalanche had begun to tickle the rear of the Rover, and I couldn't believe my eyes. The valley led straight into some disused war bunker, encased in concerete. A dead end. But I saw a turn-in inside, and hoped I'd find safety there. As I entered and made the turn, I felt a feeling of dread as I realized it only went in a few feet, and then - more concrete. I was trapped, and with just minutes before the snow would fill the entire bunker, I had to do something.

The snow had begun to surround me, so getting out simply wasn't an option. Fortunately, I happened to park next to a very tall ladder leading out of the bunker - the only exit, from the looks of things - nearly 100 feet high. I opened the sun roof, grabbed my book, and climbed out. The ladder was barely within reach, so I began to climb. Like some kind of penguin swashbuckler, I realized I'd go faster if I put the book between my teeth to free up my hands. I shook an angry fist at the snow that had the gall to try to kill me, and climbed out of reach, not knowing what I would find at the top, or whether I could get out before the snow turned the bunker into my tomb.

CHAPTER SIX - THE PUB

Fortunately at the top of the ladder was a hatch, and to my utter surprise, it led to civilization. Apparently, the bunker was part of a larger structure which had been turned into a museum, and the hatch led right into a courtyard. I emerged triumphantly, like some kind of very large groundhog predicting whether we'd have six more weeks of winter, surrounded by onlookers with cameras. Rather than help me, they began snapping photos, so I simply proceeded out as if it was a totally normal thing to be climbing out of what appeared to be a sewer grate near a gift shop of a war museum in the middle of the evening.

Being the charmed individual that I am, I was lucky enough to discover that the museum also had a pub, and I plopped myself down and ordered a stiff drink. For some reason I will never understand, Hammond and May were both there, looking smug, as if they had just beaten me in some kind of race I didn't know I was a part of. Normally this would have bothered me, but in this situation, I realized that not only was none of this real, but I drew my own smug satisfaction that the only way they could ever beat me in a race was in a dream - especially one that involved an avalanche, near death encounters, and a mighty Range Rover. Sorry boys, maybe next time.

THE END