A trip to Middle-earth

Who says travel has to be to real places? Over the weekend, I trekked to Middle-earth. Yes, I'm a geek. I convinced a fellowship of my friends and family members, several quite skeptical, to accompany me to the land of hobbits, wizards, Rings of Power and pipeweed. Over the course of 12 hours, we watched Peter Jackson's film trilogy adaptation of JRR Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings."

I even wrote a guidebook for the uninitiated. Sample entries: “No, no, not Keebler elves nor Santa’s helpers, Tolkien’s elves are full-sized, uber beings, immortal and little detached/arrogant, but with silver quickness and electrified senses”; and “Innocent, honest, well-meaning Frodo agrees to take the Ring but to where or for what he’s not sure. Just good buddies with Sam, or is there something more to their relationship? Hmmm...”

We made it through “The Fellowship of the Ring,” broke for beer and lembas waybread, then plowed through “The Two Towers.” But at about 1am, an hour into “The Return of the King,” our merry band of adventurers conked out. And dreamed of that other, possibly better world, that we’d like to tramp across, with our hairy little feet.