Gnome in Chrome at Twilight

At twilight in Echoterra’s Copperwake Reach, chrome catches the last copper light and even a roadside café can become the start of an adventure. Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn arrives at the Twilight Rider’s Challenge with a polished chopper, a pocketful of pranks, and a powerful need to be remembered. When one of his tricks halts the ride, Grimble must decide whether he wants to be the gnome everyone talks about—or the one they are glad to see coming back.

The Challenge at Twilight

Grimble McThorn had spent years perfecting three things: the shine on his chrome, the curl of his mustache, and the little sideways grin that suggested he knew something you did not.

He had spent considerably less time learning when to stop.

His motorcycle, Rusty Thunder, stood outside the Cactus Cafe with its handlebars gleaming and its engine ticking itself cool. Grimble had polished the bike that afternoon until he could see his own helmet in the tank. He could also see the Copperwake sunset there: a long red-gold stripe, broken by the occasional cloud and, at the moment, his own pleased expression.

“A machine like this deserves an entrance,” he told the café window.

The window said nothing. The Cactus Cafe’s owner, a broad-shouldered gnome named Maribel, was carrying two trays through the door. She had a careful way of moving around the low tables that made Grimble think of a person who had learned exactly how much trouble one careless elbow could cause.

Inside, riders were gathering for the Twilight Rider’s Challenge at the Toad’s Last Sip. It was a local Copperwake rally: a marked route, a few friendly skills tests, and a closing supper where riders traded road stories. The event welcomed jokes and showmanship. The route itself had clear signals, posted markers, and one firm rule from the marshal: keep surprises off the road.

Grimble heard the first two things and missed the third.

He ordered coffee and a plate of tiny biscotti. While Maribel ducked into the kitchen, he fished a handful of jumping beans from his vest. The beans were harmless, he reasoned. They were also funny. He tipped them into the sugar jar and sat back to wait for the magic.

The magic arrived in the form of a hopping jar.

It jumped off the counter, bounced from a table, and scattered sugar across the floor. A second bean sent a saucer skittering beneath a chair. One biscotti made a determined leap into a boot. Nobody was hurt, but every person in the café had to scramble to catch something, and Maribel had to set down her tray to keep the hot coffee from joining the chase.

Grimble laughed first. Then he noticed Maribel’s expression: not furious, exactly, but tired in the way of someone who had just received a new job she had not asked for.

“It’s a good one,” he said, softer now.

“It would be,” Maribel replied, “if I had time to laugh before cleaning it up.”

Grimble started to offer a clever answer. Nothing came. He set down his coffee, picked up a broom, and helped sweep. It cost him ten minutes and the chance to make a dramatic departure. The rally would not wait, so he hurried toward Rusty Thunder with sugar still dusting one boot.

One Purple Cloud Too Many

The Copperwake road wound between sun-warmed rock shelves and scrubby silverbrush. By the time Grimble reached the Toad’s Last Sip, dusk had filled the gullies with blue shadow. Lanterns glowed under the tavern awning, and the rally riders were already checking their mirrors and testing their lights.

Marshal Brindle stood beside the route board, reviewing the final markers. She wore a copper sash and carried a whistle, a lantern, and the patient look of someone who had explained the same safety rule three times before supper.

“The riders’ route is open once the lamps are lit,” she called. “If you have a gag planned, save it for the yard. Nothing that blocks a signal or startles a rider.”

Grimble heard her. He even nodded. Then he spotted the little glass vial tucked into his saddlebag—the Mystic Smokescreen he had bought at a novelty stall. A sparkling purple puff, he thought, would make a perfect entrance. He would release it behind his bike, pull ahead, and appear through the haze like a legend.

He did not ask where the route markers were. He did not ask whether the wind would carry the smoke. He did not ask whether the marshal had finished lighting the lamps.

He uncorked the vial.

The purple cloud rose much faster than he expected. Twilight swallowed its edges; the breeze pushed it across the road, straight over two glowing route markers. A rider braked hard. Another pulled to the shoulder. Marshal Brindle blew her whistle, and the whole line stopped before anyone entered the obscured bend.

There was no crash. There was no injury. There was, however, a silent road, a dozen irritated riders, and Grimble sitting in the middle of his own grand entrance.

“I thought it would be funny,” he said.

“A clear marker is funny only if you have a strange sense of humor,” Marshal Brindle said. “It is also how everyone knows where to go.”

The words landed harder than a lecture because she did not raise her voice. Grimble looked past her to the riders waiting in the dim. They had trusted the markers. He had covered them for the sake of a gasp.

He swung off Rusty Thunder. “I’ll clear it. Tell me what you need.”

Marshal Brindle gave him a damp cloth and pointed to the marker lamps. Grimble wiped the haze from each glass, checked the reflective arrows, and helped relight one lantern that had gone out. The other riders stayed with the marshal while the road was checked. Nobody got a shortcut, and Grimble did not get to pretend the delay had been part of the show.

When the route was clear, Brindle let the riders choose whether to continue. A few had already decided the late start was not for them. The rest set off at a careful pace, with Grimble riding at the back beside the marshal’s sweep cart. His plan for a triumphant entrance had turned into a quiet job making sure the last lantern stayed lit.

A Punchline Everyone Could Share

The rally ended at the Toad’s Last Sip, later and quieter than Grimble had imagined. The café’s owner had come over with a tin of fresh biscotti, and Maribel accepted Grimble’s apology with a look that said she would be watching his hands near the sugar from now on.

“I’m sorry I made you clean up my joke,” he said. “I should have asked if it was funny to anyone else.”

“That would help,” she said. “So would replacing the jar.”

Grimble paid for the cracked sugar jar from the coins he had been saving for a new chrome horn. It was not the trade he had planned to make. It felt better than leaving with the old one.

Inside the tavern, the riders had gathered around a long table. The Ancient Troll’s Tankard sat at its center, a ceremonial stein so large that it made Grimble’s helmet look like a thimble. The story said it gave strength to anyone brave enough to lift it. The truth, as far as anyone could tell, was that it gave the table a very good reason not to wobble.

Grimble climbed onto a bench and raised the tankard with both hands. “Behold,” he declared, “the mightiest gnome alive!”

The tankard tipped. A harmless splash of cider slid down his sleeve and into one boot. Grimble froze, eyes wide, mustache drooping. The room held its breath.

He looked down at the wet boot. “I have conquered the beverage,” he announced. “It has taken my left foot hostage.”

This time the laughter came with him. Grimble bowed, slipped off the bench, and handed the tankard back before he could soak anybody else.

Marshal Brindle tapped the copper sash. “That,” she said, “was a safe place for a surprise.”

“I’m learning,” Grimble said. “Slowly. But with excellent timing.”

He did not win the rally’s riding challenge. He did win a place at the closing table, where the riders asked him to tell the tankard story again. He left the Cactus Cafe’s replacement jar on Maribel’s counter the next morning, along with an awkward note that read, “For the sugar. And the biscotti boot.”

By the next Twilight Rider’s Challenge, Grimble had built a small gag booth in the tavern yard. It had a sign, a broom, and a jar of beans that visitors could shake only after asking the person beside them. The road stayed clear. The jokes stayed where people could choose to join them. And Grimble discovered that being remembered was easy; giving everyone else a reason to smile took a little more care.

For more Echoterra roads and riders, explore Gnome on a Chrome Crusade and The Gnome and the Glittering Dragonfly. These are separate adventures and reading suggestions, not shared events in Grimble’s story.

Take the Copperwake sunset home with the original Gnome in Chrome at Twilight artwork, available on canvas, as a jigsaw puzzle, greeting card, and other formats. Choose the version that suits your wall, table, or next road-trip note; each keeps Grimble’s chrome and the Reach’s last light close by.

View the original watermarked artwork in the PhotoShelter archive.