I ring Baggage Central. “Yes Mr D – we have your bags!” Be still my beating heart. “We will send then over within the next 8 hours”. “Oh no, no, no, no. I’ll come and get them”. I go and get them. We cuddle – nothing too serious.
I need to find out if Steve is right about the travel insurance. I need the web. I try an Internet kiosk (unattended). $5 minimum – doesn’t work. I buy a tablet ($175) and buy $5 worth of internet access – doesn’t work. I find another Kiosk. Another $5. Doesn’t work.
Time to take a punt.
Catch the Skytrain to the Car Rental Centre and try a different provider – Dollar. Him “Are you interested in extra cover?” Me “No. I’ve got travel insurance”. Him “OK then”. OK then? It is that easy? (It is not that easy- but more of this tedious subject further on as I attempt to alienate everybody who doesn’t have keen interest in car rentals and insurance – a small minority, I’m sure).
So away I go………..
Driving on the right side is obviously weird, but the major hassle is putting on the windscreen wipers every time you want to change lanes or turn.
I need a GPS. Walmart. At every set of red lights, I yell at the driver next to me where the Walmart is at! (notice the adoption of the local idiom). Through this mode I find a Walmart.
Walmart’s Chris – “I’ve just noticed I’ve got my top on inside out”, Me “A fashion statement Chris”. Him “Damn right”.
After I tell Chris what I’m doing – Him, “My grandfather tried to teach me golf, but I couldn’t get into the swing of it”. Me, “You are going with that”. Him “It is not always gold”.
Another bizzare thing is the road kill. Instead of roos, wombats etc, it is armadillos. These crazy little prehistoric buggers are on their backs nearly every 100 metres.
I book into an Augusta Hotel and am greeted by the lovely Evelyn. Evelyn picks the accent straight away (she gets Aussies during the Masters) and thinks we all sound like the cast of Downton Abbey. She is under the impression that I’ll be demanding tea and crumpets and searching for rubbish bins everywhere. For the rest of my stay, I’m Lord Brian and she is Lady Evelyn.
That night I head out to the Outback Steakhouse. The Outback Steakhouse appears to have been designed by someone who saw Crocodile Dundee and watched Hoges’ commercials and thought that was an accurate representation of the world’s most urbanised nation. Despite the corniness of the whole thing, the food is good and the service is outstanding.
A young chappie bellies up to the bar. We natter. Him, “What are you doing here?” Me – I relate my normal story (which is starting to bore me rigid). Me – “You”. Him, “I’m a conditioning coach for a local Augusta side that is a feeder club for the San Francisco Giants”. Me, “How long are you here?”. Him, “Last night, tonight. I’ve got to get going soon – I’m off to Portland, Maine tomorrow – They’re another feeder team”. Me, “Sounds like a fantastic job – how did you get into it?” Him, “I used to play ball”. Me, “Oh, OK. – How far did you get?” Him, “I played MLB”. Me, “You were in the show?” Him, “Yeah”. Me, “Who for? What position did you play?” Him, “Colorado Rockies – I was the catcher”. Me, “Really, what happened? Him, “four shoulder reconstructions”. Me, “That is amazing! – you know they use new balls for batting practice in the show” (I’m a little pissed at this stage and thinking I’m pretty witty). Him, “I know Brian – I was there and I’ve seen Bull Durham”. After a time he disappears. I can’t remember if this happened after a manly emotional hug or if he nicked off when I was in the Comfort station.
Enter stage left, another gentleman. A black gentleman. He is drinking spirits. I’m drinking far too much. Our drunken conversation starts off far too maudlin – talking about his father’s dementia and the inevitability of death and our ever expanding prostates. As more grog is imbibed, we solve the U.S’s problems and once that is sorted, things get very silly, very funny and we get very drunk. At some stage I decide it is time to go. Him, “I didn’t get your name”. Me, “Brian, Yours?” Him, “Will”, Me “Will?”, Him, “Will, I am”. I am nearly convinced.
Day Three:
• Josh
• A very nervous practice range
• Dennis & Andy.
• 93- yeah that is right 93
• Rex
50 States of golf 