Play in Marshall (of “We are Marshall” fame). I planned to play at Cypress Pines in Marshall, but there is no one there. Everything is locked up. So Jill GPS takes me to Marshall Municipal, the only other course in Marshall. I talk to the old bloke behind the jump and tell him about Cypress Pines. “Oh yup. The good courses close on Mondays”. They do? OK then Marshall Municipal it is then. The Green fees should have been a giveaway. $10 with cart for 18! “Go around twice if you like”. Oh dear.
I honestly believe this was someone’s non producing paddock and during the imbibing of some moonshine, some version of the following conversation took place. “I’m telling you Bobby Joe I seen these Yankees hitting a ball around some paddocks and on some grass cut real close and they charge these folks (folks dressed in pants held up by belts, not ropes mind you – you know real hi-falutin folks) actual money. So after tethering Lulu the goat for a day or two in 18 different places around this god forsaken place, Marshall Municipal was born. I play some rubbish golf and get out of Dodge (well Marshall).
I drive from Texas to Oklahoma. Outside of Texarkana I notice that to the west it appears to be night time even though it is only 4pm. It is the blackest storm I have ever seen. Luckily, it looks like I’m going to skirt around it. I don’t skirt around it. The car in front of me (with hazard lights flashing) is doing 20 kmh and I’m hanging on 10 – 15 metres behind (with hazard lights flashing, as is a car behind me. In spite of being this close, a number of times I can’t see the car in front. It is simply too dark and the rain, well I was going to say bucketing down, but it is beyond this – at times, I’m submerged. There are only tiny shoulders on the road so you can’t pull over as this would even be more dangerous. Fork lightning appears to be dancing around the car creating momentary whiteouts, followed by thunder that literally rocks the car. You can only hang on – pushing through – anything else would be chaos. The cars might be doing 20 kmh the B Doubles don’t seem notice the slightly inclement weather and are happily pushing through at 100 kmh. Gets it over one way or the other quicker I suppose. This goes on and on and on for 40 minutes and then blue sky. I pull into the next town. Apparently what we just went through was “a little un”. Nothing like what they got last week. So as far as near to death experiences go, not much to worry about.
Still
You frequently see Sheriff’s cars as you travel about. This gives me a chance to practice my American accent as I drive. Perhaps I’m going a little stir crazy, but I’m doing a lot of driving and I have already explained the problem with Radio Ga Ga. So channeling my inner Walter Brennan “That’s the fuck’n Sheriff boy! You are in a lot of trouble boy. You killed that man back in Tucson boy!” So imagine my surprise at the irony of the Sheriff with lights ablaze looming in the rear view mirror. That’s the fuck’n Sheriff boy! I look at the speedo – 85 mph – “You are in a lot of trouble boy”. From my observations, Americans don’t seem to regard them as speed limits, but rather speed suggestions. What I hadn’t properly processed was that you often saw cars pulled over by the boys in fawn. A correlation between the frequency of cars being pulled over and the number of cars whizzing by me hadn’t sunk in.
“Good Afternoon Sir. Do you realise you were doing 85 in a 65 zone?” 20 mph over – that’s about 30-35 ks over. If I was back home Denis Napthine would be very pleased . 6 points? Court appearance? At least a lot of strife. “I’m sorry Officer, it was just dumb, I wasn’t paying attention. “Could I have your insurance and your licence sir?”. Insurance? Not this again. “It’s a rental-so I have got the agreement”. I pulled the agreement out from behind the visor. I had seen this in cop shows and it looked cool so that is why I put it there. Never thinking I would actually have to show it to a sheriff. “You’re an Australian?” “Yup”. “May I see your passport please?” “No worries”. ”Are you even allowed to drive here?”. “I believe so”. He said this the same as you would expect him to say “So you are a Martian – from Mars and you say you can drive here?” “ I never come across an Australian (Martian) before” “Mexicans have endorsements on their licences. Humph. I have it to check this out – you wait right there” After 10 minutes he comes back. “How long have you been driving around the United States” “A few weeks” “A few weeks – Well you should know we have speed limits here. I want you to take it easy from now on and I’m going to let you go with a warning” A warning can you imagine a Vic copper doing that if you were 6 ks over the limit let alone 30-35 over. How great is that! A warning , well I’ll be buggered. I love Sheriffs.
Apropos of nothing – Just that I found it amusing – I’m wearing a t shirt that says “Champion Rochester 1919” it reminds me what happened in New York just before I came down here. I am walking past Central Park (wearing said shirt) concentrating on trucking right (10 cc obviously had a profound effect on me) and I pass two large black chaps selling something or other. First chap “Ohhh it is Rocky Balboa”. Second Chap “Well Champion! Mister Balboa! Ask yourself this! Can you kick my ass?” We all laugh heartily. Well them heartily, me – slightly high pitched and nervously. What are the odds of me wearing my Rocky t shirt (that I had never thought of as my Rocky t shirt previously) and running into Apollo Creed and Clubber Lang? And I’m not even in Philly?
• 70 going on 35
• Gollum after he drank too much red cordial
50 States of golf 