So I am on my way in the lower 48. I start in Seattle Washington, which is the North West corner of the country and besides being the home of Starbucks, Microsoft and Amazon was more importantly the locale for Frazier. One of the running gags in Frazier was that it was always raining and appropriately enough I run into rain for the first 40 kms. But then things change dramatically. The clouds clear and the wind springs up. Throughout the North West they have wildfires (bushfires). They think that it may end up being the worst fire season ever. By the time I get to the Columbia River (which is the fourth largest in the country with a drainage basin the size of France) visibility is in scientific terms, piss poor. I go over the Vantage bridge and then begins a steep climb. Up on this ridge the dust and smoke comes in waves. Sometimes you can see 50 metres in front of you. Sometimes you can just see the bonnet. The Interstate is full of cars. You are just relying on that the car in front of you keeps moving. As I get into some clearer air an announcement comes over the radio that the Vantage bridge is now closed because of high winds and poor visibility. This is something we share with this part of the world as it is very reminiscent of Black Saturday.
I don’t know if this really does it justice. This is the third day driving. By this time I’m in Idaho, but it is much the same across the West. You can’t see anything further than 50 metres.
I play in Spokane Washington. It is a goat track. On the second I slice. I don’t see some people on the third and nearly pick one of them up. “Sorry I didn’t see you” “That’s ok” Every hole has a portable toilet. This is a tad strange. Are they trying to appeal to the enlarged prostate set. “Throw away your incontinence pads we’ve got you covered”. Anyway on the third, I duck hook my second into one of these portables. When I get up there a lady emerges from the convenience. Her, “I thought someone had shot the can” Me “Sorry again”. I finish off the third. They are waiting for me. Her “You play through”, Me “You are just worried I’m going to get you”, Her “You are not wrong”. It is a par three. Just relax stupid. Duck hook fifty metres – drink. Second. Duck hook seventy metres – drink. Summoning what is left of my dignity I stride to the point of entry. Blade one into the pot. Then I have a bit of a bunker party followed by a few putts and I’m on my way. Driving back to the hotel I consider a change in course. Why couldn’t be it forty states of golf and for the last ten states I kill a periodontist in each. Gum disease, what a scam. I would be doing everyone a favour.
I decide to have another crack in Post Falls Idaho. Two chappies in front of me who I follow for the first nine offer to let me play through or join them for the second nine. I’ve got a 41 for the front. “No that’s ok, I’m playing alright following you fellows”. 42 for the back.I think to myself – I am better on my own, private in Idaho.
- The Bayonne Bleeder
50 States of golf 