Wednesday, June 16, 2010

BloggeRhythms 6/16/201

Same old, same old in the news. So here's the rest of yesterday's story,"Paradise Walk."

When I returned to golf in later life, I still played public courses. Widowing my wife for Saturday mornings, sometimes Sundays too, I’d go off on my quest for par. And this time around, one of the things retirement and some business success allowed was travel.

For a Manhattan native, visiting golf courses in places where the game ought be played –such as the South, Caribbean, Western desert and coast, are awesome happenings. It seems resorts and recreation-focused communities reserve the choicest spots for golfers. Clubhouses, restaurants -and naturally the courses themselves- are showpieces, one outdoing the next, surrounding players and non alike with vistas seemingly associated somehow with heaven.

To this day I remember the first time I visited the Monterey Peninsula, down the coast from San Francisco. Though more than thirty years ago, specifics somewhat hazy, the overall specter of that occasion remains quite clear, in some part remarkably vivid.

The late morning was beautiful as my wife and I traveled 17 Mile Drive to sightsee. It was she who suggested we stop at The Lodge for lunch. I happily agreed, not for a moment considering golfing myself, yet fully aware of where we were headed -Pebble Beach, revered worldwide as a golfer’s Mecca. Site of some of the most famous rounds ever played by a “Who’s Who” of professional golf’s elite. Years ago, Arnie, then Jack, Johnny Miller, and so on.

Entering The Lodge, we found that if we were willing to wait a short while, a table would be available outside on the patio. Sounded good to us. The weather was perfect.

Inside the restaurant proper, I remember spying a huge buffet arrangement resplendent with just about every morsel one would wish to partake, thinking “This is going to be a memorable lunch.”

Soon taken to a table outside, my wife and I sat down side by side. A waiter came by, we ordered drinks, telling him we’d wait a few minutes before attacking the sumptuous feast.

It was then I realized the world famous 18th green was right there. One could almost reach out and touch it. I said to my wife, “We’ve got a few minutes dear, I just want to take a quick walk down to the green. After all, we’ve seen it so many times on television, it would be a shame to be so near and not see it live and close up for a moment.” Naturally, she agreed, ultra-amenable to children of all ages.

Loping down toward the green I noticed quite a few people with cameras, mostly Asian women, snapping shots, smiling happily, thoroughly enjoying the occasion. Picturesque landscape waited to be captured on film wherever they aimed their lenses.

Assuming the ladies to be waiting for their husbands to finish their rounds, I edged closer to the green itself, sure someone would soon shout, “Hey fella, only players allowed. Move on.” Oddly, no one did.

Standing in reverence a few moments longer, I glanced toward the tee of the long par five hole. Surf pounded on my right, the famous rocky cliff shearing off to the beach below. Though I’d viewed this vista on the small screen countless times, live it was beyond belief. And, back toward the tee, the lone tree that gave the best of the best in the game all sorts of fits loomed over the fairway. An awesome sight, indeed.

It was then I noticed a cart path off to the left. Why not walk a few yards down, nearer the famous tree, perhaps even glimpse the tee live and in natural color? No one had attempted to oust or arrest me yet.

Cautiously stepping down the path a ways, stopping to look around, since none showed up to evict me, I walked a bit further on. Though homes beyond description stood off to my left, I’d gladly have lived there in a tent, rinsing my golf clothes in a bucket of ice cold Pacific water.

I walked warily on, soon approaching the tee itself. I envisioned standing there on a final round Sunday, wind whipping across, waves pounding the beach, seals sunning on the rocks below, gallery holding its breath, my shot soaring into the air. Will it reach the fairway? That’s something I’ll never know. But, for that day, all alone without golf clubs, it was good enough for me.

Not having thought about it, I noticed the 17th green was quite close to the 18th tee. Why not trot over there quickly, glimpse another world-renowned hole? I’ll never be here again, I reasoned. At that green, I realized that, naturally, the perspective from the tee is quite different. Perhaps I should just take one fast peek.

As even many non-golfers know, courses are often called “links,” the various holes, like beads on a chain, following one another in succession. Thus, hole by hole, green to tee, I walked back along the Pebble Beach cart path, lost in a myriad of thoughts. In all, I really don’t remember how far I traveled. Back to fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, further that that? Perhaps.

Yet, along all that way, no one stopped me. More than that, I don’t recall seeing any players on the course that day at all. Maybe the golf Gods knew I was coming and wanted to be alone.

Sometime later, I made my way back, this time walking the few holes in proper order, again imagining the shots required from various spots, recollecting efforts of professionals I’d seen on my television screen.

Back at the Lodge, I found my wife not at our table, but standing off to the side. I said, “I’m sorry, why aren’t you sitting down? Did they bring our drinks yet?” She smilingly replied, “Oh yes. And the buffet was marvelous too.”
“The buffet? You’ve eaten already? By yourself?”
“Yes dear. But I had to get up, because they need to set the table for dinner. And we don’t have a reservation.”

To this day I don’t know how long I was gone when I wandered off to see the 18th green at Pebble Beach. And my patient, understanding mate never uttered a word about her abandonment by a self-serving, fully-grown brat. I suppose she realized that when one is given the chance to walk through the Pearly Gates to look around for a while, just to see what it’s like, one ought to go.

I’ve returned to The Lodge several times since, and yes, the food was truly outstanding. But offered the choice between those sumptuous meals and another walk beside those fairways, I’d gladly settle for stale bread and water…whenever it was I got back.

That's it for today folks.

Adios

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