Coming From Behind Ch. 03-04

We parted great friends and I was sorry to see the three of them board the bus to the airport. They had a noon flight to Vegas on Southwest and were looking forward to the bright lights and entertainment. Cal was with me when they left and he had a bit of a hang-dog look when Crystal waved goodbye. I think he was hoping their time together might have produced something more. Maybe it would.

He and I had a light lunch together and shook hands as I got ready to leave. I got my luggage from the concierge and stuffed it into the Audi, destination Sacramento. It was only a couple of hours away and I didn't have much ambition that afternoon, so I decided to take it easy. San Francisco could wait another day.

I'd been blessed with good weather for almost the entire trip. My car hadn't moved the entire time I was in Reno. It sat in the underground garage while we used the various shuttles, cabs and our feet to get from one place to another. I could feel some of my fitness coming back. Walking the course was easier and I was less tired at the end of a round. Luckily it wasn't hot in early May, and that helped as well. Just the same my only other exercise for the five days was with Ramona, so I needed to get back to my routine.

I found a really nice period hotel near "Old Sacramento" and checked in. They gave me a discount on a suite and I took them up on it. Why ... I don't know. I was only planning on being there for one night and I was going to be alone ... so why bother? What the hell ... I did it anyway.

When I tallied up my winnings from poker earlier that morning, I found I had added nearly six thousand dollars to my winnings. That was a lot of money but I couldn't resist when it was so easy to come by. Added to my eighteen thousand, I'd made almost twenty-four thousand dollars in five days. Of course, I wasn't counting the 30% that Uncle Sam took. Just the same, I had almost seventeen thousand tax-paid dollars I didn't have when I arrived in town. I put fifteen into my bank account and kept the rest for walking around money.

It was almost six when I finally summoned up the energy to look for a place to eat. The hotel dining room looked to be the easiest and closest but I decided I wanted something different from meat and potatoes. I walked down toward the old town before I found a nice looking Mexican restaurant that didn't look like a chain. I stopped right there and walked in.

"Negra Modelo, please," I requested from the waiter.

I remembered it was one of my favorite dark beers, along with Anchor's Brekle's Brown. I looked over the menu quickly, made an easy decision and sat back, expecting to enjoy myself.

I was still thinking about the past week ... just how much I had enjoyed being with Ramona and her friends. It had been good for me in several ways. Companionship for sure. It was something I had been doing without for too long and I was reminded that I wanted to do something about that. But first, I had to settle somewhere. Not too many women want to be with a nomad.

It was good to get out and play golf. I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed the game and I wanted to play more ... a lot more. I was also very lucky, I knew. The money from the casino was a windfall and wouldn't really change much for me. I was in no real need of money at present. It was just nice not to have to worry about it and feel free to do whatever I wanted to do.

The only question was where I should be doing it.

It was an hour-and-a-half from Sacramento to San Francisco on a Saturday morning. I'd called ahead the night before and was happy to get a room at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel. I'd heard a lot about this place and I thought I would splurge and stay there for at least two nights. There weren't any specials on at that hotel.

When I arrived in my room I quickly checked the public play golf courses and decided to try the Presidio. The virtual fly-over on my laptop showed a course with a lot of different holes, few of which were on level ground. I thought it would be a good test to see how far I'd progressed after a few games.

I phoned the pro shop and while they wouldn't give me a time, they were confident I wouldn't have any trouble hooking up with another two or three players. I decided to go early the next morning to get off as soon as I could. I didn't count on the temperature being a lot cooler than I had become used to. The pro shop was happy to sell me a sweater ... again at no discount.

I joined another threesome of men, not much older than me. They claimed to have handicaps in the fifteen to twenty range. I decided to play to a ten which was probably generous on my part. Right off the bat they wanted to let me know what we were playing for. Ten dollar Nassau and five each on the par threes for closest to the pin. Side bets were strictly individual. I shrugged. I was in their foursome so I played along.

Just short of four hours later I was a hundred and five dollars richer. Either their handicaps were imaginary or all three of them had a particularly bad game. I played two shots over my stated ten handicap with an eighty four and felt good about my game. It was a tough course, its rating being 72.3 for a par 72. I had to re-learn a bunch of shots I'd forgotten all about, including side-hill lies, blind approaches, and narrow, heavily treed fairways.

We parted after I bought the required drink in the lounge and headed back to the parking lot. It was just past one pm and I decided to stick around the city and play tourist. After a streetcar ride past the Embarcadero I ended up at Fisherman's Wharf. I guess this is what the tourists were looking for. Lots of little shops with all kinds of souvenirs and trinkets. I chose instead a pub with a view of the Bay and nursed a couple of beers before returning to the hotel. I guess I wasn't in the tourist mood after all.

I cancelled my second night and took off the next morning for Mendocino County on the northern coast. I stayed at the Little River Inn and played their seaside course the next day, before heading off to Oregon a day later. I got lucky and got a room at Bandon Dunes Golf Resort and had no trouble picking up a game the next morning. This time, though, it was a real challenge for me. Wind off the ocean and a genuine links course were both relatively new to me.

I consulted the assistant pro for some advice and he made it plain. First, take a caddy. They know the course and will steer you in the right direction. Second, forget the big drive. Play to stay in play. He called it target golf and after a couple of holes, I knew exactly what he meant. The three men I was playing with were also visitors staying at a local motel and this was their third round in three days. They said every day had been different and, while it frustrated them at times, it was a great lesson in controlling their swing and their ambitions.

My playing partners had only one caddy carrying two bags. I'd never had a caddy before, but within three holes I was glad I decided to this time. The boys talked about a legendary female caddy, but apparently she was in high demand and wasn't available that morning. As the story went, she was very attractive and capable of carrying two bags. To top it off, she was a pretty damn good golfer in her own right.

I shot an eighty-seven and felt like I'd got as much out of my game as I was able. I found I was adapting constantly to both the wind and the course, often guessing at yardages when factoring in the wind. Again, my caddy kept me from making any big mistakes. One thing was for certain, the rough was truly rough. There were no magic escapes the way you might on some carefully manicured course. You learned to take your lumps and get on with it.

I was one of the losers this time and the winner looked after the post game drinks as expected. We chatted about the course and just how much it challenged us. We all agreed that our regular courses were a whole hell of a lot easier on both our psyche and our scores. I happily bought a second round in thanks for having three true gentlemen as playing companions.

The next morning, again on the advice of the assistant pro, I was off north toward Lincoln City and the famous Salishan Resort. I had phoned ahead and made a reservation for two nights, knowing it wasn't a long drive into Portland from there. I stopped on the way at The Devils Punchbowl near Depoe Bay and got quite a spectacular viewing as the surf pounded into the huge cavern, spewing foam and water up through the top opening.

A few minutes later I was at Salishan. I checked in before exploring the area. Lincoln City was very much dedicated to tourists with a big Casino on the north end, any number of restaurants, art and artisan galleries and, of course, beachcombing. It was early in the season so it wasn't very crowded during a weekday, even on a Friday. Apparently, the visitors were expected to arrive that evening, most of them from Portland or Salem, while Oregon State University wasn't far away. Partying students were not unusual although it was exam time and almost their year end.

Since the next day would be a Saturday, I talked to the pro shop who suggested to come quite early or else wait until later in the afternoon. Either one would give me the best chance of getting on quickly. I chose to be early. I was still operating on Chicago time in some ways. I always had been an early riser so maintaining that, even on this road trip, wasn't difficult.

The pro shop opened at six o'clock and I made sure I was up and ready to go by then. Unfortunately, the restaurant wasn't open until six and I had to make do with what I could scrounge from vending machines and my little bar fridge. There would be some food at the turn I was told, so I had to hold out until then. A couple of energy bars, an orange juice and some water would have to do me.

I picked up a twosome almost right away, quickly enough that I barely had time to stretch and limber up. The air was cool and crisp and I was glad I now had a sweater. I was matched with two older gentlemen who always played early and preferred it that way. I introduced myself and they politely acknowledged me. I didn't hear of any bets and the men claimed to be eighteen and twenty-two handicap players. I was continuing to play to a ten which I thought was more than reasonable.

I found the course to be like many resort courses, not too difficult. It was there to show off the scenery, the greenery, and still give the players a chance to enjoy it without too much pain. I shot a very tidy eighty and felt good about it. Most of my drives found the fairway and my improving short game was coming around to where I could begin to rely on it.

My two companions played to their handicaps and we had a very pleasant three-and-a-half hours. We were almost first off and had no hold-up at all, even on the par threes. It was a treat to play a round that quickly. At the end of the game we had coffee while I added a breakfast. It was still not quite ten am. I thanked the two gentlemen, telling them how much I appreciated their company. They complimented me on my game and we parted.

I had one more night booked at the resort, so that afternoon I did a little exploring, heading up to Cannon Beach and wandering along the shore near the big Haystack Rocks. I stopped in Tillamook and joined a group of tourists on a tour of a cheese factory. Apparently their cheese is famous. When I thought how close I lived to Wisconsin all those years and never took the time to do the touristy things I had to chuckle. All it took was a little free time and some curiosity.

I dined at the lodge that evening, knowing I would be tired from the early wakeup that morning. I had already decided I would head for Hillsboro, a western suburb of Portland. The assistant pro at Bandon Dunes had recommended Pumpkin Ridge as a good test of golf. Apparently it had hosted a number of tournaments in the past. It was thirty-six holes, eighteen private and eighteen public. The public course was called Ghost Creek.

When I arrived mid-afternoon Sunday, I inquired at the pro-shop about playing on Monday and was told I shouldn't have any problem picking up a game within a few minutes. That was good enough for me. I strolled out of the shop and noticed a fairly large practice range, complete with bunkers and a pitching area. I went back into the shop and asked if I could use the range and they were kind enough to give me an okay for the price of a bucket of balls.

I pulled my clubs out of the car and carried them over to the range. As a last second afterthought, I pulled the three iron out of the wagon and stuffed it into my bag. I had been playing around it, hooding a four or choking a five wood. I wondered if my improving game might not have cured my phobia for this club.

I began to hit some seven irons, then some fours, finally summoning up the courage to pull the three out of the bag. I wish I hadn't. Again, a few good shots, followed by one or two absolutely horrible swings. Nothing had changed. The curse was still with me. When I finished the bucket, I went back into the pro shop and asked the attendant about hybrid clubs.

For the next ten minutes I got chapter and verse about their development, their strengths and weaknesses, and why one club would be better than another. I ended up surrendering to new technology and looked at a 21˚ Adams. He'd taped off the face and we went out to the range with a dozen balls. I warmed up again, then stepped up made my swing.

I don't ever recall hitting a three iron that well in my life. Not just the length and straightness, but the height. By the time I'd hit five shots, all pretty much identical to each other, I tore the tape off the face and told the pro he'd made a sale. I spent another small bucket of balls learning to shape some shots with it. I had found the silver bullet. I was going to be unbeatable now ... or so I thought.

I couldn't find a hotel up to the standards that I had been spoiling myself with, so I headed for Beaverton, home of Nike. I struck out here, not because there weren't any rooms available but because they just didn't measure up to what I was looking for. I used my laptop to search for hotels in the area and saw an Embassy Suites in Tigard, almost next to Beaverton. I'd stayed in them many times and while it wasn't luxurious, I was always satisfied. I called and booked a room for three nights.

When I checked in, I was pleased with the location. It was along side a large shopping center and several restaurants. It had full exercise/fitness facilities, free wireless and the usual Embassy Suites features. This would do fine. I was still only a few minutes from Pumpkin Ridge.

The young pro shop manager had suggested I come out between nine and ten on Monday morning. The early birds would be gone and the usual players would be just beginning to arrive. He would try and match me with some players who would be near my skills. He was pleased that I had listened to him on the hybrid and purchased exactly what he recommended.

I arrived at Pumpkin Ridge just after nine the next morning and checked into the pro shop. I paid the green fees and picked up a dozen Titleists. I hadn't lost more than a couple on this trip, but they were getting a little worn. So to honor my new club I decided to treat it and my others to some new friends.

I waited for almost forty minutes until I was called to the first tee. I was in a foursome with two men and one woman. The woman was young, in her mid-twenties I thought, while the two men were perhaps a little older than me. The men claimed to be a seven and a ten while the woman said she would play scratch.

"Scratch?" I asked. "Are you serious?"

"She gave me a big smile and said, "I have a LPGA card. What tees are you playing?"

The two men said blues, so I turned back to the woman. "What would you prefer?"

"The blues aren't that long. I'm okay with them," she said.

"Great ... I'm with you."

"I'm Catherine ... and you are?"

"Terry Monahan," I said, shaking her extended hand. "Nice to meet you Catherine. Are you a playing pro?"

"I have been. I've not been on the regular tour this year. I wasn't playing well and I lost what sponsorship I had. Now I have to decide what to do. Try again, or go on to something else."

"That's pretty honest of you," I suggested. "It will be interesting to play with you today. I've never had the privilege of playing with a tour professional before."

"Well, don't go trying to compete, Terry. I'm a member here. I know this course and it'll eat you up if you get too aggressive. I'll be happy to give you some suggestions if you like."

"That would be great. I can use all the help I can get. Thank you," I smiled.

I decided to stick with my ten handicap. I noticed the course rating was 73.8 from the pro tees and 71.4 from the blues, so I expected it to be tough.

"Where are you from, Terry?" she asked as we waited for the group ahead to move on toward the green.

"Chicago lately. I was born and brought up in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Went to school at Penn State, then Wharton for my MBA. Got a job in Chicago doing mergers and acquisitions. Burned out after ten years so I bailed and sold out, packed the car and headed west. That's the short history," I said simply.

"No wife or girlfriend?" she asked.

"Ex-wife. I chose my job ahead of her so she chose to be single again. One of those lessons I hope I don't repeat."

"Sorry ... I didn't mean to pry."

"It's been five years, Catherine. I've pretty much stopped kicking myself over it. The stupid part was that I still didn't learn that the job wasn't the only thing in my life. When I finished a big project recently I knew I was done. It was just a matter of the formalities. So here I am pretending to be a golf bum and looking for a place to land."

"This is a great part of the country to live, Terry. You can play golf all year around if you don't mind a little rain and cold. Green all year and pretty nice people too," she said brightly.

"You sound like you work for the visitor's bureau," I kidded. "I take it you're a local."

"Pretty close. I was born and brought up in Eugene. Earned a golf scholarship to Oregon, then turned pro and went on the tour. Had a decent rookie year, a not so hot second year, better third, and lousy fourth. My best finish was a third in the third year. I had four top tens in four years ... not exactly Hall of Fame material. So ... now I have to make a decision," she said with a rueful smile.

"I wonder how many young women who played golf in college ever got the opportunity to play on the tour. It may not have been an award winning four years but it was four years most of your contemporaries never experienced"

She gave me a big smile. "Thanks. I guess I should be grateful. It's just that I had great expectations and they never happened."

The two men deferred to Catherine to play first and she promptly walked up to the tee box, set the ball on the tee, took a couple of practice swings, and then proceeded to smack her drive down the right center about 260 or so yards. She stepped off the tee with a smile while the three of us guys just shook our heads. We'd be lucky to be any farther than that.

I went next and had to remind myself that it wasn't a driving contest. I hit my usual drive and ended up a little right of Catherine's and five or six yards short. Not bad. The two men followed and one hit his drive into the left rough, ten yards past Catherine, while the other was down the middle but twenty yards short of her.

The hole was listed at 392 yards and straight away with few traps but fairly narrow. Bill, the shorter of our group, hit first, choosing a six iron and hitting it left but on the green. I was next with an eight iron and was happy to see it fly straight at the center of the green and land softly. I had a putt of ten feet for a birdie, a damn fine way to start a round.