So, I'm playing at Buckhorn today, and I had one of those Bizarro rounds. You konw, when you do well on all the hard holes and poorly on the easy ones.
I took a 6 (+3 over average on hole 7). Other deviations--from the normal.
Hole 9 (OB penalty) +0.7 over average.
Hole 12 -1 over average
Hole 15 +1.2 over average.
That's quite a deviation from a 12 round average.
Oddly enough, my total score (57) was the average of my last 12 rounds, so overall I did the same, even though I did not do what I usually do on most of the holes.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Anniversary Disc Golf Musings
So Cindy and I went away this weekend to celebrate our 17th wedding anniversary; what better way than some disc golf. Played Valley Springs, UNC, and Cornwallis.
We scored a 55 at VS and at UNC.
The odd thing that happened was that be played doubles at Cornwallis, an easier course, and threw par (54). I played a second round, singles, and shot a -7 (47). I hadn't played the course more than once in the last two years, so I guess I just needed to refamiliarize myself with distances and lay out. Even so, I think a seven stroke difference between rounds on the same course on the same day is a bit flukey.
We scored a 55 at VS and at UNC.
The odd thing that happened was that be played doubles at Cornwallis, an easier course, and threw par (54). I played a second round, singles, and shot a -7 (47). I hadn't played the course more than once in the last two years, so I guess I just needed to refamiliarize myself with distances and lay out. Even so, I think a seven stroke difference between rounds on the same course on the same day is a bit flukey.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood (481)
And here let me interrupt the conversation to remark upon the great mistake of teaching children that they have souls. The consequence is, that they think of their souls as of something which is not themselves. For what a man has cannot be himself. Hence, when they are told that their souls go to heaven, they think of their selves as lying in the grave. They ought to be taught that they have bodies; and that their bodies die; while they themselves live on [....] It is making altogether too much of the body, and is indicative of an evil tendency to materialism, that we talk as if we possessed souls, instead of being souls. We should teach out children to think no more of their bodies when dead then they do of their hair when it is cut off, or of their old clothes when they have done with them.
This passage is full of a lot of wisdom. I wonder if there is any way for us who have been taught to think in the way described to unlearn our pattern of thinking and escape some of the influences of materialism. If we could, certainly the fear of death, even in Christian circles, might be lessened.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Apologia Pro Vita Sua (70-80)
For some reason it took me a long time to get through this section.
This passage has provided a lot of contemplation. The question I've been thinking about is whether this sort of ambiguity is a good thing or not.
In some lectures on American history, I've heard the Constitution celebrated as this sort of document--one that was necessarily ambiguous as a means of forging unity amongst participants while leaving open important issues dealing with currently unresolvable conflicts.
On the flip side, I've heard arguments that the failure to address key differences allows the status quo to remain or makes changing injustices more difficult. One issue that the Constitution deals with is that of slavery. I see the current situation in the church dealing with issues of sexual orientation as one in which this ambiguity is ceasing to be a good thing, in part because polarized sides do not want things left ambiguous; they want them settled in their favor.
I've been involved in institutions where policies were similarly broad--use "discretion" when watching movies, don't make political remarks about subjects unrelated to class discussion...sometimes these work, sometimes they don't. What's related to class discussion? How is it determined (and by whom), whether discretion has been used?
Newman says later in the same chapter that he has come to dislike "understandings." It seems to me that policies or principles of this sort work if there is an understanding between parties of what is intentionally left vague and why--and a reciprocal agreement to not push the point, even when the opposing side is in violation of some principle consistent with how you interpret the understanding. These understandings are a way, perhaps, of agreeing to disagree for the time being and to proceed in other areas in the hopes that an agreement can be reached dealing with the problem area later on.
As with all understandings, this sort of codified understanding gives more power to the status quo than the minority, I think.
The Articles are 'evidently framed on the principle of leaving open large questions on which the controversy hinges. They state broadly extreme truths, and are silent about their adjustment. For instance, they say that all necessary faith must be proved from Scripture but do not say who is to prove it. They say, that the Church has authority in controversies; the do not say what authority. They say that it may enforce nothing beyond Scripture, but do not say where the remedy lies when it does. They say the works before grace and justification are worthless and worse, and that works after grace and justification are acceptable, but they do not speak at all of works with God's aid before justificaiton. They say that men are lawfully called and sent to minister and preach who are chosen and called by men who have public authority given them in the Congregation; but they do not add by whom the authority is to be given. They say that Councils called by princes may err; they do not determine whehter Councils called in the name of Christ may err.'
This passage has provided a lot of contemplation. The question I've been thinking about is whether this sort of ambiguity is a good thing or not.
In some lectures on American history, I've heard the Constitution celebrated as this sort of document--one that was necessarily ambiguous as a means of forging unity amongst participants while leaving open important issues dealing with currently unresolvable conflicts.
On the flip side, I've heard arguments that the failure to address key differences allows the status quo to remain or makes changing injustices more difficult. One issue that the Constitution deals with is that of slavery. I see the current situation in the church dealing with issues of sexual orientation as one in which this ambiguity is ceasing to be a good thing, in part because polarized sides do not want things left ambiguous; they want them settled in their favor.
I've been involved in institutions where policies were similarly broad--use "discretion" when watching movies, don't make political remarks about subjects unrelated to class discussion...sometimes these work, sometimes they don't. What's related to class discussion? How is it determined (and by whom), whether discretion has been used?
Newman says later in the same chapter that he has come to dislike "understandings." It seems to me that policies or principles of this sort work if there is an understanding between parties of what is intentionally left vague and why--and a reciprocal agreement to not push the point, even when the opposing side is in violation of some principle consistent with how you interpret the understanding. These understandings are a way, perhaps, of agreeing to disagree for the time being and to proceed in other areas in the hopes that an agreement can be reached dealing with the problem area later on.
As with all understandings, this sort of codified understanding gives more power to the status quo than the minority, I think.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
The Man Who Planted Trees...
...is a really fine animated short film.
I especially liked the line about the man's "magnificent and consttant generosity."
We tend to think of magnificent generosity in terms of the size of any single donation of money or other resources. There is something equally magnificent about constant service, about slow and steady faithfullness.
I especially liked the line about the man's "magnificent and consttant generosity."
We tend to think of magnificent generosity in terms of the size of any single donation of money or other resources. There is something equally magnificent about constant service, about slow and steady faithfullness.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
In Memoriam of a Professor, Colleague, Friend
Yesterday I received notice that my former professor, Gustaaf Van Cromphout passed away due to a brain hemorrhage.
Gustaaf's knowledge was immense, but his generosity of spirit was even greater. I have never met a man who was so learned and yet so humble (in the true way that Lewis describes in Screwtape--not a false humility but rather a lack of concern for personal glory.) I had 5 or 6 classes with him in graduate school, and I used to say that if he taught a class in the New York City Phone Book I would take it--and learn more in it than in any other!
He served as a reader on my dissertation and never failed to be supportive. Once, I shared with him that it could be slightly disheartening to take a class with someone whose breadth of knowledge so far exceeded my own that it could make me feel as though I could never "catch up." He asked me how old, I was, smiled, and said, "I have a few years on you, Kenneth [he always called me Kenneth], when you reach my age, you will know all the things I know..." It was such a typical reply, affirming, challenging, teaching.
Once, at an MLA conference, I spoke to a participant who did not know me and only knew him by his books say, "Well if you have Van Cromphout for a professor, you probably understand [Melville and Emerson] better than I do."
The day after I passed my candidacy exams, I greeted him in the department office and he pulled me to one side, awkwardly asking me to come by his office later. I spent most of the morning in fear, wondering if there had been some last minute problem found with my dissertation. When I got there, he looked somewhat embarrassed, took off his glasses and said, "You know, Kenneth, I did not want to say anything in the office where there were other students around, but you called me Dr. Van Cromphout this morning, and now that you have defended your dissertation, you should really call me Gustaaf." It was at that moment, more so than getting the actual degree, that I realized I had crossed some academic or professoinal threshold.
I last saw Gustaaf in March, when I was at NIU to give a paper at their conference. He came in on a Saturday because he saw I was on the program and wanted to say hello. He spoke of how few of the faculty were still there from my time of study, how much he missed some of his own colleagues who had moved or passed on. We chatted briefly, and I hugged him gently, careful of his burgeoning arthritis, honored that he would come to see me almost a full decade after I had graduated.
Afir Nafisi said that leaving a place always brings grief because we mourn for the person we were while we were there, knowing we will never be that person again. Perhaps part of my own grief is the realization that a place and time that were instrumental in my own life have now dramatically changed and past. But that is only a part. We did not keep in constant contact, so he wasn't exactly a mentor. He was--and still is--my role model, I guess. Even though we didn't communicate regularly, I am surprised (though perhaps I should not be) how much it saddens and hurts me to think that he is no longer there.
Gustaaf's knowledge was immense, but his generosity of spirit was even greater. I have never met a man who was so learned and yet so humble (in the true way that Lewis describes in Screwtape--not a false humility but rather a lack of concern for personal glory.) I had 5 or 6 classes with him in graduate school, and I used to say that if he taught a class in the New York City Phone Book I would take it--and learn more in it than in any other!
He served as a reader on my dissertation and never failed to be supportive. Once, I shared with him that it could be slightly disheartening to take a class with someone whose breadth of knowledge so far exceeded my own that it could make me feel as though I could never "catch up." He asked me how old, I was, smiled, and said, "I have a few years on you, Kenneth [he always called me Kenneth], when you reach my age, you will know all the things I know..." It was such a typical reply, affirming, challenging, teaching.
Once, at an MLA conference, I spoke to a participant who did not know me and only knew him by his books say, "Well if you have Van Cromphout for a professor, you probably understand [Melville and Emerson] better than I do."
The day after I passed my candidacy exams, I greeted him in the department office and he pulled me to one side, awkwardly asking me to come by his office later. I spent most of the morning in fear, wondering if there had been some last minute problem found with my dissertation. When I got there, he looked somewhat embarrassed, took off his glasses and said, "You know, Kenneth, I did not want to say anything in the office where there were other students around, but you called me Dr. Van Cromphout this morning, and now that you have defended your dissertation, you should really call me Gustaaf." It was at that moment, more so than getting the actual degree, that I realized I had crossed some academic or professoinal threshold.
I last saw Gustaaf in March, when I was at NIU to give a paper at their conference. He came in on a Saturday because he saw I was on the program and wanted to say hello. He spoke of how few of the faculty were still there from my time of study, how much he missed some of his own colleagues who had moved or passed on. We chatted briefly, and I hugged him gently, careful of his burgeoning arthritis, honored that he would come to see me almost a full decade after I had graduated.
Afir Nafisi said that leaving a place always brings grief because we mourn for the person we were while we were there, knowing we will never be that person again. Perhaps part of my own grief is the realization that a place and time that were instrumental in my own life have now dramatically changed and past. But that is only a part. We did not keep in constant contact, so he wasn't exactly a mentor. He was--and still is--my role model, I guess. Even though we didn't communicate regularly, I am surprised (though perhaps I should not be) how much it saddens and hurts me to think that he is no longer there.
"If I am sorrowful," I said, "God lives none the less." And His will is better than mine, yea, is my hidden and perfected will. In Him is my life. His will be done.
--George MacDonald; Annals of A Quiet Neighborhood (410)
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince
My favorite line from the book...
"[...] anyway, love potions aren't Dark or dangerous..."
Not dangerous indeed.
"[...] anyway, love potions aren't Dark or dangerous..."
Not dangerous indeed.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
More from Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood
When a man thinks it is such a fine thing to have done right, he might almost as well have done wrong, for it shows he considers right something extra, not absolutely essential to human existence, not the life of a man (283).
An apt description of pride. MacDonald inverts many typical judgments in his books, showing how those attitudes and behaviors that we often justify or think of as less egregious can be even more destructive than the social behaviors we often judge more harshly.
Certainly one has no right to say what God is going to do with anyone till he knows it beyond a doubt [....] I mean we must take care of presumption when we measure God's plans by our theories (291).
The frequency with which we substitute our own judgments and assumptions for the will of God is one of the largest problems I see. It is so easy to think "God said" or "God wants" when what we mean is, "I think this must be what God..."
And I left the shop somewhat consoled for the pain I had given Catherine, which grieved me without making me sorry that I had occasioned it (295).
"Sorry" is one of those cheap words today, like Beonhoeffer's phrase, "cheap grace." Grieved is an interesting word choice here, implying a choice in how we think of things that is so often lacking in modern relationships.
For what I was delighted to be made sure of was that Tom at least knew that he did not know. For that is the very next step to knowing. Indeed, it may be said to be a more valuable gift than the other, being of general appliaction; for some quick people will understand many things very easily, but when they come to a thing that is beyond their present reach, will fancy they see a meaning in it, or invent one, or even--which is far worse--pronounce it nonsense; and, indeed, show themselves capable of any device for getting out of the difficulty except seeing and confessing to themselves that they are not able to understand it (297).
The thing that interests me here is MacDonald's claim that pronouncing it "nonsense" is far worse than even inventing a meaning. By this, I take him to mean that such an action can too easily become habit and make it difficult for us to ever learn from anything that is not easily accessible.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Holding onto Summer
Well faculty orientation is tomorrow, so I had to use my last full day of freedom to go to Raleigh and play Cedar Hills and Kentwood.
CH is one of my 5 favorite courses, but I confess I've been finding myself disatisfied with it the last few times I've played. Perhaps this is just displaced disatisfaction at myself for not being better, or perhaps it is just a fact that one's attitude towards a course changes depending on how often one plays it. Seems like when I first played Kentwood, I had played more wooded courses and thus the fairways seemed wide. Now I've played more open courses and things are a bit tighter.
Then again, maybe it's just more frustrating to hit a tree when you know that you could otherwise reach a hole than it is when you know that you would be struggling to get par anyway.
I shot a 57 at CH and a 49 at Kentwood. Had a chance to go 48, but bogeyed Hole 17. (A Kentwood bogey, bleh).
It's fun to shoot a low score, but sometimes I wonder if Kentwood is not bad for my game. It's all drive and putt. I rarely find myself with a new look or different approach. Sure is fun, though.
CH is one of my 5 favorite courses, but I confess I've been finding myself disatisfied with it the last few times I've played. Perhaps this is just displaced disatisfaction at myself for not being better, or perhaps it is just a fact that one's attitude towards a course changes depending on how often one plays it. Seems like when I first played Kentwood, I had played more wooded courses and thus the fairways seemed wide. Now I've played more open courses and things are a bit tighter.
Then again, maybe it's just more frustrating to hit a tree when you know that you could otherwise reach a hole than it is when you know that you would be struggling to get par anyway.
I shot a 57 at CH and a 49 at Kentwood. Had a chance to go 48, but bogeyed Hole 17. (A Kentwood bogey, bleh).
It's fun to shoot a low score, but sometimes I wonder if Kentwood is not bad for my game. It's all drive and putt. I rarely find myself with a new look or different approach. Sure is fun, though.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Apologia Pro Vita Sua (58-69)
This section was a bit drier for me, but there were still a few profitable passages for contemplation. Most of these dealt with the question of tone in the rhetoric that Newman recalls in dealing with the tract movement.
Is this an essential? A "first" essential? What is the difference, if any, between confidence in one's position and dogmatism? I sometimes think that confidence in one's own position shuts one off from influence and correction, a place where I don't want my leaders to be. Then again, there is a truth here. It is hard to lead effectively if one is always second-guessing oneself. I guess I want a bit more balance than Newman does.
I see some similarities between the Tracts and Internet communication, so this sentence resonates. I do think rhetoric can take on a different, nastier tone in these sorts of pseudo-public but rigidly separate communication methods. The biggest similarity is that one can too easily fall into the trap of thinking one is communicating with a link, a name, a post, rather than with another human being.
Ideas are nice. Having the "right" opinions is nice. How do they help people in their daily lives or bring people closer to not just salvation but also a fullness of life?
"If confidence in his position is, (as it is,) a first essential in the leader of a party, this Dr. Pusey possessed pre-eminently" (60).
Is this an essential? A "first" essential? What is the difference, if any, between confidence in one's position and dogmatism? I sometimes think that confidence in one's own position shuts one off from influence and correction, a place where I don't want my leaders to be. Then again, there is a truth here. It is hard to lead effectively if one is always second-guessing oneself. I guess I want a bit more balance than Newman does.
"[Dr. Pusey] saw that there ought to be more sobriety, more gravity, more careful pains, more sense of responsibility in the Tracts and in the whole Movement" (60).
I see some similarities between the Tracts and Internet communication, so this sentence resonates. I do think rhetoric can take on a different, nastier tone in these sorts of pseudo-public but rigidly separate communication methods. The biggest similarity is that one can too easily fall into the trap of thinking one is communicating with a link, a name, a post, rather than with another human being.
"[...] but the Via Media, as viewed as an integral system, has scarcely had existence except on paper" (64).
Ideas are nice. Having the "right" opinions is nice. How do they help people in their daily lives or bring people closer to not just salvation but also a fullness of life?
Saturday, August 13, 2005
More Doubles Musing
So I returned to Higher Ground on Friday for more doubles, but this time Cindy came with me and we requested to play together.
Together we shot -2. My partner from Tuesday had a new parter with whom he shot a -6.
This suggests to me that while one part of a doubles pair will always be superior to the other, it is hard to estimate how much of a round is merely what the better of the two players would play singles.
Certainly I (or my former partner) could have played worse than we did on Tuesday (I know I missed a few more putts for birdie), but I don't think it likely that he shot 8 strokes worse and I 12.
So there is something about not just who you get paired with but how complementary you are in your skills, temperament, and approach to the game.
Together we shot -2. My partner from Tuesday had a new parter with whom he shot a -6.
This suggests to me that while one part of a doubles pair will always be superior to the other, it is hard to estimate how much of a round is merely what the better of the two players would play singles.
Certainly I (or my former partner) could have played worse than we did on Tuesday (I know I missed a few more putts for birdie), but I don't think it likely that he shot 8 strokes worse and I 12.
So there is something about not just who you get paired with but how complementary you are in your skills, temperament, and approach to the game.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
What's a Good Doubles Score?
I've been playing more doubles this summer, and I've been pondering the question of what's a good score for me if I were playing someone equal in talent with myself.
When I'm playing with someone who is less skilled than myself, I feel like I should still be around or slightly better than my solo score. When I'm playing with someone better, I feel like I should add to their baseline score.
Today at O.T. Sloan, I tried an experiment. I played a round of self-doubles, where I had two throws and could take the better of the two. My singles round (playing just one shot, always the first shot) was -3 (51). My doubles score (taking two shots and playing the better of the two) was -10 (44). My best singles score on this course has been -6 (48).
Comparison:
Singles: 2-3-2 2-3-2 2-3-2 (21) 3-4-3 3-4-2 4-4-3 (51)
Self Doubles: 2-3-2 2-2-2 2-2-2 (19) 3-3-3 2-3-2 3-3-3 (44)
Of course this isn't exactly analogous, because making two throws in a row is not the same as making a throw after your partner has gone. Still, it was interesting.
When I'm playing with someone who is less skilled than myself, I feel like I should still be around or slightly better than my solo score. When I'm playing with someone better, I feel like I should add to their baseline score.
Today at O.T. Sloan, I tried an experiment. I played a round of self-doubles, where I had two throws and could take the better of the two. My singles round (playing just one shot, always the first shot) was -3 (51). My doubles score (taking two shots and playing the better of the two) was -10 (44). My best singles score on this course has been -6 (48).
Comparison:
Singles: 2-3-2 2-3-2 2-3-2 (21) 3-4-3 3-4-2 4-4-3 (51)
Self Doubles: 2-3-2 2-2-2 2-2-2 (19) 3-3-3 2-3-2 3-3-3 (44)
Of course this isn't exactly analogous, because making two throws in a row is not the same as making a throw after your partner has gone. Still, it was interesting.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood (223-232)
Perhaps because it is less plot driven (so far) this novel has quite a few MacDonald gems in the so called digressions.
I'm stuck mulling over the qualifier "little." Will more learning make you more likely to see them? Less likely to be hindered by the learning? Is it the learning itself that hinders or the pride that uses the little learning as its primary shield from hard truth?
There is more here than just that, though. How quick we are to argue and counterargue and how little we actually "consider the matter." Perhaps that is why art is higher than criticism. It will not rush to cast its pearls before swine.
"I had no time to repent, only to thank God.This line is spoken by a former sailor who relates taking the Lord's name in vain when he thinks he is about to drown. He continues to speak of the greater shame at realizing he doubted God than at the swearing itself. It is a nice, succinct portrait of someone close enough to God that he can feel his own repentance without God bullying him into it.
"You know besides that a small matter in which a principle is involved will reveal the principle, if attended to, just as well as a great one containing the same principle" (226).If attended to...if attended to...that's such an important little modifier. What a carefully constructed and profound sentence--with implications for art.
"There are many things which a little learning, while it cannot really hide them, may make you less ready to see all at once" (228).
I'm stuck mulling over the qualifier "little." Will more learning make you more likely to see them? Less likely to be hindered by the learning? Is it the learning itself that hinders or the pride that uses the little learning as its primary shield from hard truth?
"If anybody cannot understand why I did so, I beg him to consider the matter. If then he cannot come to a conclusion concerning it, I doubt if any explanation of mine would greatly subserve his enlightenment" (231).Be careful when arguing with fools; observers might not be able to tell the difference.
There is more here than just that, though. How quick we are to argue and counterargue and how little we actually "consider the matter." Perhaps that is why art is higher than criticism. It will not rush to cast its pearls before swine.
Drive For Show...
...but putt for dough, as the saying goes.
My recent success in doubles confirmed to me that putting covers a multitude of sins. I could not drive all the holes my partner could, but it was my ability to make some key 20-30 foot putts that could have made the difference between -11 and -14. Oh, I drove a couple too, but I just think there are more guys who can throw 350+ feet than can hit a 25 footer 80% of the time.
Perhaps it is time to break out the Ching portable and do some sustained putting practice.
My recent success in doubles confirmed to me that putting covers a multitude of sins. I could not drive all the holes my partner could, but it was my ability to make some key 20-30 foot putts that could have made the difference between -11 and -14. Oh, I drove a couple too, but I just think there are more guys who can throw 350+ feet than can hit a 25 footer 80% of the time.
Perhaps it is time to break out the Ching portable and do some sustained putting practice.
Cape Fear Random Doubles; Higher Ground, Middle Creek, NC
Play in enough random doubles and eventually you'll get paired with someone really good.
My partner and I took second in this event with a -14 (40). Good stuff. My initial impression was that I was a bit bummed because at least two of the holes we missed were shorter ones. Then again, several of the holes we made were longer ones that my partner drove. We were one off the lead.
My partner definitely carried me, but I did make several contributions, drives and putts. It felt good to contribute to a great round.
The course is a private course and it was a bit wet from rain earlier today.
I took greetings from Sheba the cat to Max and Fannie.
Higher Ground:
3-2-2 3-2-2 2-2-2 OUT (20)
2-2-2 2-2-3 2-2-3 IN (20) 40
I won two hot stamped discs; a DX Orc (thought I'd try it) and a DX Roc (can never have too many Rocs).
My partner and I took second in this event with a -14 (40). Good stuff. My initial impression was that I was a bit bummed because at least two of the holes we missed were shorter ones. Then again, several of the holes we made were longer ones that my partner drove. We were one off the lead.
My partner definitely carried me, but I did make several contributions, drives and putts. It felt good to contribute to a great round.
The course is a private course and it was a bit wet from rain earlier today.
I took greetings from Sheba the cat to Max and Fannie.
Higher Ground:
3-2-2 3-2-2 2-2-2 OUT (20)
2-2-2 2-2-3 2-2-3 IN (20) 40
I won two hot stamped discs; a DX Orc (thought I'd try it) and a DX Roc (can never have too many Rocs).
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Apologia Pro Vita Sua (50-57)
"Here I make a remark: persistence in a given belief is no sufficient test of its truth; but departure from it is a least a slur upon the man who has felt so certain about it " (50).
The first half of the phrase is the most resonant to me. In these polarized days, I feel like I see, more and more, the inability to argue for truth in any other way except to point to how vehemently a belief is held or how long it has been held.
"But in 1827 I accepted eagerly the stanza in the Christian Year, which many people thought too charitable, 'Speak gently of thy sister's fall'" (53).
Wow. May people think too charitable indeed. I can think of very few people in my public or private acquaintance who strive to speak gently about much of anything, least of all another's fall. And by speaking gently I don't mean equivocating. This word is a strong one. It bears thinking upon and trying to put into practice. It may not always lead to reconciliation with the person or object of one's disagreement as it did in Newman's case, but surely it leaves open greater avenues and possibilities for this to happen than does the hardening that comes with always speaking and thinking so uncharitably.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
A (Very) Good Day at Buckhorn
Shot a 57 on my first 18, but I felt good and seemed to be just missing, so I played a second round.
Carded a 22 on the front 9 (-5). Given the course and the variety of shots I had to make (gently sloping downhill with Sidewinder, flick drive with Valkyrie, elevated right turn with Leopard, short cutting approach with Whippet, tight drive to penninsula with Roc and putting, putting, puttin), if it wasn't the best 9 holes of golf I've played, it was certainly a first ballot hall of famer.
How good were these nine holes, and how do I make the distinction between an "in the zone" round and merely getting better?
Over the preceding 8 rounds I played at Buckhorn, I averaged 29.52 on these holes, making my front nine a full 7.5 strokes below my average. Unheard of and unprecedented.
That I couldn't back it up on the back 9 with anything more than a +4 to finish -1 overall was mildly irksome (If I could have combined the back nine of my first round with the front nine of the second, I would have shot a 50, bettering my previous best score by 5 strokes) but not enough to cancel out the exhiliration of a half a round where everything was clicking. While this sort of improvement in score might happen if I returned to a course I've only played once several years ago, to have such a leap on a course one plays regularly is pretty heady stuff.
As it is, I took two strokes off my best score, even losing 1 to a water penalty by a measly 5 inches and another to an unfortunate roll after hitting a tree.
So maybe I'm getting better, maybe I'm learning the course, or maybe I just had a good day.
Carded a 22 on the front 9 (-5). Given the course and the variety of shots I had to make (gently sloping downhill with Sidewinder, flick drive with Valkyrie, elevated right turn with Leopard, short cutting approach with Whippet, tight drive to penninsula with Roc and putting, putting, puttin), if it wasn't the best 9 holes of golf I've played, it was certainly a first ballot hall of famer.
How good were these nine holes, and how do I make the distinction between an "in the zone" round and merely getting better?
Over the preceding 8 rounds I played at Buckhorn, I averaged 29.52 on these holes, making my front nine a full 7.5 strokes below my average. Unheard of and unprecedented.
That I couldn't back it up on the back 9 with anything more than a +4 to finish -1 overall was mildly irksome (If I could have combined the back nine of my first round with the front nine of the second, I would have shot a 50, bettering my previous best score by 5 strokes) but not enough to cancel out the exhiliration of a half a round where everything was clicking. While this sort of improvement in score might happen if I returned to a course I've only played once several years ago, to have such a leap on a course one plays regularly is pretty heady stuff.
As it is, I took two strokes off my best score, even losing 1 to a water penalty by a measly 5 inches and another to an unfortunate roll after hitting a tree.
So maybe I'm getting better, maybe I'm learning the course, or maybe I just had a good day.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Day 13: Spotsylvania, VA; Durham, NC
I wake on the futon of a guest bedroom where my host has already left for work.
Tonight I’ll be home, but I’m still looking for that capper for the trip. First stop is Loriella Park in Spotsylvania, Virginia.
No, first stop is the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, which is not only under construction but also has a traffic jam caused by a stalled out car.
After inching over the bridge, I finally get off to look for ice, only to find the store is out. It’s getting hotter as I move farther south.
Loriella is just off Route 3 on the outskirts of Fredericksburg, where I went to college. The area has gone from college town to metropolitan suburban clone (i.e. it looks just like Fairfax, especially along route 3).
I wonder if this course was here while I was in school (it wasn’t, PDGA says it was founded in 2001) and how my life might have been different had it been. I mostly played Ultimate in college, could the butterfly effect have changed that much?
My records indicate I have played Loriella before, at a tournament. I arrived late, play was slow, it rained some, and I have no recollection of the course at all. This is odd. Two years later, I still remember the route to Warwick Town Park, and several of the holes in great detail. Loriella, I remember not at all. .
A weird thing happens when I’m warming up. I have the car doors and trunk open and am doing my stretches, when a child, who apparently speaks no English, wanders into the parking lot, giggling and pointing at my vehicle. There is a playground about 75 yards away, but not an adult in sight. She walks up to my car, and, trying to be polite, I say “hello” a greeting she takes to mean we are now friends and my toys are her toys, so she climbs into the driver’s seat and begins playing with the steering wheel.
All of a sudden, this chance encounter gets very, very awkward. There is still no adult in sight, and it is maybe 11:00 on a Friday. I have a rental car in a half empty parking lot with a child in the front seat. I immediately think of a 10 and 13 year-old in Harrisonburg who stood by the 18th Hole of the new park and asked golfers finishing a round to give them a ride home so that they could save the dollar for the city bus.
I decide that the best course of action is to move a healthy distance away from the car so that I can still see everything but can’t be mistaken for having sinister intentions. Do I live in a different world from these people? Have I seen too many episodes of Law & Order: SVU? Eventually a mom or a nanny or somebody comes up and whisks her away, apologizing a bit too profusely and I feel safe to approach my own car again and get my discs.
After I warm up and go -1 on the first two holes, I wonder if maybe my notes are wrong and I played The Grange. I simply can’t imagine I was in the high 60s on this course, rain or no rain. In between the second and third hole there is a fenced in portion of the park. A plaque informs me that this is a slave graveyard, formerly marked with wooden crosses, now deteriorated. There is no record of who these slaves were, when they were buried, etc. For just a moment my mind shoots back to the NO ILLEGALS graffiti I saw at Calvert. I can’t help think, as well, about the other grave I visited earlier in my trip and how the accidents and circumstances of history lead us to different places.
The course itself is rather uninspiring. It’s a bit long for me to birdie, with a lot of open holes, especially on the front 9. Not too much trouble on any of these holes (I do bogey the one tight alley hole), but not much hope, either, unless you can throw farther than I do. There is a distant feeling that reminds me a bit of Rose Lane in the early days, where one could feel as though one were the only person on the course or indeed in the world, but it’s not quite enough to make up for the pedestrian nature of the course.
There’s nothing terribly wrong with the course, but there are none of those moments where I finish or approach a hole and think: “you know, some thought went into that pin placement,” or “I wouldn’t have thought to put a hole there, but it worked.” Instead, the course has the annoying competence of a Woody Allen movie; it’s hard to point to obvious technical errors, but I’m never really in any serious danger of enjoying myself (much less being inspired).
I’m bored and in a hurry to leave, so I rush to the 18th tee and drive my shot into the ground, turning a long hole into a “5” when I miss my putt and a possible 59 into a 61.
I shrug, and yet…I hate to end such a great trip with a mediocre round on a mediocre trip.
And so, I decide as routes 95 and 85 diverge south of Richmond to take a right turn towards Durham and stop at Valley Springs.
It is appropriate that Valley Springs is in Durham, because I call it the 87 Blue Devils Course. This team was the one of which Jim Valvano said you look at it and say, “I can beat them.” Then you lose. You walk off and say, “I’m glad I’ll get another shot at them, because I’m still not convinced they are better than me.” Then they beat you again. You say, “Well, I hope I get them in the tournament, because know that I know their tendencies, there should be no problem.” Then you get them in the tournament and they beat you again. And so it goes.
I arrive at about 5:20 and decide to try something different. I’m warmed up from earlier in the day, so I start. Hole #1 is a short birdie hole, which I deuce, and I chip in from a good 75 feet on Hole #2, so I think it is my day.
The first time I played Valley Springs, on a visit to Durham for a seminar, I was -1 after 17 holes, only to let my drive go too early on 18, kick it off a tree into the woods for a 5 and a round of +1. Since then, I’ve always felt the same way about Valley Springs that Valvano felt about Amaker, Dawkins, and company. I KNOW I can beat this course.
I just never do.
The last time I was here, a few weeks ago, I was -3 after 9 holes and still managed to finish +1. Today, I get to -3 after 8, but I bogey 9 and make the turn at -2. Then, I take a bogey on 14 to go to -1, then I push the Valkyrie right on 15. I think it is coming out; I don’t hear a hard crash, but I search the area for 20 minutes with increasing desperation. I turn over rocks. I shake trees (getting dirt on my sweaty, sleeveless arms), I pray. No disc.
Finally, reluctantly, I take a drop, assess the penalty stroke for a lost disc, and approach for my body to go to par. As I turn to the 16th hole, I see my disc lying beside a tree about 45 feet from the hole. It had indeed kicked out of the foliage. I am ecstatic. Since this is not a tournament, I go ahead and play the original lie (no time limit when nobody’s waiting on you), save my par.
I am redeemed.
I have a second chance.
I take a six on the next hole, a hole I’ve birdied before. I hit a tree off the tee. I try a flick and my flick hits a tree and bounces backwards farther into the woods. I miss my putt. I finish the round at 57.
It is now 6:15, so there is no doubt I will play another round, and somehow this round takes on imaginatively high stakes in my head. I know this is my last chance to finish the trip on a high note. There are no motels rented, no other courses tomorrow. There is only daylight for one more round. It is now or never to pluck out this thorn in my flesh. The icing on the cake that is this trip will be defeating par at Valley Springs.
So it is back to the car for Gatorade and one last trek to close the circle. I’m tired. I’ve played 36 holes today in humid, southeastern heat. I’ve played close to 20 rounds in the last 10 days. My shins hurt. I feel a blister coming where my toe chafes against my sweat saturated sock. I so what any self-respecting amateur golfer does: I pretend it is the last round of the last day of the Ryder Cup and everything is up to me. My opponent will shoot a 54. All the previous rounds were leading up to this moment.
I get my birdie on one and a par on two, then I get a tree maybe 10 feet away from the tee on a 225 foot right curving hole. For a moment I think of wilting; I think of returning to the first tee to start the round over. (It’s now 6:30—will I have daylight?)
But no, my imaginary teammates are counting on me and my imaginary opponents are smirking. There are defining moments in every golfer’s imaginary career and this is one of them.
I pull the JK Valkyrie out of my bag.
I breathe in and out.
I check my footing and balance.
And, in the most important shot of the entire vacation…I flick.
Two hundred and fifteen feet later, the disc comes to rest snugly under the basket for a tip in three. I have saved par, but to paraphrase The Wolf in Pulp Fiction, let’s not start…um..congratulating myself just yet. There are 15 holes to play, and I’ve been -3 on this course before.
I immediately deuce Hole 4, and I consider moving into course management mode, but I’m not sure -2 will be enough of a cushion. Hole 8 presents a classic risk/reward conundrum with a right to left that is more open for the easy three but a narrower alley on the left that, if I split the tree can give me a deuce opportunity. Another moment of truth.
Out comes the Valkyrie and I split the trees dead center with good spin. Easy deuce. I’ve reached -3. The rest is managing the course.
Hole 9 goes uphill. Three
Hole 12 is a long right that is too far to throw the Stingray but which can give me grief if I yank the Leopard (to try to turn it). I must throw it hard enough to get the distance, but not yank it, and not let it fade too far away from the hole. Three.
By Hole 14, I’ve caught up with some guys playing doubles. They let me play through, and I let go of the Leopard too early, putting me in a world of trouble. Short and in the woods. I could pitch out and try a long approach for a 4, or I could try a tight alley along and out of the woods. It’s a harder shot and missing it puts a 5 in play, but making it gets me close enough for an easy four. I flick and it clears the woods, well short of the hole but leaving me -2 with four holes left.
Hole 16 is where I got the 6 last round. It all starts with the drive. Just keep it in the fairway. You’ve got two strokes as a cushion but Hole 18 is a long uphill hole. Just keep it in the fairway. I do. Three.
Hole 17 is a blind shot that looks harder than it is. It has a bit sharper hyzer than you think, but there is a lot of space on the right, so the trick is to take an overstable disc and leave plenty of room to turn. I let the Valkyrie fly, and although I let it go a bit too early, it clears the bend with about five feet to spare and lands to rest about 10 feet from the hole. I’ve been putting real well, but I finally choke one, letting go of the disc with no spin. I could have shut the door with a birdie, but instead I head to the 18th.
There, the other group of doubles players awaits to let me play through.
You know, I laugh at the guys in the World Series of Poker who say, “Just one time…” They remind me of Rich Mullins: “Everyone I know says they need just one thing, / When really what they mean / Is they need just one thing more…” Yet here, I am, on the fairway, thinking, “Just one time; just this one time.”
The difference being this time it is not a prayer to an indifferent poker god but a reminder to myself to think of nothing but the present moment; this one time; this one shot. I have a stroke to play with, so all I need is to make sure I get good pull. There is a tree on the right edge of the fairway, but it is far enough that were I to hit it, I would have enough distance to still get a relatively easy four. The only real danger of a five here is letting go too early and chunking it to the left or really yanking it.
A nice straight throw with a lot of snap.
Just one time…
And then the disc is out of my hand, spinning hard and pushing right (as the Leopard does), not yanked, but at good speed. It misses the tree and heads off the fairway to the right, but far enough, and it doesn’t hit a tree but keeps going, coming to rest a good 50-60 feet from the hole on the fringe of the right rough.
The actual crowd is respectfully impressed.
The imaginary Ryder Cup of Disc Golf crowd goes nuts.
I approach with the Stingray, overshooting the pin by about 12 feet, leaving me two putts to finish under par. For good measure, I bury the par putt for a 52.
I can go home.
Later, as I pull onto 85 south towards home, the Kingston Trio is singing “Lonesome Traveler”:
”Well one of these days, I’m gonna stop all my traveling,
Well one of these days, I’m gonna stop all my traveling,
Well one of these days, I’m gonna stop all my traveling—
Well, I’ve been traveling long.”
One of these days.
Not today.
Only 35 more days until the Georgia State Championships at Rose Lane.
LORIELLA PARK
3-2-4 4-3-3 5-3-4 OUT (31)
3-3-4 3-3-3 3-3-5 IN (30) 61
VALLEY SPRINGS PARK
2-2-3 4-3-2 3-2-4 OUT (25)
3-3-3 3-4-3 6-3-4 IN (32) 57
2-3-3 2-3-3 3-2-3 OUT (24)
3-3-3 3-4-3 3-3-3 IN (28) 52
Final Tally:
Courses: 18
New Courses: 8
States: 11
Number of Times I've Played Valley Springs Under Par: 1
Tonight I’ll be home, but I’m still looking for that capper for the trip. First stop is Loriella Park in Spotsylvania, Virginia.
No, first stop is the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, which is not only under construction but also has a traffic jam caused by a stalled out car.
After inching over the bridge, I finally get off to look for ice, only to find the store is out. It’s getting hotter as I move farther south.
Loriella is just off Route 3 on the outskirts of Fredericksburg, where I went to college. The area has gone from college town to metropolitan suburban clone (i.e. it looks just like Fairfax, especially along route 3).
I wonder if this course was here while I was in school (it wasn’t, PDGA says it was founded in 2001) and how my life might have been different had it been. I mostly played Ultimate in college, could the butterfly effect have changed that much?
My records indicate I have played Loriella before, at a tournament. I arrived late, play was slow, it rained some, and I have no recollection of the course at all. This is odd. Two years later, I still remember the route to Warwick Town Park, and several of the holes in great detail. Loriella, I remember not at all. .
A weird thing happens when I’m warming up. I have the car doors and trunk open and am doing my stretches, when a child, who apparently speaks no English, wanders into the parking lot, giggling and pointing at my vehicle. There is a playground about 75 yards away, but not an adult in sight. She walks up to my car, and, trying to be polite, I say “hello” a greeting she takes to mean we are now friends and my toys are her toys, so she climbs into the driver’s seat and begins playing with the steering wheel.
All of a sudden, this chance encounter gets very, very awkward. There is still no adult in sight, and it is maybe 11:00 on a Friday. I have a rental car in a half empty parking lot with a child in the front seat. I immediately think of a 10 and 13 year-old in Harrisonburg who stood by the 18th Hole of the new park and asked golfers finishing a round to give them a ride home so that they could save the dollar for the city bus.
I decide that the best course of action is to move a healthy distance away from the car so that I can still see everything but can’t be mistaken for having sinister intentions. Do I live in a different world from these people? Have I seen too many episodes of Law & Order: SVU? Eventually a mom or a nanny or somebody comes up and whisks her away, apologizing a bit too profusely and I feel safe to approach my own car again and get my discs.
After I warm up and go -1 on the first two holes, I wonder if maybe my notes are wrong and I played The Grange. I simply can’t imagine I was in the high 60s on this course, rain or no rain. In between the second and third hole there is a fenced in portion of the park. A plaque informs me that this is a slave graveyard, formerly marked with wooden crosses, now deteriorated. There is no record of who these slaves were, when they were buried, etc. For just a moment my mind shoots back to the NO ILLEGALS graffiti I saw at Calvert. I can’t help think, as well, about the other grave I visited earlier in my trip and how the accidents and circumstances of history lead us to different places.
The course itself is rather uninspiring. It’s a bit long for me to birdie, with a lot of open holes, especially on the front 9. Not too much trouble on any of these holes (I do bogey the one tight alley hole), but not much hope, either, unless you can throw farther than I do. There is a distant feeling that reminds me a bit of Rose Lane in the early days, where one could feel as though one were the only person on the course or indeed in the world, but it’s not quite enough to make up for the pedestrian nature of the course.
There’s nothing terribly wrong with the course, but there are none of those moments where I finish or approach a hole and think: “you know, some thought went into that pin placement,” or “I wouldn’t have thought to put a hole there, but it worked.” Instead, the course has the annoying competence of a Woody Allen movie; it’s hard to point to obvious technical errors, but I’m never really in any serious danger of enjoying myself (much less being inspired).
I’m bored and in a hurry to leave, so I rush to the 18th tee and drive my shot into the ground, turning a long hole into a “5” when I miss my putt and a possible 59 into a 61.
I shrug, and yet…I hate to end such a great trip with a mediocre round on a mediocre trip.
And so, I decide as routes 95 and 85 diverge south of Richmond to take a right turn towards Durham and stop at Valley Springs.
It is appropriate that Valley Springs is in Durham, because I call it the 87 Blue Devils Course. This team was the one of which Jim Valvano said you look at it and say, “I can beat them.” Then you lose. You walk off and say, “I’m glad I’ll get another shot at them, because I’m still not convinced they are better than me.” Then they beat you again. You say, “Well, I hope I get them in the tournament, because know that I know their tendencies, there should be no problem.” Then you get them in the tournament and they beat you again. And so it goes.
I arrive at about 5:20 and decide to try something different. I’m warmed up from earlier in the day, so I start. Hole #1 is a short birdie hole, which I deuce, and I chip in from a good 75 feet on Hole #2, so I think it is my day.
The first time I played Valley Springs, on a visit to Durham for a seminar, I was -1 after 17 holes, only to let my drive go too early on 18, kick it off a tree into the woods for a 5 and a round of +1. Since then, I’ve always felt the same way about Valley Springs that Valvano felt about Amaker, Dawkins, and company. I KNOW I can beat this course.
I just never do.
The last time I was here, a few weeks ago, I was -3 after 9 holes and still managed to finish +1. Today, I get to -3 after 8, but I bogey 9 and make the turn at -2. Then, I take a bogey on 14 to go to -1, then I push the Valkyrie right on 15. I think it is coming out; I don’t hear a hard crash, but I search the area for 20 minutes with increasing desperation. I turn over rocks. I shake trees (getting dirt on my sweaty, sleeveless arms), I pray. No disc.
Finally, reluctantly, I take a drop, assess the penalty stroke for a lost disc, and approach for my body to go to par. As I turn to the 16th hole, I see my disc lying beside a tree about 45 feet from the hole. It had indeed kicked out of the foliage. I am ecstatic. Since this is not a tournament, I go ahead and play the original lie (no time limit when nobody’s waiting on you), save my par.
I am redeemed.
I have a second chance.
I take a six on the next hole, a hole I’ve birdied before. I hit a tree off the tee. I try a flick and my flick hits a tree and bounces backwards farther into the woods. I miss my putt. I finish the round at 57.
It is now 6:15, so there is no doubt I will play another round, and somehow this round takes on imaginatively high stakes in my head. I know this is my last chance to finish the trip on a high note. There are no motels rented, no other courses tomorrow. There is only daylight for one more round. It is now or never to pluck out this thorn in my flesh. The icing on the cake that is this trip will be defeating par at Valley Springs.
So it is back to the car for Gatorade and one last trek to close the circle. I’m tired. I’ve played 36 holes today in humid, southeastern heat. I’ve played close to 20 rounds in the last 10 days. My shins hurt. I feel a blister coming where my toe chafes against my sweat saturated sock. I so what any self-respecting amateur golfer does: I pretend it is the last round of the last day of the Ryder Cup and everything is up to me. My opponent will shoot a 54. All the previous rounds were leading up to this moment.
I get my birdie on one and a par on two, then I get a tree maybe 10 feet away from the tee on a 225 foot right curving hole. For a moment I think of wilting; I think of returning to the first tee to start the round over. (It’s now 6:30—will I have daylight?)
But no, my imaginary teammates are counting on me and my imaginary opponents are smirking. There are defining moments in every golfer’s imaginary career and this is one of them.
I pull the JK Valkyrie out of my bag.
I breathe in and out.
I check my footing and balance.
And, in the most important shot of the entire vacation…I flick.
Two hundred and fifteen feet later, the disc comes to rest snugly under the basket for a tip in three. I have saved par, but to paraphrase The Wolf in Pulp Fiction, let’s not start…um..congratulating myself just yet. There are 15 holes to play, and I’ve been -3 on this course before.
I immediately deuce Hole 4, and I consider moving into course management mode, but I’m not sure -2 will be enough of a cushion. Hole 8 presents a classic risk/reward conundrum with a right to left that is more open for the easy three but a narrower alley on the left that, if I split the tree can give me a deuce opportunity. Another moment of truth.
Out comes the Valkyrie and I split the trees dead center with good spin. Easy deuce. I’ve reached -3. The rest is managing the course.
Hole 9 goes uphill. Three
Hole 12 is a long right that is too far to throw the Stingray but which can give me grief if I yank the Leopard (to try to turn it). I must throw it hard enough to get the distance, but not yank it, and not let it fade too far away from the hole. Three.
By Hole 14, I’ve caught up with some guys playing doubles. They let me play through, and I let go of the Leopard too early, putting me in a world of trouble. Short and in the woods. I could pitch out and try a long approach for a 4, or I could try a tight alley along and out of the woods. It’s a harder shot and missing it puts a 5 in play, but making it gets me close enough for an easy four. I flick and it clears the woods, well short of the hole but leaving me -2 with four holes left.
Hole 16 is where I got the 6 last round. It all starts with the drive. Just keep it in the fairway. You’ve got two strokes as a cushion but Hole 18 is a long uphill hole. Just keep it in the fairway. I do. Three.
Hole 17 is a blind shot that looks harder than it is. It has a bit sharper hyzer than you think, but there is a lot of space on the right, so the trick is to take an overstable disc and leave plenty of room to turn. I let the Valkyrie fly, and although I let it go a bit too early, it clears the bend with about five feet to spare and lands to rest about 10 feet from the hole. I’ve been putting real well, but I finally choke one, letting go of the disc with no spin. I could have shut the door with a birdie, but instead I head to the 18th.
There, the other group of doubles players awaits to let me play through.
You know, I laugh at the guys in the World Series of Poker who say, “Just one time…” They remind me of Rich Mullins: “Everyone I know says they need just one thing, / When really what they mean / Is they need just one thing more…” Yet here, I am, on the fairway, thinking, “Just one time; just this one time.”
The difference being this time it is not a prayer to an indifferent poker god but a reminder to myself to think of nothing but the present moment; this one time; this one shot. I have a stroke to play with, so all I need is to make sure I get good pull. There is a tree on the right edge of the fairway, but it is far enough that were I to hit it, I would have enough distance to still get a relatively easy four. The only real danger of a five here is letting go too early and chunking it to the left or really yanking it.
A nice straight throw with a lot of snap.
Just one time…
And then the disc is out of my hand, spinning hard and pushing right (as the Leopard does), not yanked, but at good speed. It misses the tree and heads off the fairway to the right, but far enough, and it doesn’t hit a tree but keeps going, coming to rest a good 50-60 feet from the hole on the fringe of the right rough.
The actual crowd is respectfully impressed.
The imaginary Ryder Cup of Disc Golf crowd goes nuts.
I approach with the Stingray, overshooting the pin by about 12 feet, leaving me two putts to finish under par. For good measure, I bury the par putt for a 52.
I can go home.
Later, as I pull onto 85 south towards home, the Kingston Trio is singing “Lonesome Traveler”:
”Well one of these days, I’m gonna stop all my traveling,
Well one of these days, I’m gonna stop all my traveling,
Well one of these days, I’m gonna stop all my traveling—
Well, I’ve been traveling long.”
One of these days.
Not today.
Only 35 more days until the Georgia State Championships at Rose Lane.
LORIELLA PARK
3-2-4 4-3-3 5-3-4 OUT (31)
3-3-4 3-3-3 3-3-5 IN (30) 61
VALLEY SPRINGS PARK
2-2-3 4-3-2 3-2-4 OUT (25)
3-3-3 3-4-3 6-3-4 IN (32) 57
2-3-3 2-3-3 3-2-3 OUT (24)
3-3-3 3-4-3 3-3-3 IN (28) 52
Final Tally:
Courses: 18
New Courses: 8
States: 11
Number of Times I've Played Valley Springs Under Par: 1
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Day 12: College Park, MD
The mind and the body adjust of their own accord to circumstances.
Todd and I know that we can sleep in, yet when I awake and make my way down to the bathroom, my brother-in-law is getting ready for work. It is not yet eight o’clock.
We do spend some time with a leisurely breakfast, but then it is time to pack up the car. We say good-bye, pausing to admire the tie-dyed shirts that my sister-in-law and niece made yesterday but are not quite dry; then it is off to BWI.
I wonder if dying is something like this—the gradual giving up of the things you’ve accumulated in the first half of your trip. I know there may be golf this afternoon, but I also know that I will be play alone and Todd will be on a plane to Ohio.
We part at the airport, Todd holding the camera out in front of him to take one last picture of the two of us. It has been a great trip made better by the presence of a good friend. I know I would have enjoyed myself had I gone alone, but there is an icing on the cake that I got to share the bulk of my trip.
After Todd is gone, I adjust the driver’s seat, pop in Sunday Ladies Philosophy Club and head for College Park. I make one wrong turn where 95 turns into 495, but it is easy to turn around and my directions to the park are simple enough.
Calvert Park is the oldest course in Maryland; it’s Mach 1 baskets are in good shape, though, and there are alternate tee pads and pin placements for every hole. Today, it appears as though all the pins are in the long positions, so I decide to play the short tees (there really isn’t that much difference).
As I lace up my high tops, I’m in a somber mood. There is a little wind that is affecting my warm up putts, and I see some graffiti on the portajohn announcing NO ILLEGALS, but really it is just the awareness that things are drawing to a close.
I shoot a pedestrian 54, with two birdies and two bogeys. Even making a 20 footer on 18—the longest hole on the course--to save my par round, is not enough to get me jacked up. Around Hole 16, my shins start to hurt from pounding the pavement and pushing off, a dull, achy sort of pain. I’m always happy to shoot par, and while Calvert is no Rock Hill, it’s no Douglass College either. For the first time all trip, my bed at home sounds more enticing than tomorrow’s course. Looks like I timed the length of my vacation just right too.
There is one very nice moment though, when I throw my second flick of the round. It makes a solid approach to a long hole with a right turn, and I realize I’m getting slightly more comfortable making this throw, even in the middle of a round. It is not the orgasmic thrill of throwing an ace; rather, it is the pleasant prospect of a new friendship, one you think might last a long time. Why it should seem odd that among the many good things about this trip, improving my game should be one, I don’t know. But it has been.
I get to the home of the people I am staying with in Maryland, but they are out for most of the evening, so I start watching a downloaded movie ( Being Julia). As usual, I’ve packed way too much, and I have DVDs, books, and downloaded movies that I didn’t even glance at.
This seems as good a place as any to add some of my less than complementary observations about the trip:
--The merging lane of a highway is for accelerating until you reach the speed of traffic, not for stopping until you find a break in traffic.
--Many of the towns in New England have an irritating habit of only identifying the cross street on their signs. This can be annoying when you are not sure that you are on the correct street to begin with.
--There is a preoccupation in New England with letting you know that something is a STATE law. You must, for example, yield to pedestrians in crosswalks. This is not a local ordinance, nor is it a national statute. It is a STATE LAW. And don’t you forget it…
--Despite my two day stay, I still avoided buying gas in New Jersey.
CALVERT PARK
3-3-3 3-4-2 4-3-2 OUT (27)
3-3-3 3-3-3 3-3-3 IN (27) 54
Day 12 Tally--
Courses: 16
New Courses: 8
States: 11
IKEA Stores Visited: 1
Books Brought on Trip: 4
Books Bought on Trip: 1
Books Read on Trip: 0 (little bits of de Caussade)
Movies Downloaded to Watch on Trip: 5
DVDs Brought to Watch on Trip: 9
Movies Watched on Trip: 1
Todd and I know that we can sleep in, yet when I awake and make my way down to the bathroom, my brother-in-law is getting ready for work. It is not yet eight o’clock.
We do spend some time with a leisurely breakfast, but then it is time to pack up the car. We say good-bye, pausing to admire the tie-dyed shirts that my sister-in-law and niece made yesterday but are not quite dry; then it is off to BWI.
I wonder if dying is something like this—the gradual giving up of the things you’ve accumulated in the first half of your trip. I know there may be golf this afternoon, but I also know that I will be play alone and Todd will be on a plane to Ohio.
We part at the airport, Todd holding the camera out in front of him to take one last picture of the two of us. It has been a great trip made better by the presence of a good friend. I know I would have enjoyed myself had I gone alone, but there is an icing on the cake that I got to share the bulk of my trip.
After Todd is gone, I adjust the driver’s seat, pop in Sunday Ladies Philosophy Club and head for College Park. I make one wrong turn where 95 turns into 495, but it is easy to turn around and my directions to the park are simple enough.
Calvert Park is the oldest course in Maryland; it’s Mach 1 baskets are in good shape, though, and there are alternate tee pads and pin placements for every hole. Today, it appears as though all the pins are in the long positions, so I decide to play the short tees (there really isn’t that much difference).
As I lace up my high tops, I’m in a somber mood. There is a little wind that is affecting my warm up putts, and I see some graffiti on the portajohn announcing NO ILLEGALS, but really it is just the awareness that things are drawing to a close.
I shoot a pedestrian 54, with two birdies and two bogeys. Even making a 20 footer on 18—the longest hole on the course--to save my par round, is not enough to get me jacked up. Around Hole 16, my shins start to hurt from pounding the pavement and pushing off, a dull, achy sort of pain. I’m always happy to shoot par, and while Calvert is no Rock Hill, it’s no Douglass College either. For the first time all trip, my bed at home sounds more enticing than tomorrow’s course. Looks like I timed the length of my vacation just right too.
There is one very nice moment though, when I throw my second flick of the round. It makes a solid approach to a long hole with a right turn, and I realize I’m getting slightly more comfortable making this throw, even in the middle of a round. It is not the orgasmic thrill of throwing an ace; rather, it is the pleasant prospect of a new friendship, one you think might last a long time. Why it should seem odd that among the many good things about this trip, improving my game should be one, I don’t know. But it has been.
I get to the home of the people I am staying with in Maryland, but they are out for most of the evening, so I start watching a downloaded movie ( Being Julia). As usual, I’ve packed way too much, and I have DVDs, books, and downloaded movies that I didn’t even glance at.
This seems as good a place as any to add some of my less than complementary observations about the trip:
--The merging lane of a highway is for accelerating until you reach the speed of traffic, not for stopping until you find a break in traffic.
--Many of the towns in New England have an irritating habit of only identifying the cross street on their signs. This can be annoying when you are not sure that you are on the correct street to begin with.
--There is a preoccupation in New England with letting you know that something is a STATE law. You must, for example, yield to pedestrians in crosswalks. This is not a local ordinance, nor is it a national statute. It is a STATE LAW. And don’t you forget it…
--Despite my two day stay, I still avoided buying gas in New Jersey.
CALVERT PARK
3-3-3 3-4-2 4-3-2 OUT (27)
3-3-3 3-3-3 3-3-3 IN (27) 54
Day 12 Tally--
Courses: 16
New Courses: 8
States: 11
IKEA Stores Visited: 1
Books Brought on Trip: 4
Books Bought on Trip: 1
Books Read on Trip: 0 (little bits of de Caussade)
Movies Downloaded to Watch on Trip: 5
DVDs Brought to Watch on Trip: 9
Movies Watched on Trip: 1
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Day 11: East Brunswick, NJ
Because we are staying with my in-laws and there is no check out time or long travel to be done, I do something unorthodox for this trip: I turn over in bed and take another hour of sleep.
The PDGA web site says there are two 9 hole courses that are close to our zip code, but my sister-in-law assures me that Douglass College at Rutgers is the closest. There are also some courses in Pennsylvania about 30 miles away, but Todd thinks he can get Pennsylvania more easily than New Jersey since he is living in Ohio (sensible boy). Since the weather calls for rain at four, we decide playing Rutgers in the morning would be our best bet.
Douglass is marked as 3729 in the PDGA site, and the last time I was here (I think 2 years ago) I shot a 48. If I had Warwick as an ace up my sleeve to ensure at least one great course at the tail end of the trip, I also had in the back of my mind that it would be nice to have a course that could be played under par to hold in reserve.
The course was established in 1978, so there are a few eccentricities. (The sign on Hole 3 says "Par 4" for a 200 foot hole.) The baskets are in good repair, though, and the trees are used quite well to make you at least make some shots.
Hole 1 is short but with a very sharp hook that makes you go around a tree. Hole 2 is reachable, but a low hanging tree ensures that you have to drive straight and low. There are a lot of holes like that. I deuce the first three holes and settle into course management mode--make sure you get your pars first, then take advantage of opportunities as they present themselves. The only trouble I get in is on Hole 7 where I'm distracted enough by a tree in the middle of the fairway that I try to overthrow the Leopard and end up driving it into the ground. I'm left with over a 100 feet for my approach and I have obstacles. Fortunately, I'm able to throw the Whippet (I think this is the first time it's been out of my bag all trip) to within 15 feet and make a meaningful if not very difficult putt to save par. If I have goals of shooting in the 40s, even on an easy course, I have to eliminate 4s.
Making that putt gives me some confidence. I'm four under after 8 holes, and all I'm thinking is 8 pars and a birdie and I'll have my goal. The ninth hole is a short left to right (anhyzer) with a slope away from the pin to the left and a short, felled tree by the hole that one can go over if one wants to run straight at the hole The problem with the straight shot is that you are tempted to loft it to get it over the tree/bush and thus risk fading down the hill away from the basket. I take out my DX-Roc and concentrate on throwing it just enough with angle to turn it slightly right over the barrier and hope that it will land hard enough to hold. When I let it go, I know I've thrown the shot I wanted, but I wasn't thinking about the target, just the area. And that's when I hear the chains.
Aw, the sweetest sound there is. Not the glancing sound of some chains but that sweet "chi-ching" as the disc hits the chains and the chains hit the pole and each other. Just as a basketball net has a specific sound when a shot is "swished" so too does a basket when a long approach or tee shot hits chains true.
After a 21 year hiatus (I said 18 in About You section, but I calculated wrong), I have rejoined the Brotherhood of the Ace with my third career hole-in-one. Todd takes a picture of me by the hole from the tee and another as we arrive at the basket. Finally, lovingly, I take the Roc out of the basket, kiss it once, and put it in my bag, never to be thrown again.
Oh, but there's work still to do. I'm now six under and approaching rarified territory. Further, I've got the adrenaline going. The back nine has a few more tricky holes, but I get three more birdies to finish at 45, a new course record for me and only the second lowest round I've shot ever. I even make a meaningful flick off the tee on seventeen. I get a par, but just the decision to throw it rather than the more comfortable backhand pleases me. I'm working to expand my game so that I won't be afraid to throw the flick when it is called for.
Back at the car we call the spouses to celebrate. Todd has thrown a 53, his first time under par (54) on any course. But, strange role reveral here, he's brooding a bit. He had at least 5 putts bounce out, and he easily feels he could have been lower. The course is short enough and we have nothing else planned for the day that he is sorely tempted to play another 18 after Gatorade.
Todd is a sweet man and a good friend, though, and he is concerned that going back out on the course could ruin my good round. What if I go out and throw a clunker. Today should be about celebrating my good fortune.
I explain, however, that while I can brood with the best of them when I don't do as well as I hoped, that if I have good fortune, I'm pretty much happy no matter what. That round is in the bank and nothing can take it from me, ever. I could go out right now and shoot a +9 and still go home happy. I'm floating. So, my advice is bascially, "I'm here for you. I've got mine, if you want to go get yours (or take another stab at it), don't let me stop you."
He does, so we head back out to the first tee.
Todd throws a -3 on the next eighteen, and a strange and wonderful thing happens to me. Basically, I'm as loose, mentally as I've been on a golf course in ages. I'm playing with house money.
When I'm loose, I tend to putt better.
I start to putt real well on a short course.
I birdie the first six holes. Combined with the birdie that I ended the last round with, that is a run of seven straight birdies which I know is a record for me. I par 6 and birdie seven.
After I throw my drive on seven, I lick my index finger and make the sizzling noise. I am on fire and enjoying the ride.
Eventually, I do start to wilt in the heat and 36 holes is 36 holes, short or not. There is this weird dynamic when you are on a zone. You don't want to think too much and break the momentum, but you also don't want to make foolish mistakes. I actually take a 4 on Hole 10 and that announces to me that I need to start easing back into concentrate mode rather than just momentum mode.
I am -9 going into seventeen and I make a long arcing flick that I think looks good, but when we approach the hole, we can't find the disc. A short search finally reveals it up in the tree and it is over two meters. I'm bummed, because I threw a good flick and I've seen my chances of tying my best round ever (44 at Bull Run, a much easier course) go by the boards. Once we get the disc down though, I realize I can do a straddle putt from around the tree, and if I don't overthink it too much (and I don't) I can make a 20 footer to save par. For the second time in the trip I take a circle three. I get my birde on the short 18th hole and finish -10 for only the second time in my playing days.
I have to say, as an aside, both times I've shot -10, on very easy courses, one of the first things I think is, "John has shot -10 at Rose Lane, a course I am fortunate to be under par on." One would think that my shooting a good score would reduce the awe in which I hold better players, but it's actually the reverse. I see how hard it is to go double digits on even an easy course. One tree the wrong way, one slip of the putting hand, can cost you a stroke.
Todd and I are both bone weary tired, not just from 36 holes but from the last seven days. He decides we need to celebrate so he treats me to a movie of my choice and I finally grab the opportunity to see War of the Worlds. After that, it's out to a nice Mexican dinner with the in-laws.
Tomorrow Todd is heading home, and he is anxious to play his home course and see if he sees improvement from a week of intensive practice.
I think I'm looking at College Park as a stopover on the way home. Perhaps on Thursday I'll play Loriella or Valley Springs on way home.
Oh, and after dinner, I get a sharpie to date the disc. Todd and I sign it and it comes out of the bag and into the suitcase.
DOUGLASS COLLEGE
2-2-2 3-3-2 3-3-1 OUT (21)
3-2-3 3-2-3 3-3-2 IN (24) 45
2-2-2 2-2-2 3-2-2 OUT (19)
4-2-3 3-3-2 3-3-2 IN (25) 44
DAY 11 Tally
Courses: 15
New Courses: 8
States: 11
Deuces Thrown Today: 18
Deuces Thrown in New York, Vermont, Maine, and Massachussetts Combined: 5
Number of Aces Thrown on Trip: 1
Number of Aces Thrown in the Rest of My Life Combined: 2
Number of times I've been double digits under Par 3: 2
Consectuive deuces thrown: 7
Discs Lost on Trip: 3 (Todd 2, Ken 1)
Discs Retired on Trip: 1
The PDGA web site says there are two 9 hole courses that are close to our zip code, but my sister-in-law assures me that Douglass College at Rutgers is the closest. There are also some courses in Pennsylvania about 30 miles away, but Todd thinks he can get Pennsylvania more easily than New Jersey since he is living in Ohio (sensible boy). Since the weather calls for rain at four, we decide playing Rutgers in the morning would be our best bet.
Douglass is marked as 3729 in the PDGA site, and the last time I was here (I think 2 years ago) I shot a 48. If I had Warwick as an ace up my sleeve to ensure at least one great course at the tail end of the trip, I also had in the back of my mind that it would be nice to have a course that could be played under par to hold in reserve.
The course was established in 1978, so there are a few eccentricities. (The sign on Hole 3 says "Par 4" for a 200 foot hole.) The baskets are in good repair, though, and the trees are used quite well to make you at least make some shots.
Hole 1 is short but with a very sharp hook that makes you go around a tree. Hole 2 is reachable, but a low hanging tree ensures that you have to drive straight and low. There are a lot of holes like that. I deuce the first three holes and settle into course management mode--make sure you get your pars first, then take advantage of opportunities as they present themselves. The only trouble I get in is on Hole 7 where I'm distracted enough by a tree in the middle of the fairway that I try to overthrow the Leopard and end up driving it into the ground. I'm left with over a 100 feet for my approach and I have obstacles. Fortunately, I'm able to throw the Whippet (I think this is the first time it's been out of my bag all trip) to within 15 feet and make a meaningful if not very difficult putt to save par. If I have goals of shooting in the 40s, even on an easy course, I have to eliminate 4s.
Making that putt gives me some confidence. I'm four under after 8 holes, and all I'm thinking is 8 pars and a birdie and I'll have my goal. The ninth hole is a short left to right (anhyzer) with a slope away from the pin to the left and a short, felled tree by the hole that one can go over if one wants to run straight at the hole The problem with the straight shot is that you are tempted to loft it to get it over the tree/bush and thus risk fading down the hill away from the basket. I take out my DX-Roc and concentrate on throwing it just enough with angle to turn it slightly right over the barrier and hope that it will land hard enough to hold. When I let it go, I know I've thrown the shot I wanted, but I wasn't thinking about the target, just the area. And that's when I hear the chains.
Aw, the sweetest sound there is. Not the glancing sound of some chains but that sweet "chi-ching" as the disc hits the chains and the chains hit the pole and each other. Just as a basketball net has a specific sound when a shot is "swished" so too does a basket when a long approach or tee shot hits chains true.
After a 21 year hiatus (I said 18 in About You section, but I calculated wrong), I have rejoined the Brotherhood of the Ace with my third career hole-in-one. Todd takes a picture of me by the hole from the tee and another as we arrive at the basket. Finally, lovingly, I take the Roc out of the basket, kiss it once, and put it in my bag, never to be thrown again.
Oh, but there's work still to do. I'm now six under and approaching rarified territory. Further, I've got the adrenaline going. The back nine has a few more tricky holes, but I get three more birdies to finish at 45, a new course record for me and only the second lowest round I've shot ever. I even make a meaningful flick off the tee on seventeen. I get a par, but just the decision to throw it rather than the more comfortable backhand pleases me. I'm working to expand my game so that I won't be afraid to throw the flick when it is called for.
Back at the car we call the spouses to celebrate. Todd has thrown a 53, his first time under par (54) on any course. But, strange role reveral here, he's brooding a bit. He had at least 5 putts bounce out, and he easily feels he could have been lower. The course is short enough and we have nothing else planned for the day that he is sorely tempted to play another 18 after Gatorade.
Todd is a sweet man and a good friend, though, and he is concerned that going back out on the course could ruin my good round. What if I go out and throw a clunker. Today should be about celebrating my good fortune.
I explain, however, that while I can brood with the best of them when I don't do as well as I hoped, that if I have good fortune, I'm pretty much happy no matter what. That round is in the bank and nothing can take it from me, ever. I could go out right now and shoot a +9 and still go home happy. I'm floating. So, my advice is bascially, "I'm here for you. I've got mine, if you want to go get yours (or take another stab at it), don't let me stop you."
He does, so we head back out to the first tee.
Todd throws a -3 on the next eighteen, and a strange and wonderful thing happens to me. Basically, I'm as loose, mentally as I've been on a golf course in ages. I'm playing with house money.
When I'm loose, I tend to putt better.
I start to putt real well on a short course.
I birdie the first six holes. Combined with the birdie that I ended the last round with, that is a run of seven straight birdies which I know is a record for me. I par 6 and birdie seven.
After I throw my drive on seven, I lick my index finger and make the sizzling noise. I am on fire and enjoying the ride.
Eventually, I do start to wilt in the heat and 36 holes is 36 holes, short or not. There is this weird dynamic when you are on a zone. You don't want to think too much and break the momentum, but you also don't want to make foolish mistakes. I actually take a 4 on Hole 10 and that announces to me that I need to start easing back into concentrate mode rather than just momentum mode.
I am -9 going into seventeen and I make a long arcing flick that I think looks good, but when we approach the hole, we can't find the disc. A short search finally reveals it up in the tree and it is over two meters. I'm bummed, because I threw a good flick and I've seen my chances of tying my best round ever (44 at Bull Run, a much easier course) go by the boards. Once we get the disc down though, I realize I can do a straddle putt from around the tree, and if I don't overthink it too much (and I don't) I can make a 20 footer to save par. For the second time in the trip I take a circle three. I get my birde on the short 18th hole and finish -10 for only the second time in my playing days.
I have to say, as an aside, both times I've shot -10, on very easy courses, one of the first things I think is, "John has shot -10 at Rose Lane, a course I am fortunate to be under par on." One would think that my shooting a good score would reduce the awe in which I hold better players, but it's actually the reverse. I see how hard it is to go double digits on even an easy course. One tree the wrong way, one slip of the putting hand, can cost you a stroke.
Todd and I are both bone weary tired, not just from 36 holes but from the last seven days. He decides we need to celebrate so he treats me to a movie of my choice and I finally grab the opportunity to see War of the Worlds. After that, it's out to a nice Mexican dinner with the in-laws.
Tomorrow Todd is heading home, and he is anxious to play his home course and see if he sees improvement from a week of intensive practice.
I think I'm looking at College Park as a stopover on the way home. Perhaps on Thursday I'll play Loriella or Valley Springs on way home.
Oh, and after dinner, I get a sharpie to date the disc. Todd and I sign it and it comes out of the bag and into the suitcase.
DOUGLASS COLLEGE
2-2-2 3-3-2 3-3-1 OUT (21)
3-2-3 3-2-3 3-3-2 IN (24) 45
2-2-2 2-2-2 3-2-2 OUT (19)
4-2-3 3-3-2 3-3-2 IN (25) 44
DAY 11 Tally
Courses: 15
New Courses: 8
States: 11
Deuces Thrown Today: 18
Deuces Thrown in New York, Vermont, Maine, and Massachussetts Combined: 5
Number of Aces Thrown on Trip: 1
Number of Aces Thrown in the Rest of My Life Combined: 2
Number of times I've been double digits under Par 3: 2
Consectuive deuces thrown: 7
Discs Lost on Trip: 3 (Todd 2, Ken 1)
Discs Retired on Trip: 1
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