Robo Goes To Bandon
Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: “I’m with you kid. Let’s go.”
Maya Angelou
Last month I loaded my golf bag and rain gear into my minivan and drove 500 miles north to Bandon Dunes Golf Resort, located in the middle of nowhere along the southern Oregon coast. It was my ninth trip to this Mother of All Golf Destinations, a blessing I tally every time I’m able to place a tee in the resort’s hallowed ground. But this trip had a special ring to it. For the first time ever, the soulful sounds of The Grateful Dead blasted from the van’s speakers. And, also for the first time ever, my Penserra partner-in-crime, Robert Goddard, would be walking with me along the tight, ultra-wide fairways of Bandon Dunes.
This trip was sort-of-a-big-deal to me for two reasons. One, after all these years together, I wanted Robo to experience something that I had spent hours blathering on and on about. And two, Robo’s golf game, from both a statistical and respectful point-of-view, had reached a level where he could fully appreciate where he was and why he was there. To paraphrase a former president, it’s the golf, stupid.
Robo knew he wasn’t in golf’s version of Kansas anymore when he was introduced to Seth, a lanky eager beaver who would serve as his caddy for the next three days. On the first day’s opening hole, Seth handed Robo his driver, where he summoned the Chinese tandem of Timing and Tempo to stoke his yellow ball far down the middle of the fairway. I’m not exaggerating when I suggest that five years earlier, when Robo’s golf game was as raw as the November rain that joined us this morning, odds were good that Robo’s opening drive might have ended up in Idaho. As he strolled triumphantly down the first fairway at Bandon Dunes, Robo looked happier than Tiger Woods at a strip club.
With the rain frequently blowing sideways, and his fifty-something body dressed head-to-toe in rain gear regalia, Robo managed to get around Bandon Dunes in a score worthy of bragging rights at the 19th hole. Two more days of glorious golf followed, played under sunny skies and next to an ocean as blue as either of us had ever seen. Stored away on my iPhone are videos of Robo swinging away at the picturesque 10th, 11th, and 14th holes at Pacific Dunes, which I’ll be sure to bring out the next time he’s carping about the hundred-and-something he shot at Lake Chabot Dog Track and Grill.
One day Robo will suggest I experience something that is very near and dear to him. I can’t wait. I’ve always wanted to meet Jerry Garcia.