Lee Geiger

Oh, like a rock, the sun upon my skin

Like a rock, hard against the wind

Like a rock, I see myself again,

Like a rock

Oh, like a rock

Bob Segar, “Like A Rock” (1986)

Thursday, May 22

5:00pm – I take the exit for Bob Hope Drive, turn right and pull into the first gas station I see. It’s across the street from the Aqua Caliente Resort and Casino in Rancho Mirage. I step out of the car and immediately notice an obnoxious flashing billboard across the street promoting Rod Stewart’s upcoming concert. Rod Stewart? Seriously? People pay good money to hear an 80-year-old man sing “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?”

I walk around the back of my black Lexus and come face to face with the right side of my rear bumper; it’s dislodged and hanging limp like a broken tree limb. It’s gnarly and twisted after being subjected to who knows how many miles of desert wind shear. Despite its tortured state, the fiberglass sail made barely a sound, and it flailed away just beneath the view from my passenger side rear view mirror. How long had this been going on? Everything was fine when I last stopped in Grapevine five hours ago for some gas and a greasy burger. And nothing seemed amiss while grinding my way across the San Gabrial Valley in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Then again, one guy did whiz past me near Beaumont and honk. I flipped him the bird.

Lucky for me, the gas station market sells black duct tape. Maybe the guys won’t notice my sloppy auto repair hatchet job. Thankfully it’s only three more miles to Rancho Ratones.

5:30pm – The house appears empty. Then our host for the weekend, Stuart Williams, appears from around a corner. He informs me that fellow Claremont McKenna College Class of 1982 grads Jon Stott, Tom Pendry, Charlie Klinge and Dan Debevec have already arrived and are wetting their whistles in Stuart’s super-cool and super-cozy basement speakeasy. Of course they are.

7:00pm – The last time I saw Dan Debevec was at my wedding in 1985. He hasn’t changed one iota. In fact, he’s arguably more handsome and charming than he was in college. It’s no wonder The Pretty Blonde had a huge crush on him back when we all worked together at Lloyd’s Bank. I may have as well. I’ve missed Dan.

Chris Townsend shows up at dinner. The weekend has officially started.

9:00pm – The Redbreast Irish Whiskey and barrel-aged negronis are flowing. So are the stories. How great is this.

I surrender at ten o’clock. The hardliners stay up late, and in the darkness I hear rumblings about another CMC mini-reunion at a Las Vegas Raiders game in November. Chris has been generously sponsoring this annual alumnus gathering for eons. I was fortunate to score an invite a couple of years ago, though I’m not sure if Chris knows that I’m a die-hard 49er fan and that I like the Raiders as much as I like liver.

Friday, May 23

Noon – Pulling the club back is hard enough in this 105-degree furnace, but remaining upright is getting dicier by the minute. The dizzy spells are coming faster than a Trump news cycle. Lucky for me, the 13^th green is a chip shot from Stuart’s place. Chris called it quits after nine holes, and it is high time I go in as well. Getting old is indeed a bitch, but not staying hydrated is stupid.

2:00pm – Lunch consists of custom-ordered In-N-Out burgers and more stories. Charlie graciously picks up lunch, which is great except it costs him time away from the gang. Charlie’s only here for one day, which frankly is just not enough time for me to hear more about his new boat he keeps moored in Seattle. I’m more than a tad jealous of Charlie, and I honestly wish I was that excited about something.

It’s finally settled; Dan DID once inhale five double-doubles in one sitting, though the elapsed time of twenty minutes remains a hot debate topic. Based on Dan’s post-retirement figure, I’d say he’s become more of a chicken Caeser salad man.

I check my phone and notice an email from fellow CMC alum Meggan Knott. It’s filled with details about the Raider game in November. Six people have already RSVP’d. Meggan is like Julie on The Love Boat – fast, reliable, and very good at what she does. You have to admire the women from our class who had the guts to attend a jock-strap circus like Claremont Men’s College back when Jimmy Carter was in office.

4:00pm – I decide to man up and finish the last five holes of my round. Tom joins me, and I catch up on the life and times of a man in his mid-sixties still raising two teenagers. And I thought applying for Medicare was a challenge.

6:00pm – I’m sitting next to Bruce Colin at dinner. He and his lovely wife Pat are spending the weekend at one of the club’s cottages. I come to learn that Bruce is a successful wealth manager who has been running his own firm for over three decades. My company recently stepped its toe into the wealth management pool, and I spend the next two hours selfishly monopolizing Bruce’s time. Bruce speaks in a deep, low voice, and I hang on his every word like I’m listening to a how-to lecture from Warren Buffett. He is intelligent, thoughtful, and deliberate, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear Bruce was a Supreme Court justice. Or a Mafia consigliere.

I don’t bring much to this esteemed gathering, so I try to do my best when it comes to dialing up the wine. Tonight, I’m serving a magnum of 2019 Realm Cellars Moonracer, a cabernet sauvignon from the Stags Leap region of Napa Valley. It appears to have done the trick.

9:00pm – It’s off to Handel’s Homemade Ice Cream for dessert. Dan and Chris pound their chests and order magnum-sized milk shakes. Thank goodness there wasn’t a Foster’s Donuts in the area, or it could have gotten ugly.

Saturday, May 24

8:00am – Jon Stott is, as always, a true original. He tees off from the first tee right-handed, then hits his next shot left-handed. No matter what else happens during this morning’s round of golf, it’s going to be highly entertaining.

1:00pm – We head off campus for lunch at a nearby deli. The walls are adorned with classic black and white pictures of long-departed Hollywood celebrities, the perfect complement to heaping piles of pastrami and corned beef. The food and ambiance are outstanding, and from where I sit the Rancho Mirage legend of Stu Williams only continues to grow.

3:00pm – It doesn’t get much better than sitting around a comfy living room, or wading in the backyard pool, reminiscing about the old days at CMC or talking politics with the likes of Chris and Tom. Both are graduates of Havard’s Kennedy School of Government, and their insightful opinions are as good as anything you’ll hear on cable. Meanwhile, Dan, Jon and me get into a spirited debate about whether the recently-pardoned Pete Rose deserves to be in the baseball Hall of Fame. Let’s just say I sided with the pearls of wisdom hurled by the switch-hitting former Boswell RA.

Speaking of RAs, the general consensus of our quorum, which included three Class of 1982 RAs, was that the Head RA was as essential to the CMC dormitory management process as an English degree from Harvey Mudd College. The Head RA in attendance heartily concurred.

6:00pm – I upped my game a little by serving a 3-bottle horizontal tasting of 2013 red blends from Saxum Vineyards, considered one of the premier wineries in Paso Robles. It pairs well with the prime rib I forget to eat.

Bruce draws the short straw again and sits next to me. He reads quite a bit and asks me what I’ve been reading lately. I mutter something about a couple of history books I recently read, but I forget to tell him that the best book I’ve read in a long time is Keith Richards autobiography. I liked it so much I read it twice.

9:00pm – The weekend concludes with a reading of a play scripted by one of Chris’s relatives. Suffice to say the work needs a little polishing. Chris still swears he’s going to lead the drive to turn my romantic, gender-bending novel, Pearls of Asia, into a movie starring Ryan Gosling. I love it when he talks dirty like that.

Sunday, May 25

The drive home takes seven hours versus the eight-hour-plus it took to get to Rancho Mirage. The good news is the rear bumper manages to hang on for 499 miles. The last mile, however, is exhilarating and requires my full attention. Just like the weekend.

Thank you, Stuart. Thank you, gentlemen. I hope we’re all able to make it to the next Weekend at Rancho Ratones.