Miles Driven: 2,906
States Visited: 9
Times I encountered rain: 3
Times rain lasted longer than 5 minutes: 1
More than 15 minutes: 0
Tolls paid: too fucking many
Car problems: 1 (passenger side mirror)
Car problems fixed with minimum hassle thanks to Craigslist and some guy: 1
Phish shows attended: 2
Old Friends visited: Dozens
New friends made: Dozens
Blood Relatives visited: 11
Scrapes inflicted by collapsed beach chair: 3
Rounds of golf: 5
Rounds of golf played well: 1
My golfing in a new state: 2
PGA tournament rounds attended: 1
Hotel stays: 4
Number of hook-ups with opposite sex: 1
A quick re-cap of my journey:
Left Atlanta on a Friday morning, intent on getting through Charlotte before it's rush hour hit, en route to a pricelined hotel in Charleston, WVA. I succeeded in missing most of the traffic, and this would prove to be the case over pretty much the entirety of the trip. After hitting the mountains in western Virginia it occurred to me that I had time to golf and what's more, I had never golfed in WV. In case I ever come near golfing in every state, I'll want to have this marked off the list for sure, so I summoned a little slice of ridiculous technology---my gps unit---and found a course acceptably on the way.
I called the course to be sure there wasn't league play that might thwart my plan, and it was clear sailing. To get a feel of what kind of course it was, I asked the guy how much it cost. "Are you an elk?", he replied? "Not exactly," I said, "but I am kind of hard-charging as golfers go." He was not amused, and you probably weren't either, but that's OK. Anyway, I wound my way through the outskirts of Princeton, WV and found the track---a lovely looking alpine feeling number. I went in and explained that I wanted to play 18 holes, riding. (heavy drawl) "We only got nine holes." OK then---nine it is! I was then paired up with two locals, one of whom had zero interest in repairing his ball marks unless it happened to be in his putting line. The chaps were nice enough, (as are most people), and the course was a charmer too, especially for $17.
Rolled into Charleston well after dark, disappointed in myself for not getting a six pack when I had a chance because I was now in a convenience store-free downtown area. Hit up the Holiday Inn, dead center of town, right on the river, for $55. I stayed in the same place last year and was pleased, especially because it's right next to the downtown nightlife center. Soon enough I was at a bar enjoying a reasonably-priced pint, listening to a black guy take offense at my speculation that Tiger Woods is probably not going to catch Nicklaus' record of majors won. Seriously, he took it WAY too personally---as if it's my fault Tiger had just wrapped up his worst round as a pro at a tournament he's won seven times, But I digress.
Charleston is a nice town nestled in a valley, with a big river running through it. Before I discovered its little nightlife area I found it notable only for some apartment buildings I've seen there, none of which utilized river views, even though they were on the river. In other words, the four buildings faced each other, none faced the water. I could never figure that out. The best part of Charleston is by comparison you feel like a matinee idol on top of the world compared to the mostly fat, ugly, and stupid people in this burg. Not trying to be a dick, just being honest. You'd think that the people would at least be nice, but not so much the case there either. I did see one of the prettiest girls I saw my whole trip there, however. She was about six feet tall, out with a guy about 5'9".
The next day I found my way to Massillon, Ohio---not far from where I grew up---to hang out with my best friend from High School. He's blue collar, and we don't have much in common other than a love for partying anymore, but he's one of the few with whom I stay in touch nevertheless. Ironically enough he's does home improvement/renovations, and his own house is in a total state of disrepair. The bathroom doesn't even have a shower---just a tub. Anyway, I had arrived in time to head off to the sticks just down the road to camp and my friend's buddy's property. With my friend's college senior son and three of his friends, among others.
Now I hate to camp. My idea of roughing it is having my sheets untucked. My friend was aware of this, and graciously allowed me to use the air mattress. Turns out that and an ambien did the trick at the end of the evening. Prior to that good times were had, drugs done, and beer consumed. The highlight of the evening was a trip to the ridge to the rear of the property on ATV's. After a trip up and overgrown path and a very steep hill, we emerged onto a ridge with a gigantic sky and views of the lights of surrounding towns. There was a new moon, so the stars were quite prevalent. This fact lead to the primary entertainment of the evening: my friend arguing with one of the college kids about whether we were looking at the moon or the north star. He did so in all sincerity for a good fifteen minutes. As he pointed to the north star he said shit like: "that's too bright to not be the moon, and it's oblong!" Bright it was, oblong it wasn't. But we were partying, so who gives a fuck?
The next day I tracked down another friend, and off we went to Firestone CC to watch some pro golf. Before we got there I asked him if it would be OK if I got kicked out for heckling Tiger. (I was planning on: "Perkins later, Tiger?" He was all for it. Sadly Tiger had already finished his dismal performance by the time we arrived, so the jeering will have to wait. We drank a lot of shitty domestic beer as we wandered the course, and were happy for the privilege. Golf tournaments are a crappy spectator sport in the sense of catching a lot of action, but they are great for shooting the shit with random fellow gallery members. Golf fans also tend to be pretty intelligent, so wise cracks abound---especially when the beer is flowing. At one point we were chatting with these guys, one of whom looked like the dickhead frat guy from every shitty movie you've seen. He ended up buying us a couple of beers and didn't even want one or money in return. As I said earlier: most people are nice.
The next day was Monday, which is usually a green light to hit up a golf course and play 36 holes because no one else is playing. Unfortunately at t Tam O Shanter, a childhood course I played probably one hundred times, Mondays can mean a tournament is being played, and that was the case here. We still got to play the other 18, but still. It was a glorious day with a cool breeze and I was once again reminded of how ever "average" courses in the midwest are plush compared to the South. It's just so easy to grow lush grass up there.
Ended up driving from the course all the way to Indianapolis, which was about 300 miles. I had planned to meet some friends in Columbus on the way, but that all fell through for various reasons. No biggie. I stopped to see my Grandparent's old house in Upper Arlington, where I logged many a moon over the years. Melancholy music came up on my ipod as a slowly drove around the neighborhood, and this was most appropriate. I will always have a soft place in my heart for C-Bus, even though it was annoyingly hot and humid, which made my next task even more annoying.
I pulled over to the park where Gramps used to take me to once again jerry-rig the passenger side mirror on my stellar Mazda Protege. This mirror had been taped to door since I bought the car used about 14 months ago, and other than changing the tape periodically after too many trips through the car wash, it was no big deal. Well, unless it was the reason I couldn't get many second dates, of course, but that's neither here nor there. The point is for some reason this summer the tape doesn't stick very long. I tried both duct and packing, and any sinister combination I could, but the goddamn thing won't stay on. Obviously it must be the intense heat of this summer compared to last, but in any event I had to finally stop putting off one of those annoying not-really-necessary-but-necessary cash outlays, which would take place in my next stop: Indy.
Hit up my dear Aunt Sally, who acts exactly like my beloved late Grandma, and the gruff but lovable Uncle Don to stay in their quite comfortable abode. It's always good to see them, and they always appear happy to have me, although I suspect they think I only visit when I need them for something. Like a place to stay. Little do they know that everyone probably has similar suspicions. Anyway, it was a great way to relax for a couple of days after a weekend of partying with old friends. It was also a productive stay, as I finally addressed my passenger side mirror issue via Craigslist.
The first guy I called who was offering services as a mechanic not only answered the phone, but he had the time to fuck with it. This could be a good or bad sign, but when it comes to installing a mirror, how much can you fuck up? (Indeed after watching him do it I felt like an idiot, because I could've easily done it myself.) Luckily it turns out the guy lived about four miles away and was willing to come look at it, take a down payment, and go get the mirror himself from pick-a-part. Seeing that it was 105 heat index outside, this worked for me. He showed up with his old lady driving the truck, which is a sure sign of recent run-ins with the law. I gave him my $100 on a wing and prayer as he showed full confidence that the repair would be easy enough. He then explained that he would call me later in the afternoon after he went to pick up a tranny. I had no idea that Indiana rednecks rolled like that, but I wasn't going to say anything: this dude was about to replace my nemesis of a side view mirror.
Dude came back later that evening, and I followed him to his house/garage, where he promptly made me look like an idiot by
replacing my mirror in about ten minutes. Also, it turns out "tranny" means "transmission". The last thing I wanted to do was shell out $200 total to have a goddamn side view mirror replaced, but at least I had the ordeal behind me, and it didn't cost $250+ a dealer would've charged me. No longer would I need to look over there while on the freeway and try to assess if the mirror was staying put or not. Only after I had it replaced did I realize how often I did that. And of course now I may have a shot at more second dates. Now that I write this it occurs to me that I would've done well to get a photo of lot of things to which I refer in this story. Sorry about that---I'll try to do so next time.
The next day was spent mostly sitting around surfing the web on the old lap top---apparently the latest American family activity. I also got an old bike of Uncle Don's operational, as I planned on pedaling it around the Deer Creek campgrounds later that evening as I was scoping out the grounds and meeting up with friends. As it turned out, I did take the bike up there, but I only saw one group of people I knew, and it was too fucking hot and humid for any extended bicycle activity. This is probably a good thing, because I had two nights of full-scale partying ahead of me, and I'm getting too old for this shit I did, however, snap this pic at the main campground. You can't really tell, but the venue is to the right of the setting sun.
The next day it was time for me to vacate the comfortable confines of my Aunt's house, as I was going to rage into the wee hours following a Phish concert, and Sally and Don would be leaving for the Lake Michigan house early the next morning. I got a nice hotel not far from the venue for forty-seven little dollars, which was nice. I got up there with the intention of meeting some friends with whom I would hang for the show. "Friends" because singular, as two of them got stuck in Baltimore due to weather and a lack of flights, so I rolled with one of their friends who I barely knew. Not that this was a problem, mind you, because in the community of Phish fans there are no real strangers. The whole scene is akin to a giant sandbox---no pretensions, everyone is simply there to maximize fun.
PART 2 COMING SOON.
