Reckless a'Bandon

It was late fall in Salt Lake City, the perfect season in the Rocky Mountains, a time that non-skiing locals hate to love. It is that mocking, short-lived calm before the storm. Or appropriately, the golf hole that starts with a beautiful drive but finishes with a snowman on the scorecard. The time to either squeeze out a couple more low-scoring, final rounds with the game you have been tweaking since late March, or to remove the clubs from the trunk of your car, clean them one last time, and store them away until spring has arrived and your carefully cultivated swing groove has departed. I had decided on the latter when my golf buddy and brother-in-law, Bill, called from Pocatello, Idaho to say he had been working on a late season golf trip worthy of postponing my late season surrender.

Bill and I had been guys-only, golf-tripping for a couple of years. We had originally convinced his wife and mine (his sister) that it was our annual therapy, our once-per-year chance to recharge. You know, the typical slant. Of course, when they reluctantly bought the whole schpill, Bill and I immediately began to morph the word "annual" into "semi-annual," and then worked pretty hard at not keeping track of frequency at all. This late in the year we were predictably overdrawn in the golf-trip-column-of-marriage and I wondered if he had given even a moment's thought to the modern miracle that it would take to get away one more time before the long winter had a chance to remind our wives that having us on a golf trip is really a pretty good alternative to having us around all of the time. My quick conclusion that he just hadn't thought it all the way through yet, immediately changed to near certainty that he had lost his mind altogether when he asked, "What would you think about doing Bandon over Thanksgiving?"

Bill and Mike on their first multi-night, guys-only golf trip

Now, at first glance it wasn't a bad idea. From everything (and I mean everything) we had ever read, Bandon Dunes Golf Resort on the Oregon coast was a great idea - whenever, independent of circumstances. Plus, we could make use of the year's only 4-day weekend to minimize time away from work. However, at each of our respective station in life, great trip ideas and the reasons why we should act on them were a dime a dozen; actually executing our brainstorms was an entirely different story. Bill is a real estate agent; I am a sales manager. Bill had two little girls and a third on the way; I had three little girls and the fourth due in 3 months. We were hardly in a position to invite our families to enjoy the holiday weekend without us, as we excused ourselves for a self-indulgent pilgrimage to the Northwest's greatest golf mecca. I dismissed the idea immediately.

Bill and I are golf buddies for several reasons; we are both confessed golf addicts, we have similar handicaps, we both love course architecture, and we have complimentary traits that work to maximize our quality and quantity of golf outings. Among other things, I offer practicality to the details of the trip, and a sense of how much I think we can get away with. Bill, on the other hand, brings to the table an unquenchable thirst for the next trip, and the ability to vanquish any would-be obstructions. This dynamic generally results in more golf than I may have pulled off on my own, and less trouble than he may get himself into on his own. This being said, it really should go without saying that, regardless of my immediate dismissal, Bill was just rolling up his sleeves.

3rd Hole at Bandon Dunes (543 Yard Par 5)

He called me back within hours of me thinking that the notion was crazy to inform me that he had taken the liberty of checking with the resort, his frequent flyer account, the airline, and Pocatello's limited flight schedule and had concluded that we could pull it off with only a few inconsequential hurdles to clear - trivial matters like leaving at 10 o'clock on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, hopping from Pocatello to Boise to Portland to North Bend, securing holiday transfers from tiny North Bend Airport to Bandon Dunes, and gaining approval on the whole deal from our wives, our children, and his extended family including his mother (my mother-in-law) who happened to be hosting this year's feast. He could taste victory, I could still smell defeat.

Several weeks later, the new holiday we like to call "Thanksgiving Eve" was being celebrated. We, and the rest of the family were in Pocatello, on the Wednesday evening prior to the day the rest of America gives thanks for a bountiful harvest, stuffing our faces and making up reasons why this really was more convenient for everyone involved.

The next day we boarded a twin engine prop at 10 a.m. to begin the delightful four-flight, three-layover trip to the Oregon Coast. Being within weeks of the winter solstice, daylight was at a premium, and even while gaining a time zone we arrived at the North Bend Municipal Airport only 45 minutes prior to sunset. Within an area not much bigger than most people's living rooms, we entered the airport, quickly claimed our clubs and luggage, and grabbed our rental car key from the owner of the local Dodge dealership who had, in the spirit of the season, made a special trip to accommodate just us on a day that no one else would, with instructions to just throw the key on the desk when we returned early Monday morning. Twenty-five MapQuest-assisted minutes later we were making the final turn onto Round Lake Drive with thousands of goose bumps offering a tingling, awestruck awareness that we had arrived on hallowed ground.

Pacific Dunes 10th and Bandon Dunes 6th greens

Recognizing our precariously few remaining moments of daylight we raced past registration, following the signs to the practice range. We hustled out of the car and unpacked our clubs, giving no thought to the cold, humid conditions, and raced to the shack where the range balls were housed. Once inside we belatedly noticed the sign that indicated that room keys, which we hadn't taken the time to obtain, were to be used to obtain limitless balls. Unwilling to let one precious day of a golf trip pass without at least taking a few swings, I headed for the only two golfers left at the practice facility to abruptly inform them of our predicament, and to commandeer their room key. Successful in my efforts, we hit balls until it we couldn't see them anymore, putted for awhile in complete darkness in a wasted effort, and finally relinquished the day to less important matters such as eating and sleeping.

As those of you who have been to Bandon can attest, there is really only one glorious thing to do. So, at 7:30 in the evening, the sun having been absent for a couple of hours and we, having eaten our obligatory full meal for the day, wandered out the back door of the main building and decided to see how much of the course we could see by the light of a mostly-full moon. Several unprepared hours later, we returned with sopping shoes and socks, dress pants wet most of the way up to the knee, a few blisters in their early stages, relieved at having found my briefly lost cell phone - excitedly and inadvertently dropped on the 16th green, and most significantly, having just experienced our virgin walk of the famous Bandon Dunes in preparation for the following day.

3rd Hole at Pacific Dunes (499 Yard Par 5)

Friday morning we were the first patrons through the doors for the breakfast buffet. We ate with swiftness, heisted a banana and an apple apiece, and made it to the range 40 minutes prior to our tee time - this time with our room key in hand. We took 30 minutes to loosen up, hit some putts that we could actually see, and checked in at the Pacific Dunes House of Worship - or as some prefer to call it, "the starter's shack." Semantics. We were on the sheet for the 8 am tee time - the first group off, giving us the only chance of seeing our approach shots on our intended 36th hole of the day. Failing to finish was not a consideration. My stiff 4-iron off the first tee, followed by Bill's sweet 5-wood, started one of the more marvelous days of golf known to man.

We played from the tips in an inexplicable act of masochistic bravado. We made messes of our scorecards. We humiliated ourselves with our dismal club selection, wretched sand play, and our nonexistent touch on and around the green. We constantly mocked our miserly decision to forego a caddy. We cursed at our own sick play, and repeatedly ridiculed each other's. And, we chose to blame it all on course unfamiliarity and the breathtaking distraction that is the Pacific Ocean, and wondered if we would ever have a more wonderful experience. Four hours and ten minutes later we glided off the 18th green, and then quickly transitioned into a full, attention-drawing sprint to the parking lot in an effort to make our 12:20 tee time at Bandon Dunes.

4th Hole at Pacific Dunes (463 Yard Par 4)

Our urgency allowed us time to consume our previously abducted and now badly golf-bag-bruised bananas while standing on Bandon's first tee. Our apples completed our classic lunch by the time we putted out on the first green. The second set of 18 was much like the first, grueling and magnificent, horrific and breathtaking, an experience we would trade for very few others. As expected, we waltzed off the 18th green wondering whether the faint remaining light was more sunlight or moonlight, having just enough illumination to feel like we had taken in all that David McLay Kidd had intended.

That evening, we finally found a flaw, our solitary criticism of an otherwise brilliant resort. Our lonely plans for the first evening consisted entirely of a meal and long soak in the whirlpool. The meal, which we ate at the on-site, casual McKee's pub, was superb. The whirlpool was a different story. Possessing stereotypical reluctance to ask for directions, we haphazardly roamed the property, looking in all the places that we would have positioned the resort's most crucial, non-course-related amenity - especially at a facility that encourages you to "enjoy the walk." We finally found it; dark, isolated, void of any attractive females - or anyone else for that matter, totally enclosed in the basement of the main building. We spent about two hours in it. We needed time to loosen sore feet and backs, and to relive all 36 holes and as many of our good shots as we could remember. By about 9 pm we were dreaming about them.

4th Hole at Bandon Dunes (410 Yard Par 4)

The following day, we reenacted the previous one in reverse order. This time Bandon was our 8 am tee time and Pacific was our 12:20. No longer able to use the excuse of unfamiliar layouts, and now equipped with vivid memories and veteran course knowledge, we proceeded to shoot worse scores on both rounds than we had the day previous. However, like many of our college classes, we convinced ourselves that we enjoyed them both much more the second time through.

That evening, stark reality set it in. Our 72-hole, sunup to sundown, 48-hour brush with paradise had drawn to a close. And while we had one more day of golf planned an hour north in Florence, Oregon at Sandpines Golf Links and Ocean Dunes Golf Links as a cool-down prior to our Monday morning return flight, we understood that our best-rate-of-the-year, 2-night-package-deal-at-Bandon was over. We nearly had a break down.

Then it dawned on one of us: Why not forfeit the two landslide winners in the Proximity-to-Bandon-Sweepstakes, and play Bandon and Pacific for a third straight day? The choice was beyond obvious. So, we giddily headed to registration with the hopes of extending the stay rather than checking out as planned. We were able to collect ourselves and turn on our very best, we-know-you-can-help-us charm. As transparent and superficial as that act must have been, we convinced ourselves that our raw charisma and magnetic personas, rather than an abnormally slow weekend, compelled the attendant and her manager to pull some strings and grant us another night and two more rounds of golf at a rate that we vowed to never divulge. We spent two more hours that evening in the whirlpool dungeon reveling in our royal plunder.

11th Hole at Pacific Dunes (148 Yard Par 3)

The third day was perfect. It replicated the two previous. It was the icing on the cake - that indulgently rich topping that puts the final touches on an already extravagant dessert, but that also convinces you that it is time to put down the fork. So, at the end of the day, we put the forks in the trunk and headed for the North Bend Motel 6.

The next morning was a slurred conglomeration of blistered feet, aching backs, economy beds and pillows, and a defeated admission that the golf trip was over. Long story short, we arrived at the North Bend Municipal Airport about 20 minutes prior to our scheduled flight, self-parked our car, threw our rental car keys on the unattended desk as directed, and stumbled over to check-in. After a compulsory scolding for being late, we were informed by the airline attendant that only one seat remained on the over-booked, Monday-morning-following-a-holiday flight. After briefly glancing once at each other in fatigued disbelief at our misfortune, we nearly gave ourselves whiplash as we looked back at each other with the mutual epiphany that the golf trip still had a pulse!

16th Hole at Bandon Dunes (363 Yard Par 4)

In less time than it takes for the schmuck in the group to yell "One!" when your ball falls off the tee, we had shrugged off our morning stupor, revived ourselves from a severe case of end-of-a-golf-trip-itis, and flattered our way onto the 5 o'clock pm flight register. Then we slipped away, bags still in hand, trying not to make our elation too obvious, each clutching a consolatory round-trip voucher to be used for a future golf trip. Before anyone could change their mind, we returned to the unoccupied car rental desk, grabbed our key, and headed for Sandpines Golf Links after all.

Ahhhhhh, golf trips! Done right, they can create the perfect cycle: Anticipating - Experiencing - Reflecting. Bill's late season, reckless inspiration produced nothing less. The original idea was good. Sandpines Golf Links was great. Bandon Dunes Resort was exceptional. Playing both Pacific Dunes and Bandon Dunes on three consecutive days was extraordinary. Coming home with a free round-trip ticket was supreme. Using that ticket as the perfect excuse to restart the cycle . . . .

17th Hole at Bandon Dunes (389 Yard Par 4)

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