The Last Round

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
~ Joni Mitchell “Big Yellow Taxi”

Tax season has ended, the birds were singing in my backyard and my road bike was tuned up earlier this week…..these thoughts were foremost in my mind when I awoke on Saturday morning ahead of the persistent alarm clock, eager to head out on my first bike ride of the season.

Raising the garage door, I was greeted by a bright yellow sun starting its daily assent into the early morning spring sky.  I felt a slight cool breeze as I squeezed my bike past the two cars that filled my cluttered garage.  In this simple action, both the rider and the bike sensed a certain familiar feeling of a soon to be realized “freedom” that had long ago been forgotten by the recent snowy endless winter. 

For me, the beauty of this pastime is in knowing that each ride will be different from the ride (or rides) which preceded the ones that came before.  I typically start on a familiar path crossing Route 38 on a slight climb heading straight towards Strawbridge Lake for my warm-up.  I’m always eager to see how much foliage is visible or in the case of spring, how many trees and flowers are starting to bud and bloom.

At this point in my ride, a quick early morning sweat will typically form on my brow.  It serves to not only awaken my heart which by now was beating in time with the rhythm of the spokes on my wheels, but more importantly awakening my soul letting me know that at this very moment no demands will be placed on me.  Right now, I am accountable to no one. 

In simplest terms…..I am free.

Will I ride causally today, observing life happening all around me on the open road?  Will I take photos of what catches my attention on today’s journey?  Or will I go for the full-burn workout pushing myself as the songs on my iPod keep time with my surging body and soaring spirit? 

I bike past the Willow Brook Country Club and my thoughts quickly turn to the upcoming 2014 golf season.  Golfing is one of my many summertime activities that provide me with a brief respite from the ever maddening rat race.  Enjoying a weekend afternoon in the company of friends on a golf course always helps to remind me of what is really important in life. 

But wait…..as the course comes into view, I realize something is definitely wrong with this picture!  The blue gravel and stone parking lot is barren.  As I approach the Pro Shop, nowhere can I see golfers or hear the distinct metal ping of a powerful driver striking a stationary golf ball.  There is nothing but emptiness and a deafening silence. 

I decided to check out the remainder of the course (the back-nine) from the vantage point of Garwood Road.  Slipping through the fence with a sense of adventure of someone half my age, I hopped over the small creek.  I walked up the slight incline to where the tee box for the par three 150 yard #12 hole previously resided.  A small solitary stone marker dedicated to a local golfing enthusiast by the name of Kyle Beriont is all that remains. 

In disbelief, I come upon multiple larger than life monster trucks standing guard at what now resembles a construction site.  Silent and intimidating offering a stark contrast to the two lonely remaining once proud willow trees that lined the ‘dogleg left’ 13^th hole.  These trees now appear in distress fighting for their lives surrounded by orange plastic fencing.   The course once consisted of lush green fairways outlined by groves of mature trees.  However, today it is one big muddy field with puddles of brown runoff rain water gathering everywhere.  Razed trees are neatly arranged in piles like giant matchsticks lying across what used to be the 11^th fairway.  

After the initial shock and disgust of seeing this destruction wears off…..I am left feeling very sad.

It appears to be just another example of Big Money taking advantage of a six year recession that has seen many public golf courses struggling to maintain profitability as they ‘fight back’ trying to surpass prior year “rounds played per year” statistics, while at the same time trying to maintain budgetary expenses in a very difficult economy .  Like the continued proliferation of Wawas and Dollar Stores that seem to appear from out of nowhere littering our once mostly rural Southern New Jersey landscape…..I wonder “do we really need more tract housing developments?”

When does it all end?

Some rich men came and raped the land,
Nobody caught 'em
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes, and Jesus,
People bought 'em
~ Don Henley and Glenn Frey “The Last Resort”

With two other private golf courses already existing in Moorestown, this was an “Everymans” course.  Open to the public, this course offered a place where a family could play an affordable round of golf, a parent could introduce their child to a lifetime sport, or in my case a foursome of fifty-somethings could blow off some steam at the end of the work week, playing for nothing more than bragging rights and beers at the end of 18 holes.

I can recall a round I played here with my dad about a decade ago.  He had just retired from DuPont and I was playing “hookey” from my employer on an idyllic Friday summer afternoon.  I (finally) felt all grownup treating my dad to greens fees, lunch and beers at the end of the round.  Near the end, I remember us placing a one dollar wager on #18, a short but tricky par four with water surrounding the right side of green.  I remember laughing out loud as both of our approach shots found water.  A crumpled scorecard from that day remains in a golf photo album displayed in my family room.

Writing these words just now….I realize we’ve both aged another 10 years…..

In a few more years, this will be just one more place that I will drive by on a lazy Saturday afternoon (much like today) staring unconsciously at the big box houses and pristine manicured lawns, barely able to recall the name of the municipal golf course that occupied some 20 summers of my youth.    

For me, golf was always about being outside in the elements, enjoying nature, playing a competitive game with friends.  It was this unique mixture of sights, sounds and smells that made the game special, regardless of the final number you entered on your scorecard at the end of the round.

And in those rare moments when your body works in harmony with your brain producing a perfectly struck golf ball on a beautiful summer day that you wish would never end…….your heart can only go…….ahhhhhhh

Many thanks to the Klumpp family for providing me and my friends countless hours of chasing the little white ball and playing it where is lays.  Thanks for all the birdies, bogeys and three-putts.  I loved them all…….

This used to be real estate
Now it’s only fields and trees
Where, where is the town
Now, it’s nothing but flowers
~ Talking Heads “(Nothing But) Flowers”