Golfing in the dark

Golfing in the dark — now that just sounds like trouble.
I can’t seem to make it through nine holes using the same ball in broad daylight, so how in the heck was I going to get through nine holes at dark?
With the help of a bright green glow stick, that’s how.
As soon as I heard about Wildwood Golf Course’s Glo Ball tournament Aug. 15, I knew I would be there. Regardless of the score, it seemed like a whole lot of fun. And I couldn’t quit wondering how such an event could be pulled off.
The golfing itself didn’t seem to be as difficult as rounding up a team. We had a foursome lined up, but then a few days before the tournament we learned that one guy couldn’t make it. Luckily, we were able to find a substitute.
Unluckily, a last-second scheduling conflict left us still one player short for the four-person scramble tournament. Oh well — winning wasn’t really on our minds anyway.
My friend A.J. and I met our third teammate, Steve, out at the course around 8:15 p.m. as the sun was slinking its way out of sight.
We signed in, grabbed 11 glow-in-the-dark balls, our pink and orange glowing necklaces, and then trotted out to hole No. 3, where we’d be starting the nine-hole tournament.
The mosquitoes followed us.
By the time we teed off at about 8:50, it was getting pretty dark, but we could still see the fairway and green.
Steve’s tee shot landed on the green about 20 feet from the pin on the 118-yard par three hole.
A.J. and I missed the green, but in a best-ball tournament, we were able to play Steve’s shot. We couldn’t sink the long putt and settled for a par. This would be the first of many missed putts.
As we got ready to tee off on hole No. 4, it was dark. We were past dusk and into the night, ready to see how we’d fare without seeing fairways. Once darkness set in, there was no need for practice swings; depth perception did not exist any more.
The first tee shot we hit into the night was amazing. Not that it was a great shot, but watching the glowing green orb that was our ball arcing through the air looked way cooler than any shot I’ve ever seen Tiger hit.
Throughout the night, we kept “oh-ing” and “aww-ing” over the glowing balls flying through the air all around us. When there are upwards of 150 people showering the course with glowing golf balls, it looks pretty cool.
Steve’s next tee shot, though, was very strange.
The glow balls have a hole through the middle where you place the glow stick. It’s recommended that you place the ball so the glow stick is perpendicular to the ground when teeing off.
Steve apparently missed that tip and managed to crush the end of the glow stick, sending the ball flying into the darkness with a stream of glowing liquid painting a trail away from the tee box.
This would be the first ball we lost. Many more followed.
As we played, a strange, sudden realization dawned on us: If you’re going to play golf in the dark, it’s probably advantageous to be on a course you’ve played before, especially if it’s one as challenging as Wildwood.
Steve had played the course once about six years ago. Neither A.J. nor I had played it at all, though I had seen some local high school athletes tee off at holes No. 1 and 10 this spring. That didn’t really acclimate me to the course much.
So we kept aiming at the group of four glowing necklaces in front of us, or we’d wait till we say one glowing item not moving: the flag. The flagpoles were adorned with glow sticks, which were also shoved into the hole, so you could see it when putting. Smart.
While Steve kept pounding his driver — and I continued slicing more than Emeril Lagasse — A.J. played smart and down the fairway. As it turned out, his driver never even left the bag, which served as a pretty nice insurance policy for our squad.
But no matter how many times we reached the greens in regulation, we couldn’t figure out a way to sink a birdie putt.
As we finished hole No. 9, we thought it wise to grab a couple more balls from the clubhouse for the last two holes because we were down to one ball apiece. The way things were going, that wouldn’t last two holes.
We were right.
I tried a new strategy on hole No. 10: swing as hard as physically possible. Past experience with this technique showed the ball would either be driven into the ground or sailing far away to a fairway on my right.
This time, somehow, I crushed a drive and it was — believe it or not — straight! Who’d have thought I’d hit my best-ever drive at 11:30 p.m. with a glow-in-the-dark ball? Not me.
But… I actually drove it too straight, and it left the fairway (had I sliced per usual, it would’ve been perfect).
Three hours after we started, we finished with a nine-hole round of 40, which was actually five strokes over par. We had five pars, three bogeys and one double-bogey.
And we also had one of the most fun, definitely the weirdest, rounds of golf I’ve ever played. I know I’ll be back next year, hopefully with a four-person team.

Gettin' my motor runnin'

A while back, I read in one of Mike Weber’s racing stories that the good folks at River City Speedway were looking for people to come out and “pack the track” for their Saturday-night races.
I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I thought I’d ask. One phone call later, I was all set to get behind the wheel of a racecar.
While some scheduling conflicts prevented me from racing until this past Saturday, those same conflicts allowed the excitement and anticipation to build.
Oh, and a little fear festered as well. That whole idea of driving someone else’s car as fast as I can around a clay track with concrete walls was just a little unsettling. Just a touch.
But Mike Harrison, whose car I was driving, did not seem to share that fear.
“I’ve got total confidence in you,” he told me. (At least someone did.)
Mike and his wife, Jenelle, have raced at River City for quite a while, so they know how to move their cars around the track.
In fact, Mike’s 16.313-second qualifying time in his 1978 Chevy Malibu was the fastest of the day in the Street Stock division. So I knew going into my qualifying laps that I had one of the faster cars out there. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves just a bit, so let’s back up to before I first climbed into the driver’s seat.
Before I strapped in, I learned my first lesson: you need long pants and long sleeves at the racetrack. I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but Mike had an extra racing suit he let me borrow.
When I climbed through the window of the white and green No. 15 Malibu, I found myself in a car with just one seat, a roll cage and a couple of pedals. Then Mike handed me the steering wheel.
Unfortunately for me, there were no flight attendants to show me how to strap into my seat belt, and the ultra-safe five-point harness was pretty tricky. I had to connect straps coming over the top from both shoulders with a strap coming up between my legs and to two others hugging my waist from both sides. Not exactly how I buckle up in my Buick.
Sooner or later, I got the harness latched and tightened, then put on my helmet. Then it was time to fire up the engine.
Talk about sensory underload. I couldn’t turn my head very much to either side and the Malibu’s 350 cubic inch engine roared in my ears.
Mike directed me on how to back out of the spot without hitting anyone. Then it was up to me to get to the track so I could “pack it down.” This is basically just driving around at a decent speed, packing the clay into the ground so it’s not too loose when the cars go out to qualify.
This gave me a chance to get a feel for the car before what would be my main event for the day: time trials.
Quite a few cars were scheduled to qualify before me, so I used the last few minutes to pick Jenelle’s brain about driving on the quarter-mile clay oval.
How do I take the corners? How do I stay out of the wall? Do I brake or just let off the gas?
“It’s just like playing in the snow – you’ll slide through the corner and adjust to it. Don’t hit the brakes,” Jenelle told me.
Finally, I was sitting in line to get up to the track to qualify. My heart thought I’d drank four cups of coffee that day, but in reality, I’d had none.
I was the last qualifier to get timed in the street stock division. Basically, I’d drive four laps ... one partial warm-up lap, two timed and one cool-down.
I gunned it down the straightaway on the warm-up lap to see what I was working with. I felt comfortable driving straight, but my next challenge was coming up fast. Really fast.
I thought to myself, “OK, Jenelle said to slow down going in and accelerate about the halfway point. But didn’t Mike say something about powersliding through the turn?”
I went in slow, cautious not to ruin the car. Coming out of the turn I felt fine, so I gassed it again crossing the starting line to begin my first officially timed lap.
I came out of the turns pretty good, hit the straightaway fine, and did OK on turns three and four as well.
My first lap came in at 17.779 seconds, good for last place. The next-slowest lap was a 17.15; the fastest was 14.861.
My second lap was a little more dicey. I handled the first turn OK, but I lost control for a brief moment coming out of the second corner. My tail end started to spin out, then I overcorrected and started heading straight toward the wall. Keeping the day’s lone goal in mind – staying out of the wall – I lifted my foot off the accelerator, straightened out and got going down the straightaway.
This was not going to be a record-setting lap.
I clocked in with a 19.027 for the second lap, a good second-and-a-half slower than my already last-place finish.
Still, considering my prior racing experience was limited to a couple of runs on go-karts at Malibu Grand Prix in Beaverton, I wasn’t too upset with my performance.
And I was extremely pleased with the Harrisons’ generosity and willingness to let me drive their car and hang out with them in the pit area for an afternoon.
Mike said they’re always looking to bring people out to pack the track. Check out www.rivercityspeedway.net to learn more.

It seems I'm always horsing around

The last time I was on a horse, I’m sure I looked like an idiot.
I had gone out to the Deer Island Stables to do some research about horse camps that are instructed by local riders. Thinking I was just going out to talk horses, I thought nothing of making the trip out in slacks, dress shirt and dress shoes.
But, as instructor Kelley D’Agrosa said, “You can’t come to a stable and not get on a horse.”
So this time, I was dressed for the occasion, knowing full well I’d be learning how to ride.
What I didn’t know was that I’d have to think. A lot.
Kelley and fellow teacher Sierra Paxton, both Scappoose High alumnae, were teaching me and two ladies not only how to ride horses, but also how to handle them.
I started out with Royal, a horse I hadn’t met yet. He’s nice.
Roy and I made a few trips around the dusty arena, with me leading the mammoth creature by an 18-inch rope.
After a bit of leading, we all switched horses so we could get comfortable with them all. We got them to walk in circles around us, then trot around us. And we did it by holding a rope and clucking — in horsespeak, “cluck” means “go.”
I clucked more Saturday than any other day in my life.
But it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. To get the horse to go where I wanted it to go, and as fast as I wanted it to go, I had to fight my natural instinct to back away from the horse. Instead, I had to stand in one spot or, if anything, walk toward the horse to show that I was the dominant one… right.
One thing I learned during this exercise is that horses running circles around you in a dusty arena can make you want to brush your teeth a second time in the morning.
With our newfound skills and bonds with the horses, it was time to mount up and do a little bareback riding… with Sierra leading the horse.
I again started on Royal, who was described as a sofa because he’s pretty wide and comfy. I knew I wasn’t a real cowboy when I climbed a stepladder to mount.
Once Royal began walking around the arena, I struggled to balance myself using my hips instead of my shoulders. It wasn’t until Sierra advised me to close my eyes that I relaxed and balanced the right way.
Scary movies, airplane landings — these are times when it makes sense to close your eyes. Riding a horse? I wouldn’t have guessed it, but it was extremely beneficial.
After a while riding Roy, it was time to switch to Tucker. Tucker’s the horse that made me look like a fool in my city-boy attire. He’s narrower than Roy and has a longer stride, so riding him was quite a bit different.
At this point, I learned to figure out when a horse is stepping with his rear, right leg. Sounds simple enough, but it took a lot more brainpower than expected. The giveaway is this:
Say you’re sitting in an office chair that’s lifted as high as it goes, and you lower it — except only the rear, right quarter of the chair dips. That’s how you can tell when the horse is stepping with its leg, which is important to know when you’re a more advanced rider and are telling your horse what to do.
Next up was riding in the saddle. Because Kelley and Sierra want their students to get the whole experience of horse ownership, we first learned to saddle and bridle the horses — something I was finally able to master (sort of).
Leading them from the saddle was quite a challenge, though. Kelley and Sierra set up a little track for us to ride around, complete with barrels and cones for weaving in and out.
For a beginner, getting a horse to turn is hard. Apparently these creatures are much more sensitive than I ever would have imagined and can sense where their rider is looking.
So to initiate the turn, the rider must first look in that direction, then lead the reins with one hand to the side while keeping the other hand forward and applying pressure with the opposite calf.
If you’ve ever tried rubbing your belly and patting your head at the same time, you’ll understand how tough it is to coordinate one hand pulling one way and a foot applying pressure the other way. Let’s just say, I messed this up more than once.
I also don’t have the world’s greatest posture, which is not helpful when riding. I can guarantee Sierra was tired of saying, “Keep your hands forward” after she told me to do that for the 600th time. But somehow, they always kept creeping back…
In the end, I started gauging my posture a little better and coordinating myself a little more gracefully, though I expect I’ve still got a long way to go before my rodeo debut.
If you’d like to take the first steps toward excellence atop a horse, call Kelley at (503) 397-9029 or Sierra at (503) 913-3135. They’re better than me.