The Best Drives in Golf Part I

I only know a few, but some of the drives I’ve been on are extraordinary.

I’m talking about roads and sometimes driveways. The place you find yourself at the end of a journey…where a great golf experience awaits…or at least the anticipation of one.

To make my list, and it is only my list, a drive in has to be a place I love and have great memories of…this would exclude some very pretty places, which while beautiful, just don’t evoke any emotion.

Here’s an example. The entrance to Belfair (above) in Hilton Head is awesome, in the correct useage of the word. It consists of a small guardhouse followed by a lane of Live Oaks that must be 300-500 years old. Amazing in their beauty and elegance.

enough about what’s not on the list, here’s one that is, and why:

Magnolia Lane- my friend Bob Dillon in Chicago took me to Augusta National one December many years and many pounds ago…my driver was a Big Bertha (not a Great Big Bertha) and my ball was a Revolution…coming into focus?

The story goes like this. I was in Myrtle Beach for the week when I called back to the office for messages. There were several voicemails in my inbox including one from Bob…when I heard his voice I skipped to the next message…sure he was just calling to check in.

As I’m sure you have done on a Monday with a long week ahead, I prioritized my messages and thought I’d just call him back when I was back in the office at the end of the week.

Well I almost “prioritized” my way out of two days at ANGC!

Upon my return to the office Friday morning I went back through some old voicemails including Bob’s. In a nutshell it was an invite to Augusta National.

I had been going to The Masters literally since birth but had never seen Augusta National as what it is…a golf club. And for all the years I could remember it was on my Life To Do List.

For anyone reading this who has been there to play golf, you remember where you were, what day of the week it was, if it was sunny or rainy when you got “the call”…don’t you? I know I do.

Luckily for me Bob goes to work at dark-thirty ( Chicago time) so when I called he answered on the first ring.

“Bob Dillon”, he said.

“Bob, it’s Rick” I responded with fear and loathing, wondering Am I in? Am I out?

Holy Shit! Surely he replaced me with someone else by now…someone who felt like a call with an invitation to the home of The Masters, Bobby Jones, and all things deep-fried was worth returning.

A long pause ensued.

“I thought you died” is all he said.

Brilliant! If I had left someone a message inviting them to the holiest of holys and he didn’t respond in the next five minutes, I would have called 911, the city morgue, or The Betty Ford to see if my friend was in residence…and this was a week later!

In the end we played…Bob and pal Greg Glyman flew into Bush Field in a plane Greg had chartered for a fast getaway back to Chicago…you see his wife was a week past 9 months pregnant, but that’s another story for another day.

Our host, Ed O. Douglas (gotta love the South), came out with a big smile and handshake and after a warm “Welcome to The Augusta National” in his lovely Georgia drawl he continued…”Is that y’alls rental caaah?”

“No sir it’s mine” I muttered.

“HMMM” is all he came back with…but he let us stay anyway.

Next: The Homestead and Hwy 220