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It has been four months since I last took flight for a story assignment, and I am missing the road. To be sure, I love the time I have been spending at home and the casual work life I now lead, taking my coffee each morning on our flagstone terrace out back as I read my papers online. Wearing T-shirts and lounge pants as I report and write my pieces. And I do not for a minute miss the crowds and craziness that make most airport experiences as unpleasant as a trip to a Department of Motor Vehicles office. But I nonetheless feel a sort of emptiness given how much my world has changed.
For the past couple of decades, I have traveled the globe with my clubs to check out different layouts and the areas in which they are located for travel features and course-design columns. That means wandering seaside tracks routed among towering sand dunes and layouts that wind through old-growth forests. It is also about getting to know my playing partners and listening to stories about their lives and the courses we are walking. Then, there are post-round trips to nearby points of interest. A West End theater in London for a Shakespeare play after 18 holes at Swinley Forest, for example. A game drive in Kruger Park in the easternmost stretches of South Africa when my round at Leopard Creek is done. And a whisky tasting on the Isle of Islay at the end of a day on the links at Machrie.
By this time most years, I would have visited at least three continents, said “Good shot” and “You’re away” in five languages and recorded 50 rounds of golf. But thanks to the pandemic, I have completed only five rounds since early March.
And the meals. Let us not forget the meals. From stylish, Michelin-starred restaurants with 10-course tasting menus to cramped yet cozy Irish pubs, where sustenance comes from pints of Guinness and games of darts.
It truly is a moveable feast, and at times it also entails trips to cover amateur tournaments and professional majors.
Alas, mine is an existence these days that is not very much in motion. By this time most years, I would have visited at least three continents, said “Good shot” and “You’re away” in five languages and recorded 50 rounds of golf. But thanks to the pandemic, I have completed only five rounds since early March, and all of those have been within easy driving distance of my Connecticut home.
The good news, of course, is that my family and I are healthy, and I continue to write about golf.
But writing about the game is not nearly as enjoyable as being an actual part of it. And that is what is missing most.
E-MAIL JOHN
John Steinbreder