Well, here we are. On our way to Melbourne.  We left a bit late, at 6:30 pm on the Thursday before the tournament but we had a ton of boxes to load (in fact we have a nice picture of a whole heapin' helpin' sized pyramid of Innova and Discraft boxes decorating our fair driveway) and didn't get out until our traditional, "Really, really late" starting time.

So one good thing about leaving at 6:30 is that we missed most of rush hour and got through Atlanta unscathed. We cruised through most of Georgia until Todd made the mistake of saying, "We're had really good luck with the truck," and talking about how we've never broken down.  Less than a minute later (no shit) [In fact, Todd claims the sound interrupted the conversation, although this editor isn't so sure] we started hearing a noise that got worse and worse... and then stopped entirely.  Which we didn't take as a good sign.  We got off at the Sav-A-Ton gas station (exit 29 on I-75 in Georgia, in case you're following along on your handy-dandy road atlas) as we come to the top of the exit ramp the power steering and power brakes go, and the alternator light comes on. Great. So we popped the hood to see our great big glistening mega belt hanging limply in the engine.

So we poke and prod a bit and some drunk college student sticks his head in the engine and gets in our way for a while (I wasn't proud to see his UGA hat) and it seems the tensioner pulley, well, isn't.  So we make a few phone calls and...  uhmm, that's where we are right now.  Todd's on the phone to roadside assistance and it looks like our chance of finding a 24-hour Ford truck dealer are nil.  I'll let you know how it goes...

Dude, digital cameras rock.  I'm in the truck waiting for the tow truck to come get us and haul our sorry asses down to a ford truck dealer in Valdosta (although not open 24 hours...).  Todd's trying to buy fuses to fix the one we blew last night while we were packing boxes (we ran an extension cord from the DC/AC converter in the truck to the trailer so we could see better than we could with just the 12-volt lights going.  Well, the converter says it handles 300 watts but it didn't occur to us that the lighter doesn't, we had 12 volts at 20 amps, so 240 watts. Whoops.  Anyway, We also have a picture of Todd standing on the bumper with this great white light shining behind his butt, but I won't subject you to that one.

Todd wants it on the record that he diagnosed the problem...  never let it be said that I'm not a fair guy.

Stay tuned for the next installment of, Lynx Guys on the Road.  Will the tow truck show up?  Will Todd finish his Snickers bar (his teeth hurt...)?  Will they get to Melbourne?  Tune in tomorrow, same time, same place.

Tomorrow? That'd be now... it's 11:20 AM and we're back on the road.  The tow truck guy (whose name may or may not be Al and who was a helluva good tow trucker, despite a seriously gaping ass crack [Ed:  Really, though, maybe there's some sort of highly competent power associated with ass cracks, hmm?) dragged our sorry asses to Langford Ford in what I guess used to be downtown Valdosta.  On the way he tells us this story about the time he and his brother went to Denny's and they're sitting there at the little counter behind the cook watching him make their food.  The cook's this bug-eyed guy with a funky big-ass zit on his neck and they get their food and the guy's cooking this other lady's food when he reaches up and pops his zit and the puss goes everywhere.  Al's waiting for the guy to go wash his hands, but he just sorta wipes 'em on his clothes and keeps on cooking.  So Al looks at his brother and they decide they don't really want to eat their food anymore and go to talk to the manager to tell him about it, but the manager's an ass-hole [Editor's note:  Hey, think what you will, the guy did a great job towing us with the trailer, that earns my faith, I believe him] and words are exchanged and the cops tell Al and his brother that they'd better leave. 

Skip forward a bit.  As a tow truck driver Al sees the cops all the time, right? So a month or two later Al comes to an accident scene late at night and there are scads of cops there standing around not doing much, except Al recognizes the one who kicked him out of the Denny's, right? And the guy calls Al over and says, let's go over there and talk. So Al's thinking, dude, what did I do?  Shit.... except when they get off to the side the cop says, Aren't you the guy I kicked out of Denny's a month ago?  And Al says yeah, he was, and the cop yells out to his buddies, Guys, come over here. Al, tell 'em the story.  The cop said he hadn't eaten at Denny's since and never would again.

Heh.  Retelling stories you heard in a tow truck at 2 am ain't easy.

So anyway, he dropped us off as this guy was unloading a car carrier.  Let's call him Bob. Bob was taking the cars off his carrier at no less than seven hundred miles per hour.  I have no idea how he didn't go screaming over the edge to his untimely, but not undeserved, death.  Then he'd squeal his tired backing up until he could bring the car ripping into the lot at just under Mach 2, finally easing into a parking spot and jamming on his brakes.  A quality performance and just about the best example you can imagine of the Employee You Don't Want Working for You.  The last truck he brought in he parked six inches in front of our bumper.  Thanks a heap.

But things picked up.  Well, not all the way, not right at first.  First we were going to run an extension cord to the building to run our lights, and then get to work pulling discraft discs out of their boxes and sticking 'em in bins.  We got as far as running the extension cord before we decided we were too tired.  So we walked around a bit, checked out the bus station (which, contrary to all those movies where somebody or other is in the bus station at 4 am and we see that wonderful Come Home, Lassie scene, was closed), saw a cop drive by, had some lady in a really beat up car ask us if we'd seen the bus (we had) and whether we'd seen her brother get off (we hadn't), and finally ended up back at the truck with 5 1/2 hours to kill until they opened.  So we tried to sleep in the truck.  Which is to say that I did sleep in the truck while Todd tried (but failed) to sleep.  I think it has something to do with a fantastic lack of flexibility.  Whatever the reason, he finally went back to the trailer about 5:30 or 6 (which he should've done at 2) and got to sleep.

So in the morning the Ford guys showed up and looked at the truck and we went off to eat at Kings Diner, which looked like it'd been there for 50 years.  It was right across the street from the courthouse, sort of the place I'd imagine in a John Grisham novel, not that I read them anymore since I decided that Warren Zevon was right when I said, John Grisham is an incompetent hack. Our breakfast done we trudged back to find them working on the truck, turns out the head guy Curtis (that'd be Curtis Worthington, in case you're wondering), who's been working there for 30 years, pushed our truck through.  He'd pull someone off one job to do something for ours.  Our tensioner pulley had broken and they didn't have the part, but they pulled one off of another truck for us. Then they replaced all the hose clamps in the engine, welded our hitch for us, and even found time to change our oil.  Dude, they were awesome.  

So anyway, now we're back on the road, driving into a wall of smoke on I-75, it looks like the whole state's on fire.  It really seems like if you drive through this much smoke you should be seeing some flames somewhere.

You know, we really figured we'd be there by now.  We were cruising down I-95, 40 minutes from Melbourne, and we run into a car fire. We're about 20th in line at the backup but we're making progress as car after car crosses the median and gives up.  We won't be first in line because there are 2 trucks in front of us and if they're crossing the median there's something seriously wrong.

Anyway, there's Todd's picture on the left, it's not all that great but he wouldn't get out of the truck.  Not that I blame him, I ain't getting out.  It's nice and cool in here and, besides, I'd have to put my shoes on if I got out.

The Melbourne Open has traditionally been Climo's personal playground.  I'm pretty sure he's won all except one, but not quite positive.  I know Ron Russell won several years ago.  This year after the first round Eric Tracy had the lead by going out and shooting a -14.  I was just behind him at +2.  I believe there were several people between us.  Ryan shot a -8 and was on the 2nd card, I don' remember what Cam shot but I know Lesli shot a +2 because we bet a dollar on the second round, where I shot a -3 and she didn't so I was in the black, babeee!  

The second day Ryan was trying to recover from his second round collapse where he shot even, and he did ok (if not spectacularly) with, I believe, a -5 and a -6 (I should point out that the course played a few shots easier the second day as the front nine's baskets were all in the short positions).  I bet Lesli double or nothing on the third round, which we tied again at -1.  Cam had moved onto the lead card and Worm was in the second card, I think.  Third round I shot a +5, which included a 6 on hole #6, to lose back my dollar to Lesli and her +2, which was good enough for second place in the women's division. Cam finished 5th and Worm had some problems the last round and ended up 15th (he was looking pretty glum so I felt compelled to show him the wrapper from the Big Ed's Monster Ice Cream Thing that I'd just eaten, it was a healthy little thing at something like 680 calories of pure ice creamy goodness, that got a smile).

I liked every group I played in, which was pretty cool.  I got to play with both Ben and Evan Gurthie (Evan birdied hole #16, which is about 470 feet long, with a 15 foot pin-high putt), Super Dave (who I believe qualified for the US Open, which is really cool), Billy Crump (who shot a -9 in his last round), and Todd Petersohn (who shot a -10 that round), among other cool people.  A good tournament, despite me finishing either dead last or second to last. Todd didn't play, instead organizing the trailer and otherwise playing the dutifiul shopkeeper.

Because of Melbourne's setup we had about 3 hours between rounds, most of which was spent in my newly bought rocking chair (dubbed the Mojo Development Unit) under the comforting shade of the trailer's overhang with Ryan (who had no rocking chair and claimed the short time sitting in the Development Unit was responsible for his second round implosion) and assorted special guests/visitors.  If we'd've had a video camera it could've been like one of those awful TV shows where the host sits there discussing floral patterns and the chemistry of concrete mixing with various musicians and actors. Truly, a lost opportunity.

That's now.  We're in the truck on I-95, about 30 miles south of Jacksonville.  Todd Branch, David Feldberg, and Avery Jenkins are running a singles thing at Titusville (the disc golf course on the ball golf course place that Reese Swinea put in) that I hope they get a good turnout for.  I'd like to play, I'd like to see the course, but I'm buying a house tomorrow and on Wednesday we're leaving for Tulsa and Kansas City.  

Seeya later, kids.

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