Augusta – Life In A Word

One of the inconveniences of living in a small town is the proximity to airports. In western South Carolina we actually have a choice of six, including tiny Augusta Regional just beyond the nearby Savannah River. But whether Augusta or one of the larger airports hours away on the East Coast, the drive to get there is mostly two-lane blacktop, speeding along and then slowing down through the small towns along the way. Correction. You’re supposed to slow down through the small towns.

Blame it on puzzle apps. My wife and I were just thirty miles into our eastward trek to Charleston International when we hit the pretty-much-forgotten small town of Springfield, SC. The speed limit sign suggested 25 through its residential streets. I chose 38 instead. Okay, I didn’t intentionally choose 38. I simply elected to ignore the laws of little Springfield, in favor of focusing on the puzzles my wife was trying to solve on her iPad. Maybe I missed the speed limit sign, but I did see the spinning blue/red lights on the police car sitting quietly in a church parking lot.

Here’s something all four of my life’s speeding violations have in common. As soon as each of them happened, I pulled over pretty much the moment the cop reached for his lights. My thought process went, “Hey, I’m breaking the law”, followed by “Hey, that cop noticed me breaking the law” and finally, “I think I’ll just pull over immediately and save him or her any further trouble”.

38 mph in a 25; yeah, that’s pretty bad. Totally deserved the ticket. At least it wasn’t another school zone this time. My last two speeding tickets, one in the middle of 1992 and the other around 2013, were earned as I passed by primary schools with loads of children on their playgrounds. Even worse, the 1992 ticket was collected from the driver’s seat of a midlife crisis two-door convertible Alfa Romeo Spider. Bet the cop loved ordering youngish me to traffic school in lieu of the ticket.

Speaking of “in lieu”, my Springfield, SC cop (who had nothing better to do because there’s nothing at all to do in Springfield) gave me a no-brainer choice in settling my flagrant speeding violation. Option 1: Pay the fine as advertised and earn four points against my driver’s license (“Ouch!”) Option 2: Pay an additional 30% on the fine and avoid the points entirely (not-so-“Ouch!”) Maybe Springfield’s not a bad little town after all… even if the ticket mocked my violation with a description of “thoughtless driving”.

Here’s the nice thing about making peace with a speeding violation before the cop even reaches the driver’s side window: you have a pleasant conversation. Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over? Me: Why yes sir, I do, and here’s my driver’s license and registration. Officer: Okay Mr. David, let me spell out your options here (spells out options). Me: Why thank you sir, I’ll take Option 2, if you please. Officer: Okay then Mr. David, pay the fine online and enjoy the rest of your day. Me: And you too, officer! It was almost as if a friendship was born over a speeding ticket.

I can’t talk about three of my speeding tickets without a mention of the fourth. I made it through my high school driving years before ever getting pulled over – but just barely. It was on a graduation trip, where my parents loaned me their car and paid for enough gas to get me and a buddy a driving tour of the Western U.S. And right there in the middle of Colorado, streaking up the interstate towards the Rockies, I earned the blue/red lights for the very first time.

I will always remember two things about that first ticket. First, the officer gave me a personal escort to a nearby mailbox so he could watch me mail the check for the violation (no online or credit card option in 1980). Second, I turned to my buddy afterwards and said, “My parents are gonna kill me!”… which wasn’t true at all, but it’s how most teenagers feel after they get a speeding ticket in their parents’ car.

I doff my hat to those who make the effort to plead down a speeding ticket. I also admire those who continue driving after a violation, as if they don’t think the police car in the rear-view mirror intends to pull them over. Me, I embrace the fines for my brushes with the law. It’s easy to claim accountability when you’ve only had four instances. And for the foreseeable future, I’ll be the most well-behaved driver behind the wheel. You just won’t find me anywhere near Springfield, SC.

In the small but wealthy community of Laguna Beach, California, the crown jewel of the annual Festival of Arts is an event known as the Pageant of the Masters. The Pageant is remarkable entertainment: ninety minutes of classical and contemporary art pieces, recreated one-by-one on stage in larger-than-life frames, using real people instead of their painted counterparts. Makeup, lighting, and carefully choreographed sets complete each “painting”, resulting in a remarkably accurate depiction when the curtain sweeps aside. Add in the accompanying music from the live orchestra and it is a nonpareil performance. Thousands attend the Pageant each summer, as they have since its beginnings in 1932.

In the smaller but modest community of Augusta, Georgia, the sporting world was witness to another nonpareil performance last weekend – the Masters golf tournament. Just like the Pageant, thousands attend golf’s Masters each April, as they have since its beginnings in 1934. To me, the Masters is golf as a fine art.

Whether or not you play golf – whether or not you even like golf – there is no denying the Augusta National Golf Club is a beautiful place. The photos here do not do it justice, but most of us will have to settle for just that – photos. Tickets to the Masters go on the market a year in advance (apply now for 2017!), and a four-day tournament badge runs upwards of $2,500. Candidly, even a golf fan like myself – who has “visit Augusta National” on his bucket list – would rather watch the action on television. The price of cable gets you far more camera angles and coverage than you could ever hope for in person.

Augusta National’s eighteen holes are so revered that each one has been given a name. The first photo above is #12 “Golden Bell”, the shortest but perhaps trickiest of them all. It’s a spectacular par-3 where the tee shot must clear water and then land on a small green protected by several sand bunkers. This year’s tournament was lost on this hole.

This photo is #15 “Firethorn”, a twisting par-5 that tempts you to go for the green in two – if you’re brave enough to tune out the creek that runs in front of and behind the green. Firethorn also has the distinction of a hole where Masters tournaments have been won or lost.

It’s easy to get lost in the pageantry of the Masters, whether it be the ceremonial opening tee shots from prior champions, the CBS theme song “Augusta”, the reverent tones of commentator Jim Nantz, or the endless camera shots of the color-burst of spring azaleas against the backdrop of bright green fairways. But don’t ignore the play itself. You’re witnessing one hundred of the world’s best golfers, competing on one of sport’s most difficult stages. Watch them as they bend shots blindly around trees and over water, or curl in putts that move from left to right and then left again. Augusta National is a true test of composure and will. Masters champions are artists in their own right. Like Laguna Beach, it really is a Pageant of the Masters.

Photos courtesy of the Official Program of the 2006 Masters Tournament

Tag: Augusta

“Thoughtless Driving”

Pageant of the Masters