He’d do anything to catch a frisbee
I’ve travelled across the country coast to coast maybe a half dozen times (and several of those trips have become stories in the book – so I highly recommend cross-country adventuring), but I never got luckier than I did in February, 1979 in Tucson, Arizona. Me and Bob had just succeeded in the Florida Rescue Mission, and were continuing around the perimeter of the country in his Volare stationwagon, Bob in search of a new life, and me on my way back to Minnesota to be a lawyer/politician.
We were planning to stop in Tucson just long enough to visit an old Peace Corps lady friend of Bob’s and then continue our way west to L.A. However, when we arrived at her house it quickly became clear that this was only going to be a half hour visit to Tucson. She said “Nice to see you Bob, but I have a brand new boyfriend and he’s picking me up for a dinner date in an hour.” Not even a “maybe we should hook-up tomorrow.” We figured we’d sleep in the Volare at the Univ. of Arizona football stadium parking lot before heading off to L.A. in the morning. So we did.
Next morning I got up first and went wandering. The stadium wasn’t locked. Walked right through a gate and found the Team Locker Room. Showers worked – hot water even. After Bob went for a shower too we headed off to L.A. On the main road out of town there was a 50s style motel with a pool next to the highway. And there were at least a dozen beautiful girls hanging out by the pool with drinks in hand, and no boys/men to be seen.
Whoa! Maybe we should stay another night in Tucson. After checking in and donning our bathing suits it turns out the PGA Tour was in town and these were all girlfriends of caddies who travelled along but didn’t care to watch their boyfriends select putters or hold the flags. They made us Kaluah & Coffees and we soaked up the February sun making small talk about how we were frisbee golfers. Bob was reading the local paper for fun things to do that night, but the best he could come up with was a photography lecture at the Tucson Art Museum.
Before heading off to the lecture, trying to catch a frisbee, I crashed head long into a brier patch and Bob came up with my tombstone epitaph “He’d do anything to catch a frisbee.”
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