Oh, you know how life sometimes just takes you on these unexpected journeys? So, after this mind-boggling practice round at Augusta—seriously, that place is something else but more on that later— I found myself whisked away to this swanky place called McLemore Resort. It’s nestled up on Lookout Mountain in Georgia, and I’m pretty sure I stumbled into a dream or a movie set or something. Anyway, they’ve plonked me down at Cloudland, this Hilton that’s all glitz and mountains.
Now, let’s talk views. From my room, you can basically see forever—mountains, valleys, the whole lot. Honestly, it’s the kind of view that makes you pause and think about things or nothing at all, maybe. Who knows what thoughts are for anyway. On Friday, weather gods willing, I’ll be hitting the greens at The Keep — their new course that’s supposed to be just as jaw-dropping. Here’s hoping I can keep the ball on the fairway.
But this hotel, man, it’s out of a fairytale with all its bars, eateries, and lounges that scream cozy corners. And there’s this library with a fireplace. I swear you could imagine Professor Plum from Clue reading there. I was there after dinner, pretending to read Brandon Sanderson but mostly spacing out staring at the fire. I’ll have better stories when I get back to Michigan, promise.
Okay, so here’s a fun tidbit. When the valet took my keys, he said something about parking my car far, far away and if I wanted it back, I just had to tap my phone. Mind blown. And then a young woman shows up, all helpful, ferrying my bags up to my room with the kind of grace that should be reserved for ballet. Felt a bit like royalty. And boy, the pampering – lovely, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m intruding on something. I keep expecting someone to ask me to sweep the floor or something. Probably comes from my messy room guilt back in the school days—I always felt bad for the custodians, you know? Anyway, people gotta have jobs, right?
Here’s a weird confession: I miss my car more than my phone. Left it all packed with just about everything I might need — seriously, the universe could end and I’d survive out of that Subaru — clubs, a bag of random golf clothes, snacks, drinks, a first-aid kit that could double as a mini pharmacy, and probably at least four objects I can’t remember putting there. Can’t grab a sport drink packet now without alerting the valet, and it’s late. I’ll claim it’s an emergency if I get desperate, but for now, Vernors will do just fine.
Could I be carrying around a boatload of psychological baggage? Absolutely. Who isn’t these days? Maybe one of those online therapy companies could give GolfBlogger a sponsorship—free your mind and all that?
Oh, and before I started spoiling myself rotten, I kinda went down a rabbit hole of history (I can’t help it, it’s the teacher in me). Stopped by Resaca Battlefield. Noticed the signs, and well, you know the rest. Got lost in the Civil War backstory like you do when you’re wrapped in a hobby like mine—wargaming with miniatures was the obsession of choice back then, and I once painted tiny armies that could march into your imagination. Nostalgia, sigh. Anyway, that’s for when I head back to the real world, post-teaching life and all that jazz.
So, that’s a piece of my unexpectedly tangled adventure. Will catch you later with more field reports. Hope you’re doing well wherever you are, reading this.
