Indiana

Well, it’s official: all of us now have nicknames. Jason, in case you hadn’t heard is now Flying J in honour of both a truck stop chain he’s been introduced to and his bring-it-on nature. Wayde is now Drama, simply because every day is another um, dramatic moment. This man has lost pretty much everything he brought on the trip with him at least once and the most common phrase heard so far is “guys, have you seen my _______?” Also, add in today’s Drama drama. You’d think most human beings have some sort of experience with something known as a tea biscuit and in how to properly and safely toast them wouldn’t you? Well Wayde - er, Drama - somehow thought it would be pretty much ok to shove an unsliced tea biscuit into a rotary toaster which proved to be horribly ill-advised (and frankly dangerous) after the biscuit got stuck, smoke filled the hotel lobby and the fire department was almost summoned. There is now a picture of Drama beside the toaster specifying DO NOT SERVE THIS MAN.

Wayde, I mean Drama

And, in case you’re curious, I’m now Shiny because of my penchant for changing the subject in my conversations mid-sentence when something (you guessed it) catches my eye.

September 4th was a big day for Highways To Fairways. Even though the maiden voyage for us was yesterday at Lake James, today was the first visit to a golf course we had charted as an important and prestigious destination.

For those that don’t know The Brickyard Crossing is an 18 hole course located in western Indianapolis that has four of its holes within the infield of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. While your golfing there may be cars or motorcycles literally racing around you.

To be honest I was curious as to whether the golf club was more about the wow factor of playing within a racetrack than about actually being a great golf course on its own. I quickly discovered that the Brickyard Crossing is - on its own - an incredible course despite having a 2 and half mile oval as a backdrop. The fairways are like most of the greens on the courses I would normally play and there is more sand and water here than at Miami Beach.

We can honestly say the Brickyard Crossing was beyond what we had hoped. The course rivals (and pretty much tops) anything we’ve ever played and the mere fact you’re surrounded by one hundred years of auto racing history sends it into the golfing stratosphere.

We’re slightly sad having to leave Indiana tomorrow. Finding nicer people and a more welcoming host will be pretty much impossible and we head west and eventually north on this journey. This photo is from a place about three blocks from the racetrack called Dawson’s. Let’s put it this way: we were eating dinner at this place for perhaps two hours and this..

Will (far left), Ron (tallest guy in shot) and the rest of our incredible hosts at Dawson's

is one of the photos we got before we left. How’s that for hospitality?

PS We also met Robert Knowles who (his friends claim) is the worst golfer “between the Mississippi and the west coast.”

PPS His geographical knowledge is as awful as Drama’s since the Mississippi is far west of Indianapolis. We will give him points however, for having he best shoes we’ve seen on this trip.

So the mechanical breakdown turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Tires - even blown ones - always seem to lead you places. For us that meant Angola Indiana at the Lake James Golf Club although not directly. We started out aiming to play the one course we passed on the way to get our new tires. Then, after talking to some friendly small town Hoosiers, our quest was to play a course at the local university. That plan quickly changed after talking to another small throng at an Angola blues club who strongly recommended Lake James. Therein started our quest

One of the things we had heard about Lake James was the claim that their 17th hole was located at the highest point in Indiana. In theory that sounds awesome and it truly was a nice view but, when you come from an area that has Highlands in the name and when you realize that the state of Indiana is a v e r y flat state, you kind of end up looking for mountain goats and end up finding alpining squirrels (not that this ruined the golf experience in any way).

What impressed me most about Lakes James is the way the old-growth forests were incorporated into the design and appeal of the course. Driving up any of the fairways you’re met with a collection of grand oaks that, for me at least, simply adds to the splendor, as if the course just happens to be there versus these places that simply destroy and bull doze everything natural around it. That, for me, made the experience.

We arrived in Indianapolis around 10:30, drove around the city (and we mean AROUND) till we found both the Brickyard and a hotel (Microtel). Two beds, three guys and a small ledge facing the road (Wayde “slept” there). I stayed up late filing a Sun Media cartoon while being serenaded by the HTF Twin Nostril Symphony with Jason doing an amazing snort solo. Luckily Rob Young, a mutual friend, had sent us (me) with plenty of much-needed earplugs (Industrial strength no less) which managed to protect my ears from the aural onslaught.

Now, about the odor..

I sixty nine (hee hee)..

Apparently I knocked off 514 miles today.

I’m at the Super 8 Motel in Terre Haute Indiana, but a simple spit from Missouri.

The day started leaving London at around 10:30 and I entered the States (which sounds kind of dirty written that way) through Sarnia on our side, Port Huron (or as my Mom calls it, Port Urine)

Interesting that three songs (random play) into the state of Michigan, I was serenaded by relatively-local boy Stevie Wonder with his Boogie on Reggae Woman (editor’s note: not many reggae women seen near Flint).

I’ve discovered that Indianans (Indiana-ites?) evidently have the largest selection of license plates in the country (world?). Most provinces and states have but two or three varieties of colours and themes but those from Indiana have at least a dozen (estimated) that I saw.

I twice drove by a trio of trucks carrying all the gear for the Rascal Flatts 2008 tour, which would be exciting if I was a fan but, since I’m not, it was slightly painful (their current tour is called Bob That Head which proves sexual innuendo still sells in the sticks).

By far the most disturbing sight of the day was that of a decapitated hound dog who obviously got too close to the death trap known as the Interstate. It automatically made me think of my girl Toto who, I’m glad lives nowhere close to a major road (once is enough).

I should get into Missouri, Tennessee and possibly Arkansas by tomorrow. In all reality I have a good buffer already created since I don’t reservations in Texas till Wednesday (better pace myself).

I’m hearing they have a surprise parade planned for me (unconfirmed, though)…