Let's begin with a scene from, oh 1993 or so. Joyce and I moved to Aurora in 1990 and lived there till 1997 when I retired from Harmon Middle School--and her mother, who had been living with severe Alzheimer's at nearby Anna Maria, had passed away.
The problem--the problem with golfers--came on that little ribbon of S. Bissell before I turned onto Walden Dr. (See black asterisk near the bottom of the page.) Right at that asterisk was a tee. And often when I was running, there were golfers waiting to tee off, hitting due south. Directly, in other words, in my direction as I jogged toward them.
Had any of them mishit a ball (do golfers ever do that? hook or slice?), I could not have dodged--even as lightning quick as I was at 49. Head shot? Probably would have killed me. But did any golfers ever wait until I had passed (about thirty seconds or so?). No, all went ahead and teed off as if a living thing were nowhere in sight. Again--any golfer who had hooked his/her shot could have hit me. Hurt or killed me.
Once I realized that none of the duffers--er--golfers were going to acknowledge a non-golfing life form, I started standing behind a convenient tree and waiting until the linksmen/women had hacked away. Then I trotted on. Pissed off.
I write about this today because this continues to happen--even though I'm not jogging (no one threatens me on a stationary bike indoors--not yet). When we drive to Aurora and head up Bissell ... there are the golfers on the Walden course. When we drive to Kent on Judson Road ... there are the golfers at Raccoon Hill. When we drive to Szalay's market on Barlow Road ... there are the golfers at Ellsworth Meadows. Teeing up and off, parallel to the roads. Whack! And, again, always they tee off as if no cars (bearing people) were in sight. No windshields or windows.
Confession: I used to play golf--until my younger brother started beating me (at which point the only respectable thing to do was quit). And I was probably as clueless as the doofuses I'm complaining about here. But I hope not. (My little brother started beating me a long time ago--so I can't really remember what a doofus I was on the course.)
So here ... a hopeless plea. Look before you whack. Don't assume a perfect tee shot. Remember that cars and windshields are fragile. And so is the skull of a passing jogger or biker.