We're hanging around Brunswick today, and I am in charge of the dog while Ms. Legit checks out the local art museum.
|People here just get it.|
Hopkins looks to be your typical rundown putt-putt-course-slash-driving range. Nothing special out in the field, just a few half-assed yardage signs.
The sun seems hotter up in these higher latitudes. So I'm wasting no time getting through the bucket. From what I've seen so far the range balls in Maine are on the expensive side, and also beat to hell. These ones are in such bad shape that you need to strike them on the nose. Otherwise, they don't really get airborne like a healthy golf ball does.
But again, being in my Maine state of mind, I don't really care. Hey, more motivation to make good swings and solid contact, right? That's me, always looking at the bright side. Really though it was a forgettable range session. They can't all be winners. If nothing else, this is an excuse to show off my faithful dog Ringo. Such a good boy.
I'll try to get in a quick nine holes before we leave Maine.