I'm not much of a golfer. The woods in my bag are made of, get this, wood.
Needless to say, I've not dropped the $140 it takes to play 18 holes at Cobble Beach. But I could not resist the siren call of the car show that was held there today.
It was a wallet-lightening ninety bucks to get me and Junior through the gate. Actually, I first tried to bullshit my way through the gate by telling the gate-keepers we lived in Cobble Beach, but that didn't get any traction.
We were directed up the road and down a side-road to park in a pasture. That pasture come parking lot was a car show in itself. There were Porsches and Ferraris and Mercedes Benz aplenty parked in that pasture right alongside our Mustang Fifty.
From there we were bused to the Cobble Beach clubhouse.
And what a wild and crazy world we stepped into then.
We saw Model T Fords and Morgans and Ferraris and Lamborghinis.
We saw a 1970 Plymouth Superbird.
We saw a 1903 Oldsmobile.
We saw a 1971 Hemi Cuda that could have been bought off the lot at a steep discount in late '71. They couldn't give that heavy-duty hardware away back in the twilight days of the muscle car era.
We actually saw a Bugatti!
We saw brands I'd never heard of, and I've been a car junkie forever.
Have to admit that wandering about looking at vehicles that would fetch more than my lifetime earnings at auction isn't what I'm about, but when they put this deal on at the golf course not ten minutes down the road, how could I resist?
Besides, all the proceeds are going towards a new helipad at one of the hospitals in Toronto.
I know a few folks who work at Cobble Beach. Next year I'm going to make sure I've got some ID that saves me both the ninety bucks and the bus ride.
I'll be wearing a name tag; D. Neumann, Assistant Salad Chef.
See you there.