Texas 118 going south from Alpine to Terlingua was foreign road, I'd previously only been on River Road or 385 from Marathon. This was new and I wanted to take my time, I wanted to see the spots, hike the mountains, drink a beer at a roadhouse bar, walk around the Cactus farm, but it was mid morning, and I was on a mission to golf at Black Jack's Crossing in the border town of Lajitas, Texas. I'd visited the place before, but never played, even met the mayor once. It looked out of place, but perfectly sculpted into the barren, beautiful, busy land. Evidently, you can bust one into Mexico from one of their tee boxes, if you hit it clean.
The day was incredible with massive skylines, huge fields of clouds, like upside down rows of cotten that went on and on into the horizon. The course was practically empty, the cost was $295, I had two cold Modelos wrapped in koozies, stashed. Nothing could make that Sunday go slow enough. To describe the course is to fail to describe the course, even the spectacular pictures don't reflect the spectacles, it must be visited, played, sniffed. An aquifer dug out decades ago waters the place, hydrologist say the well will last for another hundred years, still, they recycle all the water possible and don't dare drain the sacred Rio Grande.
Birdies on #16 and #18, two relatively short par 5's, knocked my score down below where it normally lands, it was a mercy laden, mulligan taking, short putt giving, roller balling 81. From the short man's tees, distracted by digital photography and desolation. Got the scorecard for proof, there was hardly anyone around. This one nice couple from Austin let me through on the front nine and saw me hit a drive straight as a string, and I echoed celebrations as I dropped several 15 footers--trust me, they were just going in. On the back nine I did hit a range ball into Mexico, plastered it clean, a big high bending fade.