Tee for two

Henri knows the good Dr. Epinards means well, but once again I find myself at odds with his imperatives: lose some weight, get some exercise, don’t drink so much.

And it’s been even more difficult this time, Miss Marilyn having recently passed. I even found myself on Craigslist recently, swooning over a photo of Judy, a little Cairn terrier. But it’s a bit too soon to try to replace my sweet furry friend.

I really did try this time, though, unlike when I joined a gym over the phone without ascertaining its location, or the time I returned my Sears treadmill because of its defective cup holder. Sacre bleu—it wouldn’t hold a single one of my wine glasses steadily. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I’d actually plugged in that hideous piece of machinery and tried to walk on it.

But golf? Pourquoi pas? Ride around in a little cart, climb out, walk over to the little ball, hit it a little ways, climb back in the little cart. Repeat. Return to clubhouse for cocktail.

So it was that Colette and I found ourselves at Bidwell Park Golf Course one recent summer morning. I’d worn my plaid shorts, some argyle socks, a microstripe polo by Walter Hagen Essentials, and my favorite Tommy Hilfiger visor. Unfortunately, my saddle shoes with the sharp thingies on the soles hadn’t arrived from Amazon yet.

“This way,” Colette said, as we walked across the parking lot. “Looks like the pro shop is over here.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “Not so fast.”

“What?”

“Look, Bidwell Bar & Grill.” I cupped my hand to my ear. “It’s calling my name.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s 10 o’clock in the morning.”

I shrugged. “It’s 11 o’clock somewhere. Come on.”

She reluctantly followed me inside.

Whoa is right! A fully stocked bar and a tempting breakfast and lunch menu on the wall. Long floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the golf course and a patio with a couple of tables.

“I’ll have a bloody Mary,” I said. “Sis?”

She shook her head in resignation. “Water, I guess.”

“You know,” I said. “I think we should just watch some golf first. Besides, I’m hungry. Let’s eat, then play.”

“I guess I could go for some breakfast,” she said.

I ordered the golfers breakfast burrito ($5.95), and she ordered the three-egg omelet ($6.95). We took our drinks out to the patio and sat in the shade as golf carts purred by.

“Look,” Colette said. “Deer. Over there.”

Indeed, two small deer walked right across the lawn between two groups of golf players, almost right in front of us.

Our breakfasts came out shortly, and my burrito was excellent—eggs, onions, bell peppers and a delicious salsa wrapped in a huge flour tortilla. Colette’s omelet was good, too—cheese, onions and bell peppers (comes with a choice of meat, but she’d ordered it without).

“This is pretty respectable for a little grill at a golf course,” she said. “Plus, this would be a great place to come if you’ve been hiking in Upper Park.”

“You’ve?”

“Well, if one has, Daniel Boone.”

I sat back, stuffed. “You know what I just realized?” I said. “I totally forgot sunscreen. I can’t go out there without sunscreen. We should come back. I’m gonna get another bloody.”

“You made me drive all the way out here, and you got all dudded up like that, and now you don’t even want to play?”

I shrugged. “It’s getting hot.”

“OK,” she said. “Whatever.”

We ended up staying another hour, and, to her credit, Colette got a pint of Sierra Nevada Summerfest.

And we’ve been back—several times. The turkey Caesar wrap ($5.95): delish. The grilled-chicken sandwich ($8.95): very tasty, though I’ll probably have them serve it on sourdough next time, as the Wonder Bread-y bun was rather mushy. Colette said next time she’d order salsa on her breakfast sandwich ($4.95) as the one she ordered needed something to “liven it up.”

Maybe this fall, when it cools down, we’ll try golfing again. Besides, my spikers will be here by then.