No Itinerary Required: Four Truths from an Impromptu Golf Trip
By Brandon Smith, Guest Contributor
A successful golf trip requires extensive planning – at least according to my 47-step golf planning manifesto. Tee times must be balanced between early and late starts to maximize golf without sacrificing camaraderie or sleep. Add cost, sleeping arrangements, and each participant’s preferred extracurricular activities, and the itinerary begins to resemble a multivariable-calculus problem. Or so I thought, until my golfing compatriot, Robby, called with an opportunity to play a preview round at The Matchbox, Tobacco Road’s new par-3 course, on just three days’ notice.
Before Robby even finished the invitation, my mind went into overdrive. There was certainly not enough time to deploy my manifesto, but the journey was far enough to justify at least a couple more rounds. After quieting the uneasiness in my belly, I committed – with no complete plan, no printed itinerary, and only the nebulous instruction to “show up around noon on Friday to play.” This was uncharted territory for an A-type planner accustomed to carrying a three-page dossier for an overnight trip. What followed was a thirty-six-hour lesson in spontaneity, a reminder of what makes golf endure, and gentle evidence that God’s plan is often better than our own – even in matters as simple as an impromptu golf trip.
An early morning drive up Highway 1 through the rural Carolinas is a kind of meditation and the perfect beginning to a golf adventure. The road winds through the pine forests of the sand belt region, interrupted only by small, one-light towns, building anticipation for Pinehurst, America’s cradle of golf, and the adventures to come. Our first stop was Southern Pines where I had finagled an afternoon tee time at Pine Needles. The friendly staff, comfortable clubhouse, and laid-back atmosphere immediately put us at ease – a feeling quickly obliterated once we got on, off, and then back onto the Donald Ross greens. Robby and I were paired with two regulars, “Hollywood” Foster and Shane, longtime friends and golfing rivals in their late sixties. None of us had much of a game that afternoon, but Foster and Shane were in championship form with their benign insults and relentless banter. They knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons and exactly which lines not to cross. For more than four hours, their comedic dance showed us the first truth of the trip: golf is rarely remembered for the course or the score alone. It is remembered for the people, the shared hours, and the well-placed one-liners that become part of a deep friendship.
After parting ways with Foster and Shane – their argument over who was paying for dinner continuing until their cart disappeared behind the next row of parked cars – we headed toward an impromptu putting session at Thistle Dhu. First, though, we stopped at BHAWK (Brad Halling American Whiskey Ko.) in Southern Pines, a restaurant and distillery founded by Brad Halling and his wife, Jess, who share a combined 49 years of Army service. Brad was injured in the Battle of Mogadishu, later depicted in Black Hawk Down, and BHAWK honors the service members who gave their lives, including those who gave Brad a second chance at his. The food was tremendous, the atmosphere was memorable, and the clientele was, well, mysterious. With Fort Bragg – the epicenter of Army Special Forces training – nearby, many patrons were discreet, bearded, casually dressed, and seated with their backs to the wall near an exit. Robby and I chose the middle of the room, where we could be easily observed and remained conspicuously well behaved.
Thistle Dhu supplied the trip’s second lesson. The fabled Pinehurst putting course is usually a relaxed setting for friendly competition and memorable shots – unless the U.S. Kids Golf World Championships are in town and hundreds of families have taken over the property. What first looked like a disaster became a blessing in disguise. Children barely taller than their putters showed remarkable skill and, just as impressively, consistently good etiquette. From the conversations we overheard, it was clear they enjoyed the competition but also the chance to meet new friends who shared their love of the game. There were less appealing sights, too: an overbearing coach-parent deploying every training aid known to golf, and parents crowding the Titleist center in search of the putter or new club that might propel their young warrior to the finals. The contrasts were impossible to miss. Yet the larger picture was encouraging: golf can welcome people of every country, gender, and age, and the next generation appears ready to carry it forward. However, given their skill, we may eventually have to reconsider what counts as par.
A Pinehurst trip usually consists of golf, dinner, golf, more golf, and perhaps a little sleep – especially when an A-type planner has over-scheduled every available hour. This time, the lack of time to plan left us with a relaxed morning to wander through Southern Pines and Pinehurst. We visited the USGA World Golf Hall of Fame, an expertly presented exhibit that explores both the science of the game and the history represented by its members. Then a search for mid-morning coffee took us into the Village of Pinehurst. A providential decision to investigate the newest Malbon shop – which, inexplicably, did not open until noon on a Friday – led us instead to The Old Golf Shop and one of the trip’s most memorable encounters.
Unassuming from the outside, The Old Golf Shop’s large windows and open door invited us into a world almost as old as the game itself. Paintings, prints, clubs, furniture, and assorted relics filled the room. My first reaction was simply, “This is neat.” Then we met Bob, and the collection came alive. Bob Hansen has spent 58 years collecting rare, one-of-a-kind golf memorabilia and mentoring younger collectors – teaching them what to seek, how to authenticate it, and where to find it. Many of the pieces belonged to his mentees and were displayed on consignment, but Bob knew the story behind every one. His passion was impossible to contain, and his gift for oral history transformed the shop from a room of old objects into a record of the people and eras that shaped the game. That was our third discovery: golf’s history is not preserved by objects alone, but by people willing to learn their stories and pass them on. Even Foster and Shane might have paused their personal jousting long enough to listen to Bob.
Leaving Bob with a new appreciation for golf’s past, we headed to The Matchbox, the reason for our impromptu journey. My love affair with Tobacco Road – and with every course designed by Mike Strantz – began in 2002, when a group of friends tired of playing UNC’s Finley course and made a pilgrimage south to Sanford. From the first blind tee shot, I was hooked. Strantz’s challenge was part of the appeal, but so were his creativity and the way he set each hole into the natural landscape. His courses make a player uncomfortable on the tee, demand a wide range of shots, and transform a round into an experience. Having played all but three of his designs, I was eager to see whether The Matchbox could honor his vision on a much smaller canvas.
The Matchbox has twelve holes, artificial greens and tees, and no shot longer than about 110 yards; most play between 60 and 70. The greens are treacherous – fast, severe, and full of internal contours. The course winds through pines beside Tobacco Road’s 12th hole and around a small lake that finds its way into several shots. To reach some flags, a wedge must be threaded through gaps in the trees. The result is one of the most distinctive and purely enjoyable golf experiences I have had. Compared with the beautiful torment of Tobacco Road just beyond the tree line, The Matchbox is a breath of fresh air: challenging yet relaxed and inviting. There is something invigorating about carrying three clubs (maybe you could use just one?), shaping finesse shots into wildly contoured greens, and wandering through the pines for an hour. Designed by Mike White, an original shaper under Mike Strantz at Tobacco Road, the course honors Strantz by echoing the boldness next door on a miniature scale. On our second loop, with periodic near-hole-in-one cheers ringing through the trees, the trip’s fourth truth became clear: the game does not have to be severe, traditional, or even eighteen holes to be meaningful. It only has to invite people to play, laugh, and create memories together.
The drive south on Highway 1, with sunlight filtering through the needles of the long-leaf pines, gave me time to reflect on all that had transpired since the reverse journey we had made just thirty-six hours earlier. As they often do, my thoughts turned to God—His plan, His omniscience, and the small day-to-day details He weaves into our lives to provide lessons, reassurance, and reminders of His providence. I had begun the trip uneasy because there had been no time for my usual level of planning. Yet the weekend had unfolded naturally and almost effortlessly: Bob Hansen connected us to golf’s past; the young players on Thistle Dhu offered a glimpse of its future; Foster and Shane embodied the friendships forged through the game; and The Matchbox showed that golf can evolve without losing its soul. All of it began with one simple request: “Just show up around noon if you want to play.”
Maybe the perfect golf trip does not require a calculus degree and six spreadsheets after all.