In a few more than 12 hours, my traveling life will come into focus as my last fulltime writing contract comes to an end. That´s why I say WAHOO!

No more PCs, No more schnooks, No more boss´s dirty looks. Most important, no more 9-5. OK, it´s a stretch from that old summer vacation chant, but who cares? I´m going to be "On the Road Again", trucking down the highway, eventually towing a trailer.

I´m not really going to be away from PCs, of course: I´ll start more heavily writing about golf travel, and develop the RVGolfer website I´ve had for some years. And I´m going to start working in video, to see whether the people and places I visit will interest other people.

Keep an eye on me, folks. My first sojourn will be along the Gold Rush Highway 49 in California. The southern segment in these late months of 2009, but when the snow clears I´ll head for the higher hills, and maybe even beard The Dragon one more time.

After that, there will be other trails to wend my way along. See ya.

My cubemate and his pal ran across a pair of gloves lying next to a parking garage. When his pal went to pick them up, my cm said "Don´t pick those up. You don´t know who´s been wearing them or where they´ve been."

The next day, they walked through Neiman-Marcus in Minneapolis during their noon walk. There was a pair of gloves on sale at $495. And my cm said, "Don´t pick those up. You don´t know who´s been wearing them or where they´ve been."

$495 for a pair of gloves. If it were for an Armani suit, I could see it. Or a really fancy jacket. Or a work of art. Or a really expensive driver or putter. You know, something that people would recognize you´d paid a bundle for, and maybe even be impressed: Conspicuous Consumption, in Thorstein Veblen´s famous description.

But why pay that much for something nobody even realizes? Who would know. Talk about the pinnacle of Inconspicuous Consumption.

Why not have monogrammed silk Kleenex? Or a gold plated gascap cover? Or some other equally frivolous bit of trivium that no one ever noticed?

Ah, well. If they´re charging that much for such a simple item, they must be selling them. Maybe some attorney or politician.

Perhaps it´s just Neiman Marcus´s attempt to help people use up their Stimulus Package.

It sometimes begins this way: the inside of your throat feels a bit scratchy. You clear it often. Is it going to develop into a cold, or is the flu beginning to rage in your body?

If it´s the flu, will it be the common garden variety (that kills 20,000 people every year) or could it step up to the H1N1? That has already killed 7 people in Minnesota, half children. It seems to affect younger folks more than us wizened types (which is the way the Spanish Flu of 1917 operated, as well).

Maybe it´s nothing. After all, I was up late Monday night watching the Vikings whup the Packers in a contest rather like two old pugs trading blows: first one would score, then the other.

Then last night (Tuesday), I joined some friends at a local watering hole. My poor purple Vikings jacket was submerged in a sea of blue Twins paraphernalia as their owners celebrated the local Minneapolis team´s one-run victory over Detroit. Again, I didn´t get to bed until 11 or so.

So, perhaps I´m just tired. Of course, that´s what I´m hoping for. With only a couple of weeks left before I wend my way off toward warmer climes, I don´t want to get sick. Tonight, I go to bed early.

After threatening to buy a diesel pickup to tow my travel trailer, I bit the bullet. Only the bullet I bit turned out to be a 2000 Ford E350 7.3L diesel cargo van.

To para Olive Oyl´s phrase from Robert Altman´s Popeye, "It´s Large." The extended version is some 18 inches longer than the norm. You can take a look at its possibilities at my RVGolfer blog. I even have a link to a short Youtube video of it. Ignore the carpet inside: it´s on its way to the dump when I taped the video.

Since I plan to head out toward the West Coast soon, I´m looking at ways to upgrade the van. I´ve bought a futon, and plan to build a frame for that. There are two batteries in the vehicle, and I´ll make sure one of them is a deep cycle battery. That way, I´ll be able to use an inverter for such niceties as lights and possibly even a microwave oven.

I also plan to install a sheet of plywood on the floor, and put linoleum or carpet on it. Then I have to build some way to hold my golf clubs immobile; can´t have them sliding forward and whacking me in the back of the head if I have to stop suddenly. Of course, with a truck this large, sudden stops are probably unlikely.

So, stay tuned. I´m revving up to be on my way. "It´s Large."

My golf season--the first league I´ve ever been in--has come to a close. I´ve suffered from cold weather and a few rainy outings, one or two really hot days, and many nice ones.

I had hoped that, with retirement from everyday toil in the offing, this frequent shot of golf might help me get a little better. I might, maybe, be a leetle bit more accomplished.

Of course, I have to:

• Shorten my stroke
• Set up by opening my left foot a little, rather than parallel to my right
• Swing a lot easier
• Put my putting on autopilot, rather than thinking
• Practice chipping for distance
• Avoid lifting my head on impact
• Keep my weight in the saddle (on my heels), rather than toe dancing (ending up tippytoe). Actually, opening my foot seems to help with that.

It has been fun, which is the important thing. And I´ve discovered I´m really accomplished at one hole in particular: 19.

How hot was it, you ask? When I went in to work, it was 78 degrees and 79 percent humidity. I felt like I worked at 3M--as tape.

By the time we left for the league at 4p.m., it had lowered humidity and increased heat. Humidity was probably 35 percent, and it was 95 degrees. A nice breeze cooled things down even as it caused errant shots to go even erranter.

I had read a golf piece on Yahoo Answers that pointed out that half the score on a par 72 course should be putts (18 holes, 2 putts per hole=36 strokes). So putting and the short game is at a premium. Wow, that made a lot of sense.

As a result, this night I determined to ignore my woods and use my old 2-iron for the long shots (I usually h it it about 185 yards or so when I connect), and throttle back on my swing. The idea was to keep it in the fairway.

I was amazed at the results. I finished one stroke off my record for the nine I played (the Bronze at Emerald Greens).

Oh, I ended up in trouble, and on 7 I hit in the middle of the fairway and never found it. But I chipped in from the fringe twice, blasted within 10 feet from the sand once and from 50+ yards more than once, plus I sank a couple of longish putts. Then there was the one that hung on the rim instead of going that extra half-inch.

To top it all off, in my impatience to finish the 9th hole, I reached out with my putter after rolling by my first putt and tapped it at the hole--and missed. Which is why I had one stroke more than my record.

So, I recommend you give this a try. Put your woods away and put your irons in the fire: they might just give you a better score. I´m going to do it again next week.

In these days of the cellular phone, who can find one anyway?

Since I´ve been in this golf league, I´ve wanted to wear shorts a few times. However, I leave a "business attire only" job as a tech writer for the Postal Service at 4pm, and tee off a few miles away at 4:40. That doesn´t leave a lot of time to change from slacks to shorts, and if the men´s room stalls (or phone booths) are occupied....

So, when I saw a pair of slacks that can unzip the pantlegs to result in shorts, I snapped one up. Very nice. They easily zipped off, so I could pull the remnants over my shoes while I waited at a stoplight. And this morning, when I fumbled bleary-eyed to zip them back together for work, they went without a hitch. I recommend them.

My Supergolfer shorts. Now if they could only improve my game.

Now that I´m getting close to retirement, I´m beginning to shop for a vehicle to tow a trailer with. I´m leaning toward a 3/4 ton diesel, and an Airstream trailer. I know, I know, the price of gas is getting higher and higher (perfect timing, isn´t it?), but at least truck prices are taking a nosedive.

I can buy quite a bit of gas with a $7,000 saving...which could be even more next week or month, as the truck salespeople get even more desperate.

Towing a trailer isn´t something you do all the time. I´ll probably keep my Honda CRV to use for frequent travel at home, and either a bicycle or motorscooter for an auxilitary on the road.

But I´d like to tow the Airstream somewhere warm in the winter (from Minnesota, anywhere is warmer), then leave it in one location for a month at a time and explore nearby golf courses.

I´m leaning toward the Silverado 2500 Work Truck. It seems to have the power I´ll need. The diesel is a little (say $4,000) more expensive than gasoline, but the engines last 3 to 4 times longer.

So, as the Grateful Dead suggest, I should soon be "Truckin´". I can hardly wait.

(For my take on the U.S. Women´s Open, see my RVGolfer blog.

As I pointed out to one of my playing partners after he said I might be able to hit as far as Tiger Woods, I could if I teed off from the edge of the Grand Canyon.

We were talking about the gutty performance by both Woods and Rocco Mediate at the 2008 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines. Clawing and scratching at the course, both men put on a wild and dramatic show until the first playoff hole. On that one, Tiger won on skill and perhaps a little better luck than the 45-year-old Mediate.

A lot of us were cheering Rocco on. He doesn´t have the resume Tiger does, but then who (except the Golden Bear) really does? And Tiger´s on a pace to have a better resume than Nicklaus in very short order, if his joints hold out.

Rocco, though, hung in there for all of us who have aching backs and a little beerbelly and a game that we patch together with occasional flashes of a good shot. The good shot that´s just good enough to entice us to keep pouring time and energy into the game.

So, good for you, Rocco. You done us all proud. Thanks.

Every week, it seems, I forget something on my way to the course for league play. Last week it was a sweatshirt, so I bought one at Devilsmart (but never used it, so I´ll return it). This week it was my cart, and renting one set me back a fin.

It was my fault for not putting it into my van after I came back from Keller Golf Course near St. Paul, Minn. The van was in the back by the garage, and the cart I left on the front porch, so I never even saw it in my rush to get to work.

Keller, which we played Saturday on one of the very few sunny days this spring, was a pleasure. My score was no good, but the vistas on this classic course are endlessly charming. There´s a lot of sand, but very little long grass (my downfall at Emerald Greens). Keller has a history of gangsters like John Dillinger (who escaped the Feds by jumping over the fence and hopping a passing freight), and heroes like Sam Snead and Patty Berg.

Emerald Greens this week wasn´t sunny, but at least it wasn´t raining or overly cold. Sweatshirt weather, and yes I did remember mine and had a second one stuffed into my bag.

I seem to have steadied down over last week. In fact, I cut 10 strokes off the total. It may be because I swung shorter. At 6´4", it´s easy to go a little astray in your swing. My arms are so long, if I jiggle a little I can go way wrong. (See the math on my blog at http://rvgolfer.blogspot.com or at http://rvgolfer.wordpress.com.)

I´ve always been a fairly good putter, and my chipping is improving. Now, if I could only slow it down when driving and using long irons. That´s my point about shortening the swing. Since I´m making a conscious effort to shorten it, I suppose I keeping my arms under tighter conscious control, so don´t suffer the looseness that causes problems.

We´ll see Monday at The Quarry near Biwabik, Minn. That´s a gorgeous course in the North Woods on the Iron Range. Let´s pray for good weather.

To put the icing on the cake, my score was good enough to earn another golf ball by coming in third in my flight. (Not worth $5, though.) 

Another blustery day, and in my rush to get back to work after Memorial Day I forgot my sweatshirt and had left my windbreaker in my car (which is currently residing in the Honda waiting room in Richfield, MN). So, on the way to Emerald Greens I broke my vow, stopped at a Devilsmart (home of the low-paying no-benefit job) and bought a dark blue Minnesota Timberwolves sweatshirt cheap. Some buyer expected the Twolves to go farther in the NBA playoff than they actually did, because there was a stack of them. With that and a Callaway golf glove in hand, I paid the surly cashier and raced out the door.

I was looking forward to exercising my new, pain-free shoulder, to see what would happen on the Gold course. My visit to the VA rheumatologist to take care of my rheums had paid off: he´d shot me in the right shoulder joint with cortisone. I hadn´t realized how painful it had been until it stopped. So I was trying to get the most out of it before the cortisone wears off (some months, I´m told).

Apparently the pain had been helping me, because I never had a chance. I couldn´t have hit worse if I´d used a garden hose. On one hole next to the course driveway I went across it, and had to bang it back over the asphalt.

But the sun was out, and the temp around 50, so I just kept ambling along and whacking at it. Every once in a while the club would connect and the shot would go close to where I´d planned, so it wasn´t terrible. I take that back: it was terrible. I ended up tied for last place in the lowest flight. Sheesh, I´ve got to get out and practice. I´m doing worse now than I was my first week.

To top it all off, along the way somewhere I dropped the head cover for the Callaway driver Bob Koczor gave me. I tried to slip a different head cover onto it, but the 465 was like trying to squeeze a fat man into a Speedo. The ranger checked and said the cover had been found by a foursome playing on a different nine, and I could wait at the clubhouse for it to turn up.

So once we were through with our nine, I sat with a beer and waited...and waited...and I guess I´ll have to check again next week. The beer was good, though. And I never did wear the sweatshirt, so I´ll return it to Devilsmart.

I´ve always known I´d shoot my age someday, but I always thought that meant I´d live to 135. Today, however, I´ve accomplished it. I just didn´t know it would be on 9 holes.

We played the Platinum nine at Emerald Greens near Hastings, Minn. It wasn´t raining, but the elements made up for it with wind. In that flat Minnesota farmland, where the only thing slowing it down is a barbed wire fence, the wind kicked up dust, fuss, and anything else.

Platinum is the toughest and longest of the four nines at EG, with one hole at 630 yards. It played hard, and then the fact I kept hitting it sideways didn´t help. I don´t know whether I was lifting my head or setting up too far away or what, but I hit far too many shots off the toe.

On my drive on the big kahuna, I was right on the OB line, so whacked it toward the fairway. Grass slowed that shot down, and when I took my next shot--away it went OB. Damn.

About the only thing that made the day any fun at all was my putting. If I could start my play on the greens, I´d have a great day. I sank 8 footers, 10 footers, even one long, twisty 30 footer; then on 9 I chipped, bounced off the flagstick with backspin that drove it right into the hole. (Of course, the swing before that I´d completely whiffed.)

So, swing thought for next week is: Keep your head still, stupid.

It took 30 years, but I finally earned a golf handicap. Up until now, I never played often enough to earn one, but joining this golf league has put me on the path to righteousness. At least on the path to having a number attached to my name, as opposed to one on a placard under my face.

Heretofore, when I´d enter a tournament at a media event and was asked my handicap, I would repond "Golf." From now on, though, I can confidently proclaim "46.9." Why, that magic number is already working for me. Only my third week in the league, and I am already the proud winner of a brand new golf ball.

In the flight my scores fit into (D, needless to say), I came in third. Winner of the flight gets 3 balls, while second earns 2.

I shot a 62, but my handicap for this particular 9 was 26.3, which netted me a 35.7.

Things can only get better. Oh, I forgot. It´s threatening rain again next Tuesday. Goody.

Another Tuesday for the golf league at Emerald Greens, and more rain showers are expected. At least I´m a little better protected than I was last week: I went out and spent some of my dubyarefund on a pair of rain pants. They´re not exactly the right shade of black, but any pant in a storm.

The first day I had the pants they earned their keep when I worked in my lady friend´s yard to get grass seed down before a week of rain started. Raking to loosen the soil, then seeding, then raking again to get some seeds into the ground. So far we´ve gone through almost 20 pounds of seed in her yard. I don´t know why I bother: I´ll just have to mow. "Don´t encourage it," I cried.

Today we play the Silver 9, after having gone through the Gold 9 (cold) and Bronze 9 (wet). We were expected to guess the score we´d make. I haven´t played it, and don´t really know how it compares to the other tracks, so I just pulled a number out of the air. We´ll see how good I can do.

Last night was another wet and miserable excursion, as the temperature dropped what felt like 20 degrees. Rain may have turned into sleet, if what I heard clicking off my glasses is any example.

It was raw. I really needed wipers on my glasses; as it was, I kept pushing it out of the way, while I peered over the top.

The wind was probably 20mph. If you had any loft in the shot, sideways it went. My selected score--what I planned to shoot, for the league contest--ended up some 5 strokes too low. I simply had no end of trouble, including two tries to dig out of a sandtrap.

I did loft an 8-iron onto the island green, however. I needed to chip on from 20 feet after my ball bounced off the mounded green and rolled down the side. As it was, my bogey was good: two of my foursome ended in the water.

We played the Silver course this time, and it was long. A 467-yard par 4 comes to mind, along with a 505-yard par 5.

Next week Platinum is on the agenda, and the contest is for the Best Poker Hand. Maybe I can get five 8s.

Another year on the golf course in Minnesota. This year, it has been cold. As of mid-May, we´ve had four days in the 70s and 80s. In a normal year, we´ll have had more than two dozen. In fact, snow in April caused thousands of songbirds to starve to death in northern Minnesota when the insect hatch didn´t occur on time. That will mean a lot fewer songs to be cheered by when out on the course.

Last week was my second in the league I joined at Emerald Greens near Hastings, Minn. From what my teammates tell me, last year there wasn´t a rainy day. This year, of the two days we´ve played, one rained throughout.

In my black and yellow rain jacket and holding my red and white umbrella, I must have looked to passersby like a tall sodden bumblebee trying to shelter under a psychedelic mushroom.

The league has a different challenge every week--closest to the pin, fewest putts, etc. One of my teammates should have gotten a prize for "Farthest toss of a club" when the iron flew out of his wet, slippery hands and sailed about 50 yards. I know you´re supposed to keep a light grip, but that´s a little too light. After that, he found a set of foul weather gloves and wore them. I wore two mismatched gloves myself, and they let me keep a light touch. That´s one of my key thoughts this year: light grip and keep my head still.

Despite the drizzle, I knocked seven strokes off the 9 from the week before. Since I´m playing to get a handicap, I suppose I could have sandbagged a little, but that wouldn´t be fair or fun. It was more fun seeing the putts start to drop.

I have a pendulum putting stroke with my old brass blade. That is, I bend over, point my left elbow at the cup, and try to keep a parallel stroke to my toes. Usually, I´m a demon putter--about the only part of my game that´s decent. But the first day of the league was also my first round of the year, so I suppose it´ll take a few rounds before all the rust flakes off. On the rainy day round, about the third hole, they began to drop. Goodbye, rust.

Emerald Greens was once a farmer´s fields, and then he decided to harvest golfers instead. He doesn´t have to get up at 5a.m. to feed us, and he can milk us anytime. In leagues, however, unless there´s lightning, we play. So tomorrow, again, I´ll be doing my bumblebee imitation.