Taking a page from William Wallace and having golf shirts that mirrored Scotland's rugby logo, our motto for this trip was from the famous speech in Braveheart, moderated a tad, "But they'll never take our freedom!...or whisky."
It was on this trip that we picked up a new member of the G.G.C., Mr. Barnett, while Mr. Marshall, and Mr. Riordan tended to their lands back at home as it was harvest time for them.
Arriving into the hallowed place that is St. Andrews it was all golf all the time. The hotel Greyfriar was magnificent, and the fact that they kept their bar (which doubled as the hotel front desk) open later for guests was as welcome as a cool glass of Tennents.
Stepping up to the first tee at St. Andrews Old Course was more nerve-wracking than facing a Mariano Rivera fastball at 45 feet and no helmet. But, the time we had was priceless! Though the epic winds precluded Arnold Palmer from finishing his round the day before, and bent the pins to right angles, it was an experience of biblical proportions.
The following day the rain made Carnoustie an even greater challenge, but nothing like playing your golf shot down Hogan's Alley, and then enjoying pints with aged members afterwards who told stories of watching Ben Hogan in his prime...and complaining that Arnold Palmer has yet to visit Carnoustie decades after being awarded an honorary membership.
Edinburgh proved as lively, and fun as any guidebook said it would. Note to those over 40 - head to the piano bar.