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I ride in a a couple of cemeteries because of the lack of traffic (car or people), and I ride along a lot of Houston’s bayou trails. This is an ancient footbridge on the Braes Bayou trail, not too far from the ship channel area. Up above and to the right of this photo is where a city golf course lives. Twice when I’ve been riding across the bridge, a golf ball has sailed through the struts of the bridge – over to the left – and landed in the Bayou.

I’ve begun to wonder if my helmet offers sufficient protection in the case of a golf ball to the head. Actually, I suppose that would be the safest place to be hit by one *because* of the helmet.

And I’m thinkin’ the golf-playing-skill up there on the hill isn’t of the highest caliber. But what do I know about golf? It could mean the very pinnacle of talent that the little white balls are flying by like albino bats confusing day for night.

The kinda-funny thing is that one of the cemeteries I ride in most often is just on the other side of that bayou. The second golf ball that zipped by me almost made it to the far shore. I need to remember to look to see if there are any golf balls dotting the grave sites in that area the next time I’m over there. I’m imagining that it just might look like an Easter Egg hunt, with the ever-so-green of the cemetery lawn dotted by all the “eggs.”

 

 

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