BUSY AS I have
been describing my misadventures, I haven't told you what happened on the 2nd
hole during my first round. Leporati launched a bullet of a five-wood shot that
landed just short of this par-3 green, 205 yards from the tee. "Give him a
bounce!" I yelled. His ball bounded onto the putting surface and began
running toward the pin in the back of the green. "Anybody ever make a hole
in one here?" I asked, finishing my question a split second before his ball
disappeared into the cup.
in!" Ron shouted. He flipped his club into the air and held up his arms in
disbelief. "That's my first one!" I high-fived him, and in a moment of
exuberance he hugged me. We whooped it up for several more moments, then Ron
said sheepishly, "Sorry about the hug, man."
Not at all. I've
witnessed a dozen aces, but none ever felt this big—at a resort that spans 200
years in a town where "George Washington slept here" is no idle
When the valet
brought my car around to the front of the hotel after the round, I imagined
that long-ago day when a fancy sedan pulled up to the entrance and a
charismatic man wearing a fur coat stepped out and asked a young bellman for
directions to Cumberland, Md. Satisfied with the answer, the fellow
theatrically flipped a coin to the bellman. "Someday," the stranger
said, "you can tell your grandkids you got a $20 gold piece from John
Dillinger." Then Public Enemy No. 1 climbed into the sedan and drove
At that moment I
understood what Forse had told me earlier. "This place puts you back in
time," he said. "Instead of simply looking at history, you're in
The morning fog
had burned away. I squinted into the sun for a last glance at the restored
resort before I, too, drove away. I wondered why I had goose bumps.
Searching for a
golf getaway? Ask Travelin' Joe at GOLF.com.