Rain slapped the ground with the anger of an adolescent bully during our drive down toward the Columbia River. I was worried our day out on the course would come to an end before we even started, but as we pulled off the highway and up the small country road toward Lucky Mud the only worry on my mind was the possibility of getting lost.
Then we all saw this:
The stormy sky was on break. The winds were gaining strength and the road was sketchy, but nothing seemed to matter after I saw the damn swastika. Now I was wondering where the delusional bald dudes were hiding and were they going to greet us somewhere deep in the woods.
Lucky Mud is actually a bed and breakfast sitting on a bunch of acres, so I was optimistic that we would be safe since the hateful symbol was spray painted on a neighboring property. My mind was put at ease with the gentle smile of the Inn's owner. Jessica welcomed us to her property and gave us a brief run down of the course.
The wind whipped up something special for us all as she was finishing. Jessica pointed in the direction of tee one and playfully said, "Good luck."