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And on the Sabbath day, he rested.
Where rest is defined as got in a round of disc golf. A very unsatisfying round. A very wet round.
Watching a disc fly off and make an unexpected slow arc towards the stream is a less-than-life-affirming feeling. Knowing the water is knee-deep while not knowing where extra discs can be purchased, or if they're still being produced, combine into knowing that I'll suffer wetleg until I can walk back home.
Slipping on a rock saved me from suffering wetleg. Instead I was treated to a full-body soaking.
Some people pay good money for this kind of entertainment.
Unpredictable disc flight is often due to wind. With summer coming on, the wind is usually a welcome companion otherwise. But of course, today we weren't on speaking terms, Mr. Wind and I.
As I approached my complex, dripping and cussing, I noticed my mailbox. Haven't checked it in days. Something was sticking out, unable to fit completely in the box.
My first issue of the PDGA member magazine had arrived.
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