Zen and the Art of the Mini Golf Marathon

It’s time to say goodbye to summer, and I’m tired of the traditional send-offs. Enough with the melancholy moments on the beach as the late August sun sets, or wistful memories of the “last barbeque” at the neighbor’s house, wondering where all the time went, or even the persistent crawl of my kids’ summer reading tasks meandering towards a Labor Day deadline like a slow-burning fuse. I want to end it with a bang, something I’ll never forget, so I’ll say all my summer goodbyes in a single day.

To do this I devise an ambitious plan – an entire day devoted to miniature golf. My nine year-old daughter joins me on this farewell tour – a 200-mile odyssey taking us from the Lakes Regions to the White Mountains, from Funspot to Chichester, home of “the world’s longest mini golf hole,” to points in between.

Our day starts in Moultonborough, an hour’s drive north from Concord, at the Paradise Falls course. We’re greeted by a warm breeze, tropical music and an empty parking lot. Other than the young woman painting her nails at the counter, we’re the only signs of life here. We pay our $12 and begin.

The holes, with names like Cozumel, Aruba and Antigua, are challenging, and we weave through the course, over blue-dyed streams and gentle waterfalls. My daughter, Maisie, plays the course with concentrated fury. I fall apart at Bermuda, landing twice in the water. Maisie snags a two for par while I struggle for an eight. “Dad, that was like the Bermuda Triangle for you,” she says with a grin. We keep going. Maisie struggles a bit on the 17th, and after watching her fish her ball from the water and retaking a few putts, I ask, “So what’d you shoot?”

“How about you give me a five?” I counted at least twelve, but we’ll never make it if we let a few mulligans come between us. We compromise on a seven, finish the round and leave.

Next is the White Mountain Speedway in Tamworth. No steel drums or soft breeze here - just the relentless whine of go-carts and whirr of traffic speeding by the chain link fence. The course has real sand, real pin flags and a real attitude on a pre-teen in a muscle tee shirt with the word “Saugus” across the front. “Come ON!” he screams to his family, nudging his little brother as he yells. He’s part of a big group – I count eleven total, and we sneak in front of them on the first tee.

“I don’t like this course so far,” Maisie says under her breath, but you’d never tell by the way she’s playing. She avoids the sand, plays the curves just right, and nails birdie after birdie. The Saugus Eleven is right behind us, a mixture of boredom, competition and mediocre parenting. “Slow Down NOW!” the dad yells as the two brothers finish just behind us. Between my lousy scores, the go-carts and the threat of the Saugus Eleven inviting us home for Thanksgiving, my anxiety level’s rising. But Maisie could care less, and we zip along, finishing in a tie. Then everything falls apart. The two brothers swing golf clubs at each other’s heads while a wounded dog in a cast deposits his business in the picnic area. “This place is kind of sketchy,” my partner comments, and we run to the car as it starts raining.

Pirate’s Cove in North Conway beckons. Nestled in the parking lot of a Comfort Inn on Route 16, Pirate’s Cove boasts two eighteen-hole courses, both of them creative and impressive. We opt for the 36 Hole Challenge (a $23 bargain) and start at the Captain Kidd course. Maisie’s on fire – three holes-in-one in the first nine, and at the turn, she exclaims, “This is the best day of my summer,” ignoring the rain coming down. We finish (Maisie wins by a stroke) and move on to Blackbeard’s Challenge. The course is really something – knife-wielding life-sized pirates lurk in the lagoon as we snake through a cave hidden under the waterfall. “This is real sea water, Dad!” Maisie explains.

We spot a family ahead of us, four daughters and their parents. The dad tries to calm the youngest, who has as much interest in mini golf as she does in molecular biology. The mom has quite a tan, in stark contrast to her husband’s cubicle-white glow. She’s a walking convection oven, her salmon skin exuding a Mars-like hue, and I’m waiting for her to burst into flames. Her children are miserable, but she continues on, her carrot complexion a shining beacon for the cranky mini golf pirate in all of us. The dad works his ghostly magic, and the youngest finishes smiling, waving to her golf ball as it disappears down the 18th hole.

We’ve played four rounds, so we take a quick lunch break followed by a stop at Banana Village, North Conway’s hidden mini golf gem. We’re alone on the jungle tree house course as the rain falls in sheets. It’s fitting we’ve chosen to say goodbye to the wettest summer in recent memory during a total downpour. There’s nowhere to hide, and we keep playing, finishing all eighteen holes in minutes.

We have three courses remaining. I had five more on the list but miscalculated the drive to North Conway, and we’ll be lucky to get these in before the day’s over. Funspot’s next, the Granddaddy of them all. And by “Granddaddy,” I mean chipped paint, weathered obstacles and tattered greens. I remember this course from my childhood, and it’s sad to see it’s been frozen in time, not a drop of fresh paint or a stitch of new Astroturf since Bruce Jenner won gold in short shorts. Funspot’s scorecard still warns, “Please do not slow up game for succeeding players by foolery,” but we’re the only foolery out here in the rain. We ignore the deferred maintenance, hit holes-in-one at Waldo the Whale and both finish with a water-aided six under par!

We dry off by playing a round on Funspot’s indoor nine-hole course. Maisie, like one of Fagin’s minions, finds a free game token at the self-service kiosk, and she wins another free game at the 9th hole. I suggest maybe she leave the token for someone else, in an arcade “pay it forward” kind of way. She stares at me and just shakes her head, pocketing the token.

We drive to another Pirate’s Cove down the road by the Meredith town line, tackling the ups and downs of the course with vigor, finishing the round in record time. “I’m having so much fun today,” she says, bounding down the pirate ship planks from hole to hole.

Now south to Chichester and Chuckster’s, our last stop of the day. It’s dark outside when we arrive, and the course is soaked. A worker pushes a broom while his sidekick lugs a leaf blower, the pair doing its best to clear the standing water off the course. Nothing says “Relaxing Mini Golf Family Fun” like the eardrum-splitting sounds of a teenager cramming a leaf blower nozzle into the cup on the 11th hole as water flies skyward.

Maisie misses an ace on the mega-long hole by a quarter inch, and she grabs her ball and runs back up the hill to try it again, smiling and out of breath. Chuckster’s is crowded for a Sunday night, but we zoom along, nailing par after par.

It’s late, and we’ve been at it for almost twelve hours. Nine rounds of golf – over 300 holes at seven different locations. We can almost feel a chill in the late summer air as we turn in our putters and say goodbye. Summer’s over, and it’s time to hustle home. Besides, Maisie’s got some reading to do.