Korby's connections: A road trip into the past

This year marked the 50th anniversary of my high school graduation, a milestone that has brought back many memories.

Good God, Eisenhower was president when we were born and Nixon was president when we graduated. Long live the Class of 1972.

And thanks to all classmates who planned all the details for the recent reunion party at the Lost Tavern and the River Inn. Committee members included chair Wendy Wolf Yrjanson, Bill Sobeleski, Howard Simula, and Steve Jankowski.

Here is one of my favorite stories with buddy and classmate Gary “Moose” Pastika, who once convinced me to take on a cross-country driving excursion. Moose died in December of 2018, so I think of him this time of year.

In the 1970s, I was attending the University of Minnesota Duluth. We had a long break for the holidays. Missing golf terribly, Moose said he saw a picture in a sports magazine with a par 3 putting green completely surrounded by water. The only access was via a bridge. He thought it would be great fun teeing off on this hole while attempting to put the ball on the green.

I asked him where it was located and he said, “Encanto Park.”

I hadn’t heard of Encanto Park. Moose wasn’t surprised. It was in Phoenix. He suggested we travel there in his 1970 Jeepster Commando. I agreed and Moose had the Jeep’s oil changed and engine fine-tuned by longtime Cloquet mechanic Peanuts Holmberg.

On a shoestring college budget, we planned our trip with inexpensive hotels but also would bring along a tent, sleeping bags and air mattresses, and spend nights in KOA campgrounds. Our first goal was to make it to Moose’s sister’s house in Lincoln, Nebraska and spend the night and have dinner there. It was 566 miles. In the 1970s, there were no cell phones, GPS, weather reports or warnings, or online mapping. Our navigation chart was based on a free Bruce Jahn Agency State Farm Insurance Rand McNally state map booklet.

I don’t remember being nervous for the trip, but I wonder if our parents were worried about our safety. Our farthest auto journey to date had probably been the Twin Cities area, or maybe Rochester.

Packed with our golf clubs, baseball gloves, toothbrushes and other essentials, the Jeep started up on Day 1 and ran like a charm. We arrived at the sister’s house in time for spaghetti. Our goal was to get to the Phoenix area in about three days.

It was somewhere in Colorado on Day 2 when the fuel gauge stopped working. No big deal. To be safe, I thought we’d plot out about 250 miles on the map and then look to refuel. Gas was cheap by today’s standards, about 35 cents a gallon, but we didn’t want to run out. Sometimes we’d stop at a service station and it would be only $4 to fill her up. My calculations weren’t perfect and it slowed us down, making more stops than necessary.

Heading south and crossing into New Mexico, we cruised into nasty weather. It was a sandstorm, and the highway patrol had stopped all vehicles on the freeway. Being fairly warm, Moose and I went out on the interstate median and played softball catch. We could see enough of a silhouette of each other. It was pretty nasty. We had grit in our teeth and people were pointing out windows at us strange people with Minnesota license plates.

We took the freeway due west and headed toward Santa Fe. Moose exited suddenly. He had seen a sign for the Santa Fe Country Club. He said he couldn’t bear to wait for Phoenix. It was an affordable public course so we decided to play golf.

I can’t recollect which night it was, but Moose and I decided to bed down at a KOA campground in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. The campground attendant had warned us that the forecast called for cold temperatures overnight. “Oh wait, I see you’re from Minnesota. Should be no trouble for you,” he chortled. We got the tent up during a chilly, windy evening. Looking around, we noticed a few campers but no other tents. Seemed unusual, but it was January. Moose couldn’t get his air mattress to inflate but we hit the sleeping bags.

In the middle of the night, I heard a whisper. “Korbs, you awake? I’m freezing.” Opening my eyes, I realized I was a little cold as well. I took my feet, which were inside the end of the sleeping bag, and kicked at the tent door to get a look outside. Snow went flying. We both grabbed our sleeping bags and pillows and walked to the KOA shower and bathroom building. It was warm in there.We laid down, putting our heads under the sinks and feet toward the toilet stalls. Very comfy. We awoke to other campers coming in to use the facilities and laughing at what they witnessed.

The next day we crossed the Arizona border and headed toward Phoenix. Phoenix was a big city even then. We picked up a detailed map when we were refueling at a gas station on the outskirts. We found Encanto Park in the heart of the Valley of the Sun.

You’d think I’d remember what happened on that beautiful par 3 at Encanto Park. Did we both go on the island green or dump it into the water? I have no recollection. Makes the story somewhat anticlimactic.

I’ve retold this travel story but it usually focuses on sleeping in the KOA campground biffy, or the grandeur of Royal Gorge and the Rockies, or playing catch on a New Mexico freeway. Not golf.

I’m sure you wanted to know if I got a birdie. Sorry, I don’t remember. The brain is a funny organ.

Steve Korby welcomes ideas for human interest stories and tales regarding Carlton County residents, projects, history, and plans c/o [email protected].