In November, I almost beat the blizzard descending on Bismarck by escaping to sunny Florida where the National Association of Hearing Officers was holding its annual conference.  I had a plane ticket for Orlando scheduled to leave early Friday morning.  Nearly ten inches of snow had fallen over night and the streets were choked full of the white stuff.  I received a call telling me the 4:30 a.m. flight was cancelled but that I could get on the 8:15 flight.  My taxi did not arrive at 7:00 a.m. and when I called the company at 7:10, the dispatcher told me they were shut down.  I muttered something about thanks for letting me know, hurried to the garage and gunned the car down the driveway and into the street.  To my surprise, the front wheel drive on the Avalon got me through the snow banks and to the airport--where the parking lot, run by the city, was closed!  I was 35 minutes from take-off and still circling the airport looking for a place to park.  I pulled into the area reserved for rental cars and got stuck.  Humping my way through the snow with my golf clubs and suitcase, I arrived breathless at the check-in counter.  Flight cancelled.  Two kind young employees of Northwest Airlines helped get me unstuck and I drove home.  En route, I saw dozens of people helping others get their vehicles moving.  I concluded the dismal weather in North Dakota is more than compensated for by the spirit of its people.  A day later, I caught a big bird to Orlando.

Looking out at the courtyard of our hotel--can you feel the humidity?

At night, I heard a loud pulsing beat and garbled voices coming from Downtown Disney, just across the street from our hotel.  I sauntered over there and saw a Richard Simmons protege on stage leading the crowd in some exercises.  There were a multitude of shops surrounding a small, man-made lake.  I got a kick out of one of them with a sign out front boasting, "Everything inside $10 or less."  This is evidently the Disney version of a dollar store.

On Sunday afternoon, with temps in the low 80s, I made my way to Mystic Dunes, a layout designed by Gary Koch.  In the distance, are several bunkers guarding the right side of the fairway.  I remember telling my playing partners that you can't go right on this hole or you're in big trouble.  My brain only heard the word "right" and that exactly where my ball headed.

The big hitters can fly it over these bunkers.  Luckily, my ball landed between them.  I still managed to bogey the short par four.

My little brother, Mark, lives in Orlando so we got together for dinner one night.  Mark is holding grandson Logan.

Logan with his parents, Scott and Christine.

The birds of Orlando:

Heron Crossing

Watching people like a hawk

Ever wonder who those turkeys are who never rake a bunker?

On to EPCOT