When You Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Have to Play Golf

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I was in New York the other day, and I saw this guy on a bike crossing to the other side of FDR Drive at about 90th Street with golf clubs in a backpack. Maybe he was on his way to play at Van Cortlandt Park, in the Bronx. It’s the oldest municipal golf course in the United States, and it has one of the greatest locker rooms in all of golf:

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Or maybe he was on his way to the driving range on Randalls Island, in the East River:

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Wherever he was headed, he had his clubs, and he had carried them on his bike often enough to have figured out how to keep them out of his way:

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