Teeing off comfortably in April.

When I climbed into KP’s car at the Atlanta airport and we’d exchanged our initial HowTheHeckAreYa’s, he confirmed what he’d texted me before I started my journey from Central New York.

We had a tee time scheduled at one of the three courses he calls home base, set up in a couple hours, easily done after unpacking at his and Sue’s house and munching on a lunch.

Still up for it?

Our 1,000th round together, a rough estimate over 40 years of friendship.

You think?

KP had borrowed a set of clubs for me from his friend Gordon, a tremendous guy who had extra. (And who gifted me with a 1971 JFK half-dollar to use as a ball mark when we met later in my trip, to talk about southern hospitality.)

This saved me from having to rent this-and-that stuffed in a bag from the clubhouse and made me more comfortable from the time we carted to the practice range and putting green.

These near-Atlanta courses hold three separate loops of nine holes.

Next nine.

We were assigned to nines named Homestead and Graveyard … this day and the next, when we happily returned for another 18, you betcha.

Sunnier on day two.

Don’t ask about great results from me, except for the enjoyment category.

So much rust on my game.

For wet conditions.

My sense of humor stayed intact, though.

When I spied the big contraption set up green side, I immediately dubbed it Golf’s Biggest Fan.

Continuing the round, I saw one at each green and figured out they would be used to dry out the surfaces from wetter conditions.

Flora ablaze.

As for KP, though, he’s making the most of his southern golf habitat.

Playing more often has sharpened his focus. All aspects of his game have flourished. A par-birdie-par finish on Day Two allowed him to card an 89. I tip my cap and await more good golf news upon my return to northern courses.

I’ve promised to play more this year myself and get my game going, too.