I really should have taken a picture....it's easy to see why The Cowboy has little difficulty as a golf cart driver in Old Town Scottsdale. He wears a tight short sleeve modern western shirt and slouchy black cowboy hat, and looks just enough like Kenny Chesney in his tight blue jeans and boots.
I, of course, had on a sundress.
Last night was my ride along, just under 100 degrees as the sun set. We had enjoyed a late business lunch of sushi as I peppered him with questions and sought information on forming Ride Prescott, my northern version of the golf cart cabs that currently ran willy-nilly all over the historic section of this now sprawling metropolitan town. Now out on the town in a borrowed EZ- GO six passenger cart, The Cowboy was sharing stories of girls gone wild, boys on the prowl and general basics of how the system worked. As I listened and gleaned the information I could use, it was amazing to think my first golf cart cab ride was because I got called for jury duty.
They had cookies.
Federal District Jury Duty: I live in Prescott, the case was to be held in Phoenix, and I had been authorized to book a hotel room the night before. It was May 15th; what would have been my 23rd wedding anniversary had my late husband had lived (it's been 20 years now, but one tends to remember those things.) Being a savvy traveler, I had punched in the authorized price and four stars into Priceline.com, and up popped the Hotel Valley Ho in Old Town Scottsdale. I was delighted with the purchase, having often wanted to stay there but never being able to convince the ex-husband of it's charms (please note there is a Late Husband (LH) and an Ex Husband (EH) - two very distinctly different men.) The call to serve our country as a juror was shaping up well, and I couldn't help but sweeten the deal by letting the Operations Manager (OM) know I was in the area.
The Operations Manager. Only I didn't know he was the Operations Manager.
So he tells me he'll pick me up at the hotel, and as we walk outside I'm expecting to see his vehicle, but instead there is a golf cart. Driven by beautiful Eva, and holding up to five additional people. I was intrigued--a service offered by the hotel? OM explains that's how the tourists and locals get around down in Old Town. We zip over to Cold Beer & Cheeseburgers, OM sharing how the system works. He's thinking of investing in a cart himself, as it could be a lucrative side gig. Catching on, I begin asking driver Eva questions, and OM grabs her card as we hop off. During dinner we discussed hockey and the carts (if you know OM you know this is no surprise) and OM called Eva for a pickup at curbside. On the drive back to the hotel I begin to ask questions with more detail, and OM smiled wryly.
"You like this idea, don't you?" he asks.
"For Prescott," I respond.
Thus began Ride Prescott, an idea birthed on the back of golf cart in Old Town Scottsdale. Now here I was a mere three and a half weeks later, fully funded and forging a path to open before Rodeo at the end of June. One by one details had slid into place, and other than OM taking off for a pre-planned bucket-list trip to Europe, I was pleased with the progress. The Cowboy was delightful while showing me the ropes, and I had friends begging me to let them drive up in Prescott. The City had been easy to work with (not without bumps, but all-in-all, no complaints) and despite the nine hour time zone difference, OM was not only contributing, but he was keeping me on track.
Then there was the rabid dog. Ok, maybe it wasn't rabid. But it scared the crap put of me when it broke from its owner and started chasing us in the golf cart through the alley.
So I'm back to blogging, only this time its not a fitness quest (yes, that continues - I've just been stymied by the Blogger app no longer being available on my iPhone) it's Rider's blog. Come Ride along with the growth of Ride Prescott--I'll save you a spot on the seat next to me.
