An Englishman hitchhiked around Ireland with a refrigerator and wrote a book about it entitled something like "Hitchhiking Around Ireland with a Refrigerator." I've often wondered what it would be like to hitch around with a bag of golf clubs. Cart and all, of course.
In my younger pre-marriage days (1970) I hitched some 3,000 miles through the Midwest carrying a big brown canvas duffel. I painted little floral scenes on gesso-covered index cards and sold them for a buck or two rather than panhandle; and I would paint the name of my friend's and my next destination on the side of my paintbox to use as a sign. The paintings must have been passable, since I arrived back in Minnesota with more money than I'd had when I started.
The Englishman would go into a pub carrying his 'frig and the denizens would clear a seat for it. At one point, some folks even took it surfing. I don't think I'd like my golf bag to go surfing unless it wears a life preserver. It's okay if it has a beer now and again.
33 years ago, too, I was a different man. For one thing, my hair was longer. For another, it was. My bladder had a more youthful attitude--not to mention aptitude. Consumption of illicit drugs is no longer a problem, but today's licit ones might create the wrong impression. Would you want to take a water pill for high blood pressure in the middle of a Nebraska freeway?
What I'd really like to do is toss the sticks into the back of a motor home and float away. Carry my house, bathroom, clothes, etc., with me. Follow the golf trails--and there are getting to be more and more all the time. I'll put a list of some of the trails here tomorrow.