Gentlemen,
AB Negative blood continues to squirt from the rectum of the unfortunate - and likely traumatized - investor who tried to rescue what might have been an amusing gem on the Skyway between Chico and Paradise (California).
Two years ago, while vainly trying to evict a family of reprobate/deadbeat/grifters from the former Casa de Redhead in Paradise, we passed Tuscan Ridge, under construction and set on an overlook with Butte Canyon on the right and a spectacular view of the upper valley from every point.
Algie Pulley (Jr.) had built the front nine as was working on the back when they (read: owners/suckers) suddenly ran out of jing. The putting surfaces - with no topographic constraints - were notable primarily for the necessity to often chip from one quadrant to the other. Sometimes, the surrounds were dead-flat and yet there would inevitably be a sign instructing players to avoid using wedges on the putting surface and take a drop.
I've found that there are some movies so horrible in thought word and deed that they almost become *good* in a strange and twisted sense. Russ Meyer made a living on this pseudo-genre and Tuscan Ridge promised to at least be a cautionary tale of sorts for brainless investors.
No such luck as we discovered two years later. The back nine was open and the most notable feature of the golf course was the 50-something barmaid with plastic tits from 1987.
One would have thought that Algie Jr. might have learned from his mistakes, but I've seen the rest of their work - notably Moraga CC.
It is not fair to lay the entire debacle at his feet because the red clay is better suited to the construction of Aborigines Mud Huts than a golf course. However, even the apes from Kubrick's 2001 knew enough not to build every green in amoeba-esque shapes, surrounded by five inch crabgrass.
Okay, I will admit it, it was so mind-bendingly hideous that I will play it again just for the entertainment value of making snide remarks . . . . . . maybe by then they will be able to afford a beverage cart to give Ms. Plastic Tits something to do besides stare out the window in an empty clubhouse.