Thursday, April 3, 2025 (Court Day #787)
Last night, I had taken a flight to Seattle to attend a trade show for work. My brother Mike picked me up at SEATAC outside baggage claim at about 10:45 p.m., then we drove in the rain to the house belonging to his girlfriend Katie and her mother. (I was hoping the forecast would hold for no rain the next day!) Everyone was asleep when we arrived shortly before midnight, except for their very friendly and energetic large dog!
This morning, the rain had stopped and I met Katie’s mom Deb and Katie’s young son Jake. Deb is a retired nurse and coincidentally cared for my grandfather (my mom’s dad) as he dealing terminal colon cancer in the late 1980s back when Deb lived near Santa Cruz. I thanked her for that.
Heading to Mecca
I couldn’t see it in the dark last night but their lake-front property is expansive and beautiful. Mike and I left the house just as Deb left to take Jake to school. It’d be almost an hour before we’d reach our destination, Founders Courts on Bainbridge Island. Just to be clear, that location is not that of the very first pickleball court. That is elsewhere on the island. Founders Courts are fairly recent—they broke ground on the six court facility in 2019.
When we drove by a giant “Bainbridge Island” sign at 9:10 a.m., my brother insisted that we turn around and stop to take a photo of me in front of the sign. I was hesitant, but he was driving!
After the photo, we got back on the road. Mike took a wrong turn down a dead-end road that took us to Williams-Olson Park, which did have a lone pickleball court with no net, but it was very much not the park we were looking for. That kind of explained the quizzical looks from the residents. But Mike’s big white van looks like a delivery van, so we did get some waves… or they were just being friendly!
Mike figured out that we were actually quite close to our true destination which was merely a mile or two away.
At 9:25 a.m., we pulled in at Founders Courts at Battle Point Park. It was still overcast and a little chilly. I left my gear in the car and scoped out the courts.
It’s an impressive complex. Really well-designed and in great condition. There were two games going on with all guys. They were in opposite corners of the courts.
Nearest to the gate was a strong group that I’d be very comfortable playing with. They happened to not too far off from my age, probably 40s, maybe early 50s.
At the far end on the right side was group that impressed me. They were at least 4.5 and likely even 5.0 or higher. It’d be a stretch for me, especially without me warming up, and it could easily end up in frustration for the other three players.
I observed the game near the entrance for a few minutes and when it ended, I asked about mixing in. One, Jeremy, asked my skill level. I explained 4.0. There was a hint of approval, but regardless, they weren’t interested. They said they were an arranged group, but Jeremy suggested that more players would likely show up around 11 o’clock. Hmmm. An hour and a half. That’d be a long wait, but I didn’t come to Bainbridge Island to only watch. As long Mike was ok waiting, I’d wait. I went back to my brother’s van. Mike was extremely supportive and told me he had no plans for the day and to take my time: “I’m your chauffeur for the day.” I grabbed by backpack which—along with clothing items and other supplies for travel—contained my paddle, a ball, and a water bottle… all of which I’d lugged from California.
I wandered back to the central waiting area between the three courts on either side—and while taking everything in, failed to notice the short bench and clumsily tumbled over it and ended up sprawled on the ground. I could hear laughing while I was standing back up and checking for wounds… with my backpack over my shoulder, it was not an elegant fall. Next though, they did ask if I was ok. I was… just really embarrassed and I’d be a little sore on my knees and elbows even with me completing my unexpected fall with a roll onto my back to lessen the impact. No blood, no broken bones.
I proceeded to wander around and watch the games. When the game closer to my level ended, I pleaded, “Would you take pity on a guy from California and let him play just one game?” Jeremy volunteered to step out and let me play. Extremely kind. I thanked him.
The Game
I played with Andy against Keith and Jacob. Andy and Keith are both taller than I am and Jacob is shorter. Andy and I went up 9-6, but ended up losing 11-9. Close one, though I wasn’t thrilled with their 5-0 run. Andy and Keith seem to be the strongest of three local players in that game.
Once done, I thanked them and stepped out so they could resume their arranged foursome. I wandered over to the van to check in and Mike was content doing some remote work on his laptop.
Steve
An older gentleman appeared in the parking lot and, as he was walking in, I asked him if he wanted to warm up. He said he did. This turned out to be Steve, a retired cardiologist, who while fresh out of college had worked for Lockheed, less than 20 miles from my house! Steve is a transplant from California. We took to a court, chatted and hit the ball back and forth for about 15-20 minutes since there was no one else to join us. Nice guy.
Clay
Then another older gentleman arrived. This was Clay. Steve, nearest the gate unlike me, started explaining to him who I was. With a smile, Clay cut him off. “I know who he is.” I walked over and shook his hand across the net. While he has no beard, Clay has a sparkle in his eye you’d expect from Santa Claus.
Wayback Machine
Ok, I’m going to go back up a few weeks. I had done a lot of sleuthing and figured out the owners of the property which hosts the original pickleball court and where that property is. (While it’s not too difficult to learn this, I’m not sharing this information here.) I learned about one of their friends, a man named Clay, had previously been on the B.I. pickleball board. I’d reached out to the Bainbridge Island pickleball organization and inquired about their Founders Courts and also how to reach Clay. They got back to me and shared Clay’s email address. I reached out to Clay, explaining who I was and about my trip. He replied saying that with the massive growth of pickleball, the family in question was no longer granting tours of their yard… but, at the time I was there, rare tour was granted to a group from nearby Poulsbro (as part of a new big indoor facility opening there) and that it’d probably be ok for me to join that group tour! WOW! I was thrilled at how things had worked out! It is a dream to visit “Court 1” as it is called.
Fast forward a week or so, and Clay said that after talking to the owners, my invitation was regrettably rescinded. I was disappointed, but I hold no grudge. I very much respect their privacy and completely understand. I feel for their situation. I read that with all the people trespassing—to catch a glimpse of Court 1—their daughter had to put up a “No Trespassing” sign. Walking down a long driveway then around on someone’s private property? How disrespectful! As tempted as I might get, I’d never do that.
Back to Now…
So, yes, Clay knew who I was. He and Steve were on one side of the net and I was on the other. Clay was nursing a right shoulder injury and was playing lefty. He’d occasionally slip and switch to righty and I’d kiddingly admonish him.
For some reason, Steve started talking to Clay about his skill rating. Amused, Clay stated, “I’m a 7.5 and next year I’ll be a 7.6.” He could tell that I was puzzled. He explained that (the late) Barney McCallum—one of the original founders, who is attributed with formalizing the original rules—was a friend of his and that Barney “didn’t care too much for ratings”. Barney had told Clay to just add a dot between his age numbers to get his skill rating. 75 years old? 7.5! I found this to be incredibly amusing!
We drilled for about 10 minutes when another man arrived. Another Steve. Steve Larson, I was told. The four of us drilled a few minutes more and I expected the four of us to play a game, but Clay suggested to the group I’d played earlier with that it would be good if they showed some hospitality and let the visitor rotate into some better games. The next thing I knew, I heard, “Come on over!” I made my way out our court gate to their court and I happily suggested that Jeremy—who stepped out previously for me—should be my partner. I got a curt response, “No.” Unbeknownst to me, Jeremy was feeling pressured into letting me in and decided to simply call it a day. I felt bad about that. Later, it occurred to me the frustration with regularly having to let unaccompanied tourists break up an arranged group. It must be an ongoing issue on Bainbridge Island since it’s an obviously popular pickleball destination.
More Games
I went on to play with Keith against Andy and Jacob. We won. The sun was breaking through the clouds and it was getting warm. I put my unzipped sweatshirt on the divider fence. Then we switched up the teams. I played with Jacob. We squeaked out a win. Keith exclaimed that we needed a rematch. I got four points in that next game off of my serves. But we did end up losing that one.
It was now midday and Andy and Jacob need to take off. There were a couple of other guys there on a court by themselves, Rob and JT, but they were set on drilling. I admire that. Willpower!
Clay and the two Steves headed out. Clay said I was really good with remembering names. I explained that I regularly have new classes of eight students each and I have to learn all their names, so I have lots of practice!
Swag
I chatted with Keith for a bit and I remembered that I wanted to get some local swag. I asked about that and he in turn asked someone else and they pointed us to the shed… well, large fancy single-room building at the far end of the communal area between the two rows of courts. Keith and I looked through but I couldn’t find the right combination size and design and shirt type that I’d actually wear. No dice. But Keith suggested that Cheryl—who was there playing—designed her own T-shirts. Keith asked and she called over her website name—Forty Four Twenty—between rallies. I visited her site and I picked out my favorite design. She said she lived nearby and would quickly go get the shirt I wanted. So, off she went.
Some women invited me into a game and I played two somewhat quick games with them while waiting for Cheryl. Lisa, Denise, and a couple of other women. Mostly 3.0 players, though one was probably a 3.5.
At 12:45 p.m., Cheryl returned with my $36 Bainbridge Island pickleball shirt and I passed her $40 in cash and told her to keep the extra.
I was getting hungry. Mike was getting hungry. Things were thinning out and there were no strong games at the ready and I’d successfully gotten in some play on the island. I said my goodbyes and we left the Founders Courts to get something to eat.
Lunch
At 1:08 p.m., Mike and I had arrived at The Harbour Public House for lunch. It was a beautiful sunny day and the staff were friendly. The food was not cheap and the portions somewhat humble, but it was delicious and filling enough. And the view was a delight.
Court 1
After lunch, piled back into the van to head further south as we made our pilgrimage to the perimeter of the Court 1 property. It’s an interesting experience to see a location on Google StreetView from a different state then later step out of a vehicle right in that spot. We looked around from the main road and took a couple of photos, respecting their privacy.
It was time to leave Bainbridge Island. We queued up with the other vehicles and waited for the ferry to Seattle. Once on it, we walked up to the main deck and we had another amazing view… at least for me. Mike, on the other hand, is no stranger to the ferry and the skyline.
From Seattle, we headed to Mike’s rented condo in Issaquah, east of the big city, to just hang out and do much of nothing for a while. When we got hungry again, we visited a local pizza place. After dinner, he dropped me off at my hotel near the Seattle Convention Center.
Tomorrow morning, the trade show activities will start in earnest, as will my 10 days straight of working. Today, was a fun “down day”. Washington State is now added to my short list of states in which I’ve played pickleball. Still, many, many states to go—and I know I’ll never play pickleball in them all!
Number of days on a court: 787
Number of total hours: 3,117
Number of paid coaching hours: 126.5
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