It was about 1985 and I was riding along one of the back roads in Framingham with my father in his relatively new car. Like many roads in New England, this one was likely first carved out by horses, and was full of blind turns. Once particular turn opened up to a few hundred yards of straight road that traced the backside of a community golf course. As we come out of the turn we hear a loud banging sound, and then we see a few golfers with clubs in hand looking at our car.
The roof of the car was struck by a golf ball. The car that was in pristine condition now had it’s first blemish - a nice dent on the roof just before the windshield. The roof was not repaired for about a year, but in the interim by dad vowed never to let this happen again while driving past a golf course. What was one to do? If we could only alert golfers that we were coming and they should suspend their next swing.
The solution was quite simple. Every car is equipped with a horn, so why not use it. Now a quick “chirp, chip” might have done the trick, but we opted for the knock out punch by going for one long honk as we would drive up to a golf course. I have not made any new golfer friends, but I have yet to experience getting hit by a golf ball ever since.