For the 13th straight year, the annual golf trip with my high school buddies is officially in the books. This year, after more than a decade of trips to Pawley’s Island, we decided it was time for a change of scenery and packed our clubs for Sunset Beach, North Carolina.

The switch turned out to be a good one. The golf courses were outstanding, the scenery was beautiful, and for a few days we once again convinced ourselves that we still have the golf games we brag about the other 51 weeks of the year.

The ride down itself also served as another reminder of how much life has changed over the years. Back when these trips first started, the conversations centered around women, old girlfriends and stories that probably sounded a lot funnier at midnight. These days, most of the discussions revolve around prescription medications, aching joints and making sure everyone understands the emergency medical plan in case somebody pulls a muscle getting out of the golf cart.

One thing we did learn from last year was that driving all day and then trying to play golf immediately afterward was no longer a great idea for men our age. So, this year, in a rare display of wisdom, we decided to leave a day early and stop overnight in Pinehurst so we would be rested for our first round.

We stayed at a very nice Comfort Suites, and our shuttle driver could not have been more accommodating. He drove us around town helping us scout out places to eat. Eventually, we settled on one restaurant and proudly announced that we had reservations for inside dining at 5:30 p.m.

Feeling organized and ahead of schedule, we arrived at 4:45, only to be told the restaurant did not open until 5. Normally that would not have been an issue, except it was cold outside and standing around caused our old bones to ache worse than a double bogey on a par three.

When the doors finally opened, we were informed that despite our “inside reservation,” all they had available was outside seating even though the restaurant appeared nearly empty. It immediately reminded me of the old Seinfeld episode where Jerry arrives at the rental car counter only to be told they had no cars. Jerry famously explained that anyone can take a reservation, but “holding the reservation” is the important part. Apparently, the same rule applies to restaurants.

Needless to say, we climbed back into the shuttle and resumed the search for supper. Our driver suggested another place and dropped us off. As we got out, my old buddy, Paul Howlett, opened the side door to check out the restaurant just as the driver pulled away. The van door slammed hard and suddenly appeared to be broken.

At that point, we figured we had already invested too much time in the evening to leave, so we decided to eat there. While we were enjoying dinner, the shuttle driver returned to our table looking slightly concerned and informed us we would probably have to Uber back to the hotel because the van door had malfunctioned again.

No problem. At our age, adapting to minor disasters has become second nature.

A short time later, however, the driver reappeared at our table once more with good news. Apparently, the bartender back at the hotel had somehow fixed the van door, and transportation was once again available.

All told, finding a place to eat took nearly an hour, which may not sound like much, but after a full day on the road, it felt like we were competing in The Amazing Race: Senior Division.

On the next day of the trip my golf game wasn’t the only thing getting lost. Apparently, my golf vest wanted to see more of the course than I did. After our first tee time at 12:30, I left the vest in the cart and didn’t realize it until we made it back to the condo. A quick call to the clubhouse brought the dreaded words: “We didn’t find it.” So, the next morning, Paul and I made the drive back to the course where a very friendly cart attendant had rescued my wondering wardrobe. The reason I tell this story is because it became a weekly tradition. I left that vest in a cart three different times during the trip. Mind you, our group had all agreed we would help check the carts before leaving. Much like some of our putts that week the plan looked good on paper but never really panned out.

Still, despite the creaky knees, misplaced reading glasses and occasional forgotten phone charger, the trip remains a real highlight of the year. For one week, we trade responsibilities for scorecards, deadlines for dinner reservations and reality for laughter among lifelong friends.

The golf scores may not be getting any better, but somehow the stories and memories keep improving every year.