Five States, Ten (and a Half) Games, One Man (With Lots of Help)

A nap almost killed it.

I knew I would have to sneak in some sleep, so I figured a little two-hour nap around 9 p.m. would be just what the doctor ordered--if, in fact, doctors were ordering five-states-in-one-day bowling tours to celebrate World Record Day (the culmination of National Bowling Week, as if I had to tell you), which I'm pretty sure they're not. Then again, I don't go to the doctor that often, so things might have changed.

Anyway, the two-hour nap would give me time to get to Bowl Rite Lanes in Union City, NJ, just before midnight, start my two games at the stroke of midnight, hop on the bus to the Port Authority Bus Terminal, and then hoof it down to Lucky Strike Lanes on the West Side Highway (Leisure Time Bowl in the Port, the obvious choice, only lets you bowl by the hour on Fridays and Saturdays, and $60 seemed like a bit much for a quest that would only really mean anything to me). Then I could go home to sneak another hour or two of sleep, get up to go back to the Port Authority and catch a bus to Philly, bowl a couple of games at Pep Bowl in Philly around 10 a.m., take the train to the Riverfront Blues Festival in Wilmington, DE, for a break, and then meet up with my friend in Delaware (provided his nine-months-pregnant wife didn't decide to give birth) to conclude the tour at Elk Lanes in Elkton, MD, and First State Lanes in Wilmington, all before the grand finale back at the Riverfront Blues Fest.

Seems simple, no?

Well, I overslept. And when I woke up and saw it was 11:45, my mind started racing. Should I still carry on? Should I skip Jersey and hope I had time to get somewhere near the Delaware border when I went down? Should I skip New York and just make it a four-state bowling tour? Should I maybe just drop the whole idea and not run around like an imbecile on a Saturday?

I still didn't know what I'd do when I got to the Newport Light Rail station around midnight. But if I was gonna do this, I really wanted to start in Jersey. So I decided to press on to Union City and hope that the buses were still running out of Union City to NYC, where, if they were, I would still have enough time to get to Lucky Strike (which I recalled as closing at 3) and get back on track. Sure, the extra two hours of sleep I'd hoped to get would be out, but I would probably be tired enough to sleep on the bus to Philly. And who needs sleep anyway?

And, so at around 12:50 a.m., after walking from the 9th Street Light Rail stop in Hoboken all the way to Bowl Rite, the Five-State Bowling Tour was on.



I didn't take many pictures at this stop, because I was just trying to bowl fast and get moving. Plus, when you're by yourself at a bowling alley on top of a CVS pharmacy at 1 a.m., taking pictures doesn't really seems like a fine idea.



I felt pretty good bowling, until midway through the first game, when I started getting a little light-headed (probably due to the half-hour walk/sprint through Union City carrying a bowling ball bag, but it's hard to say). I was almost able to hit my average over two games (164 and 131), which, all things considered, was a decent feat.



Then it was time for the walk to the bus stop, another 20-25 minutes or so. I knew there was a bus that could take me to the bus stop I needed to go to, but I wasn't sure if it was still running, so I just headed out on my own. I also thought about taking a cab into NYC, but I'm against cabs as a rule, and I didn't feel like breaking any rules.

I eventually made it to the bus stop and then began praying there was still a bus going into the city. I saw one of the gypsy shuttles coming back from the city, but nothing heading in. Finally, as I was about to suck it up and call a cab, the 190 bus appeared and all was right with the world. I would be at the Port a little before 2 a.m. and would still have enough time for my first trip to Lucky Strike. Phew.

So, I get to Lucky Strike, walk through the door, and...

"We're closed."

"What?"

"Closed."

"Um, what time did you close?"

"We shut down at 2."

I was going to explain to him that I was pretty sure the website said 3 a.m., but he was significantly larger than me and seemed genuinely disgusted by my presence. So I just walked back out the door. And, to be fair, I was completely wrong. The website actually says they're open until 4 a.m.. Pigs.

So, what to do? Well, I knew Brooklyn Bowl in Williamsburg was open until 4, and as much as I didn't want to go all the way to Williamsburg at 2 a.m. (or, truth be told, any time of day), I didn't have much of a choice. So, I hopped on the A train to 14th, got on the L, and made it to Brooklyn Bowl a little before 3. All right. Back on track. That's a right on Wythe, and...

"Hey, buddy, we're closed."

"What?"

"Closed."

"But I thought your website said you were open until 4."

"Yeah, we're closed. Manager just gave the call that we're closing."

"OK."

Take your hipster bowling alley and stick it up your ass.

This wasn't looking good. Brooklyn Bowl was my last shot for the night/early morning. The only other option I had at this point to keep the tour alive was to eat my nonrefundable bus ticket to Philly, get a train or bus directly to Wilmington instead, bowl somewhere in NYC in the morning (or, later in the morning), and hope to have enough time to get to an alley in Pennsylvania between blues festival sets and games in Maryland and Delaware.

But that would be a lot of work. And to what end? To satisfy you, dear, sweet three readers? To top last year's five-borough bowling tour, which, as far I could tell, no one was asking me to top?

As I walked home from the PATH train around 4:30, after my train had been delayed and had to return to Christopher Street about two minutes after we left Christopher Street because there was "an emergency" in the Hoboken station (re: some numbnuts probably puked on the train after leaving Bahama Mama's), I decided that, for reasons completely and utterly unknown, I had to persevere. Somewhere, the bugles were sounding. Somewhere, the spirit of Earl Anthony was urging me not to quit. Somewhere, Mickey was telling me, 'Get up, you son of a bitch. Mickey loves you."

Or maybe I was delirious on two hours' sleep and hearing things.

Whatever the case, I got on the computer when I got back to my apartment, sussed out the possibilities, and regrouped. There were two bowling alleys in Brooklyn that opened at 9, and an Amtrak from Penn Station that would get me to Wilmington right on time. Unfortunately, Amtrak's fare system blows, and that train would've cost me $90. In the words of the great Roger Rabbit, "I may be idiotic, but I'm not stupid." So I went with a Greyhound that would allegedly get me to Wilmington about 15 minutes after Matt "Guitar" Murphy's set started but realistically, once Saturday New Jersey Turnpike traffic was figured in, probably would get me to Wilmington just in time to miss Matt "Guitar" Murphy's entire set. But if I had to sacrifice that to keep the Five-State Bowling Tour alive, so be it. Sorry, Mr. "Guitar" Murphy.

So, things were back on track again. I would sleep for a few hours, leave my apartment at 8:30, and get to Melody Lanes in Brooklyn by 10 for a quick two games before going back to the Port Authority for the 11:30 bus to Wilmington. I printed out a set of directions to the AMF Conchester Lanes in Boothwyn, PA, the closest alley in Pennsylvania, went to sleep, and hoped that tomorr, er, three hours from now, would be better.



I didn't oversleep the second time around, and I made it to Melody Lanes in the Sunset Park section of Brooklyn just around 10 a.m. Stunningly, no one else was bowling, so I had the whole place to myself. And, as another bonus, the interior was so bright that I had no trouble staying awake.



I'm not sure if you've ever bowled in an empty bowling alley on a Saturday morning while "In Da Club" plays over the in-lanes PA, but if you haven't, I highly recommend the experience. Once again, I was pretty consistent, and I managed to improve slightly on my Jersey performance, with a 161 and a 154. I also messed around with the timer feature on my camera to take some action photos for you. And also, so you can see just how white my legs are.



I was back on the subway by 10:35 and just did make it in time to get on the Wilmington bus (in a moment of stupidity, I left my Greyhound tickets under will call, something one should never, ever do because it forces you to rely on the allegedly helpful Greyhound computer terminals, which consistently don't work). As expected, we hit lots of traffic and, as also expected every time I get on a bus, there was almost a fight on the bus when, two hours into the trip, a guy decided that he didn't want to hear the guy two rows behind him talk anymore. And once he expressed that opinion, the next 20 minutes were filled with the sound of the talking (and much, much larger) gentleman expressing disbelief at being spoken to that way. Good times.

Anyway, the bus pulled into Wilmington just as they were striking the stage after Murphy's set (the festival was next to the bus and train stations, which, if everything had worked out as planned--or if anything had worked out as planned--would've been very fortuitous), so I waited outside the bus station for my friend to pick me up (I had called him when we were getting ready to cross into Delaware).

I knew his wife was due to give birth at any moment, and I suppose if I had really thought about it, I might've been able to predict that she and their three-year-old son
would come along, too. It would, after all, be much better if my friend were around as his wife went into labor, rather than in, say, Elkton, MD. But since I'd been running train and bus schedules through my head for a week, I was a little surprised to see that the whole family had come to pick me up and join my adventure. After working through my guilt about dragging a nine-months-pregnant woman and a three-year-old child across at least two states (Pennsylvania still wasn't a definite yet), however, I embraced the "more, the merrier" approach and grew excited at the thought of having the whole family along for the ride. Plus, it was the three-year-old's first bowling excursion, so I felt proud to be able to make it part of such a memorable day.



The first stop was the kind-of-run-down but kind-of-awesome Elk Lanes in Elkton, MD. According to the sign on their door, they weren't even supposed to be open for another hour or so (need I say that their website said otherwise?), but there was a birthday party going on, so we walked in and began on State #3. We even got to use a newly constructed ball ramp, or at least the three-year-old did. I declined.



Elk Lanes was easily the least fancy stop on the tour, but I am a fan of all things not fancy, so I felt pretty comfortable. There was also a jukebox, so I helped DJ the birthday party, with a ton of selections (Four Tops, ABBA, Michael Jackson, Sam Cooke) I'm sure the preteens and teens hated immensely. As I chose the songs, though, I was careful not to repeat a mistake I made at the Bowl-o-Drome in Ithaca once, when it was just me and a birthday party and I forgot that "Misirlou" on the "Pulp Fiction" soundtrack is preceded by a scene from the movie that features, oh, language 10-year-olds probably shouldn't be exposed to, particularly at loud volumes. Oopsie.



With plenty of good music playing, I recovered from a shaky first game (143) and rebounded with a 182 in the second. The three-year-old seemed to be enjoying his bowling experience, despite a few balls that didn't make it all the way down the alley after he got bored with the ramp. So it felt like, finally, the Five-State Bowling Tour was in the proper gear.



The next stop was back in Delaware, at the First State Lanes in Wilmington. It was a bit more high-tech than the Elk (and with a nice billiards room in the back, too), but no less enjoyable. And they also had one of the greatest things I've ever seen.



That, good people, is a plastic bowling pin bottle that you can fill with soda for $6. Absolutely phenomenal. It made Lucky Strike and Brooklyn Bowl a distant memory.



I didn't bowl particularly well at First State (152 and 137), but who cares? I got a bowling pin bottle! I also bowled about half of the three-year-old's game, because he grew tired of bowling right about the time the french fries arrived, and his dad had tweaked something in his forearm and was having enough trouble finishing his own game (yet, he still beat me, so I think I was hustled by the both of them). So I stepped up and gave him a few good frames to end his day on the lanes and add a little bonus to mine.

My friend thought the tour was over at this point, as it was getting closer to 8:30 and dinner was of the essence for the nine-months-pregnant woman and the hungry child. Unfortunately for them, I'm a stubborn jerk, and I reckoned that there was still enough time to make the dream come true. I told them they could just drop me off in Boothwyn and get something to eat while I bowled, but eventually the decision was made to sit and watch me bowl Game 9 (and 1/2) and thus complete the Five-State Bowling Tour.



And, so that is what happened. We made it to the AMF Conchester Lanes in Boothwyn around 7 p.m., and I fought my way through the sluggishness that was starting to overtake me as I bowled a 149 in Game 9 (and 1/2). There was much applause from my posse, until I informed them that I kinda wanted to bowl Game 10 (and 1/2). I couldn't end on a below-average game. They, understandably, looked at me like I was a lunatic, but, to their credit, let me continue on my quest (though my friend expressed concern about what would happen if I bowled another below-average game). There is a special place in heaven for all them, and also for the little girl that has, as of this writing, still not made her way into the world.



For poetry's sake, let's say I bowled my last game for that unborn child and her folks, because, just as I did last year on the Five-Borough Bowling Tour, I saved my best game for last.



That open frame kind of kills me (would've broken 200 with a mark there), but I was still pleased with a 193 to wrap up the day.



Then we ate dinner at a nearby diner, they dropped me off at the blues festival, I had a good time there, and I made it back home just about 24 hours after the Five-State Bowling Tour began, a true success if ever there was one.

And then I woke up at 6:30 a.m. to get on another bus to go see Pete Seeger and someone called Princess Wow in upstate New York. Wait until you hear that story.

Oh, Chicago

I travel like a prisoner right out of a successful jailbreak, desperate to see as much as he can before he is rounded up and thrown back in prison. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you if you're an avid reader (though it would surprise me to know I have an avid reader). But I feel obligated to mention that before recapping my recent trip to the Midwest. You see, I understand that some people take vacations to relax, to sit on a beach and get a tan. But I am not one of those people. I am one of the people who will fly to Chicago, take a six-hour train to St. Louis the next morning, take the train back to Chicago the day after, then spend a day in a frenzy around Chicago before heading to Milwaukee for a day, wrapping it all up with train rides to downtown Chicago and then to the airport to go back home.

So, let's start with Day One.

After my last run to the gate to catch my flight to San Francisco, I was determined to get a head start on my journey to the airport this time around. So, when I arrived a full hour before my plane was due to depart, I was very pleased with myself. Until I looked at the Departures board and saw one Jet Blue flight that was delayed an hour and 40 minutes.

Guess which one that was?

So, by the time my 9:30 flight got in the air a little after noon, I was already operating at a deficit for the trip. I had planned to get to Chess Studios soon after I arrived, but my late departure shuttled any thoughts of that happening. That also meant that Chess was out for the trip, because my only other full day in Chicago was filled up with plans for a hearty breakfast, a Cubs game, and at least one, probably two concerts. So, Chess would have to wait. I called my fellow traveler from the airport (he was at the end of a 19-hour train ride from NYC to Chicago...see, I'm not the craziest traveler you know) and told him to proceed to Chess without me and that I'd meet him at the hotel.

As a special added bonus, the delay meant that the daily searing toothache--the one I'd thought about having a dentist look at when it flared up three days before the trip but decided that could mean not going on the trip--I'd been having for the last few days was now likely to happen while I was in the air. Awesome! So, about an hour into the flight, the right side of my head felt like it had been hit by a baseball bat, and the flight attendants were taking their sweet time taking drink orders, which I needed them to do immediately because I needed water to take some pills and ice to dull the throbbing. I had a window seat, so I was reluctant to make a scene and get up to find a flight attendant to please, please, please give me some water. And I was also trying to keep things in check because I'm well aware that my current physical appearance screams "That guy's gonna blow up the plane...let's tackle him!" Luckily, the drinks came right around the time I was about to take my chances with being tackled and/or given the Citizens Bank Park treatment, and the pain subsided a little bit before touchdown and had completely gone away as I boarded the train to downtown Chicago.



On my walk from the El stop to the hotel, I happily stumbled upon both the Chicago Tribune building (and the Jack Brickhouse statue right by it) and the Billy Goat Tavern, which, it would stand to reason (since the Billy Goat primarily got its rep for being a hangout for journalists), are pretty close to one another. I didn't realize they were so close to our hotel, though, so that was a pleasant surprise. And after having a glass bottle rip through my finger by surprise in California, I was much more in the mood for surprises of the pleasant variety.

There wasn't much time spent in the hotel, save for a few quick glances at maps and the various Google Maps directions I had brought with me for the trip. It seemed like a good night for pizza, so we headed for the Blue Line to Wicker Park, where we had been told that pizza that was better than Denino's existed. That is, of course, an absurd statement, but it seemed to at least be worth investigating.

And that is how we wound up at Piece Brewery and Pizzeria, where we (OK, mostly me) ate a lot of pizza. I ordered two small pizzas for myself, because I couldn't decide between the red (traditional) and the plain (New Haven style, with red sauce, garlic, and parmesan). The waiter attempted to dissuade me, but I persevered.

And it was indeed quite good. Top 10 definitely. Top 5 maybe. Better than Denino's? No.





There was a lot left over (between the three pies--my fellow traveler ordered a pepperoni red--probably one full small pie), but I figured I'd just give the rest to a homeless person on the street. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), there was nary a homeless person to be found over the next two hours. So, much to my dismay, it went in a trash can outside of Wrigley Field. C'mon, Chicago, get more homeless people, would ya? Or at least spread 'em out more.

Ah, yes, Wrigley Field. We didn't have any real plans after pizza. I had thoughts about going to an AHL playoff game to see Chris Chelios's Chicago Wolves take on the Texas Stars in a Game 7, but that was a long train ride away and didn't seem worth it after the morning of travel and travel delays. So, since Wrigley looked pretty close to Wicker Park on the CTA map, we figured we'd just amble around and eventually find ourselves at Wrigley.

And that was when I learned that the CTA map isn't very good. It skips a lot of blocks. Most of them, in fact. So, we got back on the Blue Line, took it to Addison, and quickly realized that, despite being on the same block as Wrigley, we were still miles away. The CTA map fails again. But we caught a bus soon after we realized the futility of our journey and ended up outside of Wrigley in the bottom of the sixth.

There was a scalper just looking to get any money for his tickets. So we gave him $20 for two bleacher seats, I dejectedly deposited the pizza in the trash, and we headed into Wrigley just as the seventh-inning stretch began. Pretty good timing. And not a bad little stadium either. You should go.






We didn't do too much exploring, since we knew we'd back for a day game on Friday, but the three innings served as a good appetizer to Friday's main course. And, as it turned out, for me, the best part of the night was still to come.

After Wrigley (and another Cubs loss), I suggested we head to a bowling alley near Wrigleyville that was reported to have pinmonkeys operating the lanes (that is, actual human beings, not automatic pinsetters, set the pins after each ball). When I stepped into Southport Lanes and Billiards, I was not prepared for the glory I was about to experience.





Oh happy day.

It was definitely the slowest-paced two games of bowling I've ever experienced. There were two pinmonkeys for the four lanes, with each in charge of two lanes. So you had to wait until the person next to you finished before you could go. But the downtime enabled us to watch the Blackhawks-Canucks game and for me to experience watching a hockey game in a bar where the team you are rooting for is winning an important game. That was a pretty entertaining experience. I look forward to doing it again sometime before I die.

But the star of the night was still the bowling. It was the best-sounding bowling alley ever (mainly due to all the wood, and the acoustics that creates in such a small space), and there's something pure and right about bowling without any automation at all. I filmed myself once, but it was a bad frame. So enjoy this rough first ball and subsequent ace spare pick-up from my fellow traveler instead.



After a pair of 145s (not bad, all things considered), I rolled a $20 bill inside one of the finger holes for the pinmonkey and sent it down the gutter. We headed out the door and to the Southport station on the Brown Line, bound for the hotel after a pretty successful start to the trip.

Really good pizza, a little bit of Wrigley, a Blackhawks win, and a superior bowling experience all made for a good first day, but there was little time to dwell on it, because we had a 9:25 AM Amtrak to St. Louis to catch on Wednesday.

Rock 'n' Bowl

We all had our different ways of celebrating National Bowling Week. I'm not here to judge yours. I'm sure it was appropriate. But I feel reasonably confident that my chosen method of celebration--the one-day, five-borough bowling tour--was pretty unique. I'm sure there are other adjectives that could replace unique there, but this is my blog. Feel free to use whatever adjective you like on your blog.

My original plan was to celebrate by bowling in a different alley each night of National Bowling Week. Then I realized that it would probably be wiser to focus on doing the freelance job I had so I could have money to take with me on my trip to San Francisco at the end of the month (no bowling planned, but I'm not ruling it out). So bowling had to take a backseat as I deftly navigated my way through a thrilling page turner about the skills of high-performing employees.

Then I hatched my plan to bowl in each of the five boroughs of New York City on the last day of National Bowling Week. That day was dubbed World Record Day by the organizers of National Bowling Week, and the idea was to set the world record (pretty sure there isn't one) of games bowled in a day across America. And they were even giving people a coupon for a free game at their local bowling center. Really, though, what's the fun in bowling just one game? Wouldn't it be way more fun to take your bowling ball and shoes on public transportation all across New York City and bowl ten games in five different alleys?

These are rhetorical questions. Please don't answer them.

My strategy was to start with the most time-consuming leg of the journey, which meant that Stop #1 on the tour was going to be bringing it all back home to Staten Island. I wanted to bowl in alleys where I'd never been for the tour, but I cannot do that on Staten Island and probably will never be able to, as I don't imagine any new bowling alleys will be built on the island of my birth anytime soon. As it is, there are only two remaining lanes on Staten Island: the ones at the former Showplace Entertainment Center (where I spent many a teenage night either at the lanes, at the movies, or at Showtime Pizza) and Rab's Country Lanes (the site of a few Saturday-night contests with Paul Marcello, my best friend in high school). There were several more around when I was younger, but those days are long gone, and the people of Staten Island aren't bowling like they used to.

This is as good a time as any to pour one out for those alleys no longer with us. So, let's do it:

*Victory Lanes (my all-time favorite bowling alley)
*Columbian Lyceum Bowling Lanes (where my mom bowled in a league, and where I bowled in my only nonschool league, briefly, as a youngster...I can still smell the place)
*Sunset Lanes (speaking of smells, though I'm not sure I ever actually bowled there, the stench of the grease-covered grill of the snack bar as I watched my aunt and uncle bowl still lingers)
*Rab's Bowling on the Green (where I bowled in high-school intramurals...we won a trophy one year, but I gave it back because someone on my team messed up the scoring in the pre-computer era)
*Colonial Lanes (also not sure I ever bowled there, but I did go to a wrestling convention in the bar area, where I met Jason Hervey from "The Wonder Years," who was dating Missy Hyatt at the time)

And in the non-Staten Island division:

*Ten Pin Lanes, Windham, NY (where my first bowling ball started coming back with chunks missing one day)
*Ide's, Ithaca, NY (site of many epic battles with Ithacan Sports Editor Jeffrey W. "Big Daddy" Kane and the legendary Ithacan Brave Attempt at Building Staff Unity Night)



Anyway, back to the living. Rab's Country Lanes is located on Hylan Boulevard, a few short blocks from the Dongan Hills stop on the Staten Island Railway line, so it made for a more convenient start for the trip than Showplace. Plus, its proximity to good pizza (Il Pomodoro, with the nonslice Goodfellas also nearby) was a bonus.



Rab's was also running a buy one game, get one free special, which fit into my plans perfectly. Though I suppose it would've been a better use of time to just bowl one game at each place, I find it almost impossible to just bowl one game. One game is just a warm-up; I need at least two (preferably more, but I had a rock show to get to at night) to be happy. And, true to form, at each place I bowled, I scored higher in the second game than in the first.

I threw my first ball of the day precisely at the stroke of noon, and the first game started off pretty well. Then I started tanking hard in the middle and ended up with a slightly embarrassing 124. Still, I met two of of my goals: (1) not to bowl below a 100 on the day and (2) to beat the 60-year-old woman bowling a few lanes to my right. It was touch and go in the first game, as she rallied late, but I ran away with it in the second game, where I finished with a 155. The second game also brought the first highlight of the day: a split conversion (I think it was a 5-7, which isn't super-hard, but, hey, it's super-hard for me). Unfortunately, I had no one to share my glee with, or, really any witnesses at all. But I saw it.



After stopping for a Sicilian slice at Il Pomodoro, it was back on the train to the ferry for my next stop. I was debating where I should head next, when I realized, while on the ferry, that there was really only one subway stop appropriate for the journey.



So it was on the 4 train to the Bronx, where I would roll a few at Ball Park Lanes, in the shadows of Yankee Stadium (or, for a little while longer at least, Yankee Stadiums). I'd always wanted to bowl there, but its proximity to the Yankees' park and, more to the point, Yankee fans, kept me away. With the Yankees out of town, though, it was the perfect time for my initial Bronx bowling experience.



I might place Ball Park Lanes at the top of the list for the day. First of all, it's a two-floor alley, which I'm always partial to. Second, it's maintained the old-school bowling-alley feel, with very few concessions to modernity. And, lastly, they have a giant signed picture of Urkel-esque PBA champion George Branham III behind the counter.



I was my most consistent at Ball Park, throwing a 147 in the first game and a 154 in the second. Ball Park was also the only place where I bowled next to a guy identified as Vicious on the automated scoring system. Vicious and Jerry G were in their last game when I arrived just before 3, and there was much entertaining banter between them, as well as the guy a few lanes down who lamented that he has to get his bowling in now, because where he's going (Myrtle Beach), the closest alley is 45 minutes away.



Vicious was upset that Ball Park was not honoring his World Record Day coupon (I was saving mine for one of the more expensive stops on the tour), and declared his intentions to write to the ABC (American Bowling Congress, for you non-keglers out there, and that's non-bowlers for all you people who don't know what a kegler is out there) to express his disappointment with the Ball Park staff. I thought about joining in on the conversation and explaining my quest for the day, but I needed to keep my socializing in check if I wanted to reach my goal. So it was back on the train--this time the D--for the quickest turnaround of the day.



I don't particularly like any of the bowling alleys I've been to in Manhattan, so it seemed like a good idea to stick with the plan of going places I've never been. And with Harlem Lanes only a few stops from 161st St., it was a no-brainer. I'd heard that Harlem Lanes was a lot like Bowlmor (not a particularly ringing endorsement), but I figured I'd give it a shot. Plus, I'd never actually set foot in Harlem, which I'd always been slightly ashamed of, so it gave me the chance to at least walk past the Apollo.



And then, it was onward to the Lanes, which are right above the Alhambra Ballroom. Harlem Lanes is indeed very Bowlmor-esque, which means slightly trendy and very expensive. So it seemed like a good time to use my free-game coupon (I suppose I could've been a jerk and used one at every alley--there was a disclaimer of one coupon per customer, but there was no way of policing that--but is that any way to salute the sport of bowling?). The coupon said it was up to a $6 value, so I was prepared to pay the difference, but the manager just gave me the free game, which was nice. Still, at $8.50, it cost me only 50 cents less for one game at Harlem than it did for two at Ball Park.



With a short approach and a very cramped bowling area, I was nervous that my game would suffer. But I threw a strike on my first ball (right around 4 p.m.), after which one of the teenage-ish girls next to me, bowling with bumpers (for shame, young ladies), looked back with her eyes wide open. Unfortunately, my game went downhill after that, and I ended up with a 137. I caught fire in the second game, though (and saw the day's first dropping of the ball on the backswing from one of the girls next to me), and wound up with the best game of the day so far, a 170. My fears of bad bowling at Harlem Lanes were unnecessary.

Then, after taking the 2 train downtown, there was a pause for churching.



With God now firmly on my side, it was time to make a decision: Brooklyn or Queens? I was going to have to backtrack across one or the other, which was unfortunate for travel purposes, but there was really no way to avoid that. After some hemming and a little bit of hawing, I went with Brooklyn and hopped on the N train.

Maple Lanes is a few blocks away from the New Utrecht stop on the N, and though I wasn't sure if I'd been there before (I remembered bowling somewhere in Brooklyn, but couldn't recall if it was Maple or Melody), a few minutes outside confirmed that I would indeed be bowling in a new alley. Exciting! And the old-school look on the outside had me further excited.



It was a big alley with lanes on both sides of the building. I was given the option of bowling on the lit side or the Cosmic Bowling side. Looking for something new and preparing for what I assumed would be more Cosmicity at my last stop, I went with the Cosmic side, resulting in my first ever time Cosmic Bowling with absolutely no one else on the lanes.

And I'm thankful there was no one around to see my first game, as it was pretty rough. But you know how it is when you haven't bowled for awhile. After all, it had been almost three hours since I'd thrown my last ball at Harlem. The rust (and increasing thumb and wrist pain) showed, and I wound up with the day's low score, a 121. I knew that there was only one way out of the rut. And that way led directly to the snack bar.



Maple Lanes had the best-looking snack bar (technically, the Maple Lanes Coffee Shop) of the day, so I'm glad I waited until Brooklyn for my first fries (I had also toyed with the idea of getting fries at every snack bar, but then saw the headlines "Area Man Dies of Heart Attack While on Five-Borough Bowling Tour" and decided against it). The waitress and cook still wear paper hats, you can get a bottle of black cherry soda, and the fries are solid. (Paper) hats off to the Maple Lanes Coffee Shop.



The Magic of French Fries prevailed in Game 2, as I bested my Harlem Lanes high, finishing with a 175, giving me the spiritual boost to finish up the journey with a long subway ride (first transfer of the day, the N to the F) into the mysterious borough of Queens.

Because I have no sense of where anything in Queens is, I invariably end up getting lost whenever I'm there. And that's not good when you've been on the go since about 10:30 in the morning, carrying a bag with a bowling ball and shoes on your shoulders across the length of New York City. So, as I gamely tried to figure out west from east and north from south, and came up wrong several times, I began to fear that the five-borough bowling trip would meet a bad, untimely end (or at least that I would not make it back to Manhattan for the Yayhoos show at 11 p.m.). But I regrouped, got my bearings, and, after spending some time wondering why Queens doesn't abandon its stupid 69th Street/69th Road block system in favor of, say, naming streets after former Mets (wouldn't it be much more enjoyable to tell someone you live between 69th Street and Rafael Santana Road?), I finally arrived at my final destination--the 34th Avenue Lanes--at a little after 9:30.



I was so exhausted by the time I made it to Queens (the mix of Cosmic Bowling and general lethargy blinded me to the fact that there were bumpers on my lane for my first throw) that I didn't take many photos of 34th Avenue Lanes, though there wasn't really anything particularly extraordinary to capture. It was a solid, big alley, with one, non-Cosmic area seemingly devoted to a league and other pretty empty. There was a group of people a few lanes to my left, and they seemed to be confused as to why I was bowling alone in Queens at 9:45 on a Saturday night and why I was occasionally taking pictures. Again, the thought crossed my mind to share tales of my daylong quest, but the combination of the fact that I didn't think I was smelling all that fresh and the belief that they would be decidedly unimpressed kept me silent.

The first game started off pretty disastrous (open frames in four out of the first five), but a double in the 10th made things respectable, leaving me with a 137. Knowing that I had now officially bowled in all five boroughs in just under 10 hours, I was able to loosen up in the last game of the day. I came out strong but then blew it in the 5th, missing the head pin on my first shot. I regrouped, though, stringing together some spares (including another, much easier split) and setting up the high drama of the 10th. I needed a strike on the first ball to have a chance at getting the high game of the day. Done. Another strike would give me the high game. No! One pin standing. If I miss it, I tie the day's high score. If I get it, High Game of the Day. At 10:03 p.m., the last ball was thrown.



Was there any doubt?

Amazingly, I got back to the subway station without any trouble, hopped on the F, got to the Mercury Lounge at 10:45 p.m., and finished the day with a gloriously sloppy and fun rock show by the Yayhoos. Hail! Hail! Rock and Bowl!





Oh yeah, and then I got three hours' sleep, hopped on a train to Philadelphia, had brunch with my friends and their kid, went up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, went to a rock show that lasted almost nine hours, went back home on a 2 a.m. Greyhound, and got into my apartment a shade before 5 a.m.

But that's another story.

Hail to the Chief (and Diners and Canadian Musicians and Bowling)

I am of the mind that one should not waste a paid holiday. So, when I realized that Kathleen Edwards was playing a show in Connecticut on Presidents' Day, I shared this news with drummer extraordinaire and fellow music lover (and willing driver) Johnny Macko. Soon after, a road trip was formed, with both of us taking the next day off as well so as not to face a three-hour drive back after the show. Well, a three-hour ride for me.

But, like any good navigator, I started thinking about side trips on either the way there or the way back. So, I consulted my handy-dandy Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives book and saw what was around the area we'd be traveling to. And that's when I discovered TGIFriday's shill (shame on you!) Guy Fieri's declaration that the Eveready Diner in Hyde Park, NY, was the "Taj Mahal of diners." And, lookie there, Hyde Park wasn't too far off the route. Plus, the FDR Historical Site was in Hyde Park. And we could be there on Presidents' Day, dammit!

I love it when a road trip comes together.

The Eveready turned out to be pretty swell, even though they were inexplicably out of pot roast (a diner faux pas if ever there was one). But the chicken and biscuits served as a fine substitute. Plus they were willing to serve the potent combination of pastries and beer, as evidenced in the photo below. And they had t-shirts (and, hence, I have one of their t-shirts).



After the feeding had ended (and a temptation to order a piece of tiramisu cheesecake to place on top of a full stomach subsided), we sauntered over to the neighboring Rollermagic, which was closed. I just wanted a peek inside at the rink, but as I was trying to sneak one, the owner came out and apologized that they were closed. As I looked at the brochure he handed me, it occurred to me that he assumed that we, two grown men, were bummed that we had been denied a Monday-afternoon skating session. And so we have added another person to the long list of those who question my heterosexuality.



The FDR site was almost directly across the street from the diner, so we did a quick walk-through, stopping at the New Deal gift shop before walking the grounds for a bit.



We stopped outside an outdoor tribute to FDR and Churchill that also featured a big structure covered by a tarp. It was a sculpture that incorporated a piece of the Berlin Wall. I suppose it was covered up for the winter, and the gentleman who preceded us at the sculpture informed us that "the bastards have it tied down pretty good, too."

So we moved on to FDR and Eleanor's grave, stopping to pay some respects on Presidents' Day.



And then there was Springwood, FDR's boyhood home (and part-time residence in his later years).



And, finally, a badass tree.



Then it was back on the road to Norfolk, Connecticut, which, considering the decreasing light along the way, we actually did a pretty good job finding.



Infinity Hall is a really awesome venue, built in 1883 and recently lovingly restored. We had sixth-row seats, but there really isn't a bad spot in the place (which holds about 300 or so). If you ever get the chance, paid holiday or not, you oughta go. Hey, Gallagher's playing there soon (it's a "No Sledge" show, though, so leave the garbage bags at home).



As usual, Kathleen Edwards was great. You should also see her if you get the chance. Afterward, I had her sign a photo of the two of us taken at last year's Zankel Hall show (just before security shut down Mr. Macko's dream of a photo with her...a dream finally realized in Norfolk), and she was embarrassed to see that she was wearing the same shirt in the photo. So she signed "Nice shirt" with a photo pointing to her on the photo, making another fun keepsake.

After the show, we headed to our hotel in Torrington, where we were greeted by a dead mouse in the parking lot and one of the coldest hotel rooms I've ever been in. But I was happy reading my newspapers (a guy in Norfolk had expressed great surprise that I would buy two newspapers, first saying that I must know someone in the paper when he thought I was buying two of the same paper and then saying that I must be looking for a job...I broke the news that I just like reading newspapers) and watching Willie Nelson and Asleep at the Wheel on Letterman.

The next day featured a diner breakfast of french toast (again, without even trying, our hotel was across the street from the Twin Colony Diner) before an unsuccessful record store-seeking excursion into downtown Torrington, where the only record store of note had the convenient hours of 4 to 6:30 and the rest of the town seemed pretty rundown.

But Torrington does have an awesome bowling alley (five minutes from the hotel...unplanned, I swear). It's old-school, but not in a rundown sort of way.



And what's truly old-school? No electronic scoring, beeyotch.



Bowling the way it oughta be. A beautiful thing.

And, every way you look at it, a beautiful trip.