Bowling alone. At first it's not so bad. Then it gets a little old, a little cold. I discover that on a recent summer's day when I sneak down into Virginia and try one of the newest and one of the oldest bowling centers in America. And I learn a few other things along the way.
Lane 18 at one of the spanking-spiffiest bowling centers in the country -- Hanover Lanes, just northeast of Richmond -- is where I begin. Everything looks shiny and human-made. The alley is jam up against the executive offices of AMF Bowling, which has its worldwide headquarters here. My shoes: rented AMFs. My ball: a 15-pound purple orb from a many-tiered rack of brightly colored spheres -- red, orange, green, purple -- that looks like a giant's abacus. My score is tallied automatically on a TV screen overhead.
When I roll a strike, a cartoon on the TV goes ballistic. When I roll a spare, a figure dances around.
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| The Williamsburg Inn's Lawn Bowling Club plays every Tuesday and Thursday at 3:00. |
Some lanes away, George Alexander, 62, a retired subway dispatcher from Queens, also bowls alone. Major difference between Alexander and me: He knows what he's doing. He wears a glove and brace on his left hand, his bowling hand. He slides his right foot to a special place and takes four steps, then swings left foot behind right and releases his 15-pound black ball.
Ka-blocka-blocka-blockie. Pins fall. TV goes ballistic. He shoots a 222. He averages just over 200 a game. That's pretty good, considering 300 is the best you can do.
Being a left-handed bowler is an advantage, Alexander says, pointing down Lane 1. "There are better lines," meaning fewer ruts. He speaks of the oil on the wood and other esoterica of the centuries-old sport.
Still, this is the up-to-the-nanosecond version of bowling. Overhead speakers blast out Robert Palmer singing, "I've got a bad case of loving you." The scorekeeping monitors also show ads and some ABC television shows.
Nearby, in the video arcade, the death machines and virtual-reality racing simulators hum and whistle and explode. There are 10 pool tables, air hockey tables and scads of snack-bar tables where you can partake of a hot dog combo with up-size fries and a 44-ounce Wild Cherry Pepsi for $5.38. There are neon colors and flashing lights. The air conditioner is on full-bore; the summer sun seems far away. On Friday and Saturday nights, they turn on the black lights and everything glows for "cosmic bowling."
And I wonder how we got to this point in bowling history.
On the lawn bowling green at Williamsburg, less than an hour away, everything is serene. And natural. And warm.
Coming here straight from Hanover Lanes, just 40 minutes on I-64, is like traveling back in time to see the creation of a life-form.
Ten bowlers, mostly dressed in white, play the ancient game in the afternoon swelter. "It's a game of finesse," says Jack Edwards, "not a game of power."
