It was all supposed to be a surprise, but we kinda blew it.
There’s a tradition of sorts among a few of my male friends here — a very few, like three of us — that we call “gents’ night,” an occasion for getting together and having manly fun. When it began a couple of years ago, the object was drinking single malt whiskey (or its equivalent) until every Scottish and Irish dialect joke in my companions repertoire was exhausted. Maybe that’s why we gradually edged away from emphasizing the drinking, because they ran out of material. I hope not. They’re both excellent mimics, a joy to listen to, and I’ve forgotten most of the jokes already, anyway. Besides, I miss falling down when I stand up.
But this time the designated host among us had a different idea: a secret road trip! All I knew was that we were heading south but not as far as Santa Fe, which had to mean Española, if the destination were to be large enough for anything to be open after dark. I had all kinds of fantasies, like going to see a naked lesbian punk-rock conjunto in an outlaw absinthe bar. The other gent and I teased the third unmercifully over the secret nature of the expedition, until he finally gave in — no doubt fearing we’d get ugly if there were no sweaty naked ladies — and revealed what was in store:
Bowling!
What?! No, really.
We’d be going to Española, all right, to Casino Bowl, an establishment I’d never seen or heard of, adjacent to the famous (?) Big Rock Casino smack-dab in the middle of town. I think it’s run by the former San Juan Pueblo, now renamed Ohkay Owingeh in the native Tewa language — and yes, there’s a big rock in the middle of the parking lot, I kid you not. I must have driven by there dozens of times and never noticed the bowling alley, although I do make an effort to spy the boulder if I can. But BOWLING?!? I hadn’t been bowling since I was 14. Um… well, all right. Bowling! The absurdity was compelling, who could resist?
After a short trip through the canyon of the Rio Grande, we were there: Casino Bowl! In through the big glass doors and the smell of cigarette smoke from the casino, then left into the bowling alley. My God, it was huge, and not at all what I expected The main thing was, it was, well, modern — the nerve of them, to change things after 50 years.
The time travel aspect of the evening was astonishing. Did you know that bowling balls are no longer black? And no had to keep score on a sheet of paper, because it’s all done automatically with scoring displayed on hanging video monitors. (Rip Van Winkle in a freaking bowling alley…)
As we walked over to our assigned lane, my heart dropped: right next to us was a group of younger local guys with bulging muscles, black T-shirts, and tattoos out the gazoot, laughing and flinging balls that flew that they’d been shot from cannons. We were doomed to abject humiliation, but I drew myself up tall and prepared to fail most gloriously. As it turned out, however, they were just leaving, and I exhaled a sigh of relief that blew Cokes over 30 feet away. There was still the matter of looking like an idiot in front of my fellow gents, but I mostly remembered what to do: throw the ball and knock the pins down, great! I even got a couple of strikes and won one of three games.
It was simultaneously very weird, from a mind-body perspective, to be focused on a physical activity involving skill at nothing practical after all these years of guilt and struggle. (I think they call this “having fun.”) The strangeness of it was enlightening, almost as much so as the social scene: as the evening progressed, more and more families showed up, along with bowling leagues. Bowling leagues! – they still existed, along with the funny shirts, rosin bag rituals, and snappy gestures. What’s more, the scene was multi-generational. All around me were happy normal people doing normal things. This wasn’t the life I knew, but something more like Española in Dubuque! I felt like I was in another galaxy, and I was. The fact that we were almost the only anglos in the place meant nothing in the atmosphere of total relaxation and acceptance. It was like… like… OH! Like being part of a family!
(No wonder that felt strange, but at least I recognized it.)
After a meal of beer and hot dogs, we headed back to Taos, land of Holy Isolation. I wonder what else there is to do here, besides polishing my soul. Maybe I should buy a rubber ball at Wal-Mart and kick it down the road…
You never know where that might lead!
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I’m really very lucky. This stuff is gasoline in my tank.
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
what, you couldn’t find an alley that featured sweaty naked lesbian bowling? maybe you have to come to san francisco for that….
Hell, I’d go to San Francisco for a piece of bread if I could. I love San Francisco. And how are you making out these days?
trust me, you REALLY don’t want me to answer that question.
I hear you.
Remember to breathe. Seriously.