So, I drove to a friend's house on Saturday so we could drive together to the state bowling tournament. We're both big guys, and we ended up squeezing into a rather small Nissan something or other. I'm sure it had to look pretty funny if anybody was paying attention. He tends to drive a little faster than I do and I think I said, "We're going to die," or some variation thereof, about six times before we arrived "safely" at our hotel.
So, we hung out at the hotel for a couple of hours and then headed to the bowling alley. He'd been there before and was pretty sure he remembered where it was located. After driving across town and ending up in the boonies, he was pretty sure he couldn't remember exactly where it was. So, I pulled out my trusty Blackberry and attempted to google the name of the bowling alley--only he gave me the wrong name and I couldn't find it. Eventually he figured it out and I was able to find the address.
We pulled up to the bowling alley with a little time to spare, no pun intended, and as we were getting our bowling balls out of our trunk, he said, "You're going to blog about this, aren't you?" "Yeah, I'm sure I will," I said. How could I not? The place was packed and I got a little nervous when I seen someone laying down fresh oil on the lanes. Oil is usually not my friend on the bowling alley--especially in tournaments. In my experience, tournaments often flood the lanes with oil to make the shot tougher, and I'm not good enough to compensate for it.
I don't know what happened, but I was able to find a decent line and I ended up shooting a 572 for my first of three series. I was happy with that. Things didn't work out so well the next day. I didn't hit 500 in either doubles or singles. From what I saw, not many people were bowling well, but that's the way it goes sometimes.
On the way home, my friend and I ran through a drive-through to get a quick lunch. Unfortunately, we didn't get our complete order and we didn't realize that until we were twenty miles down the road. And the food we did get wasn't the best. My sandwich was soggy and my friend's sandwich wasn't done the way he ordered it. He called the place and they are supposed to make things right.
After we'd been on the road for a while, we stopped at a gas station called "Get N' Split," which I misidentified as "Get N' Spit" which sort of grossed me out and made me laugh when I realized my mistake. As I got out of the car, I discovered that the remains of the food we hadn't eaten had seeped through the bag and I ended up with a tomato on my seat. That wasn't a pretty sight.
The rest of the trip went pretty well. I said, "We're going to die" another dozen times, because that's just what I do. And just like that, the trip was over, I say in my best Forrest Gump impersonation.
