This is yet another non-bike-related blog. Apparently, blown chunks are the secret ingredient to a fantastic game of bowling.
Work had me in Raleigh, NC the day after I got back from Chequamegon. After a day of shooting, myself and a few colleagues decided to unwind a bit at the hotel's hospitality suite. There were taco fixings and three free tappers. I made a taco or two and had a Shiner Bock.
One of us (to remain unnamed) thought it would be wise to go bowling-- always a good time. Everyone agreed, but when it was time to go only two of us were really down. Whatever-- the two of us went anyway.
About halfway through the second game, my belly began to grumble a bit. Knowing how this usually pans out, I suspected that the taco might make a second appearance. I warned my co-worker who, of course, was horrified. I got up for the eighth frame. My first ball took down about six pins. I headed over to the garbage can and puked up the tacos. I picked up the spare with the second ball.
I wonder if I should be alarmed by my ability to vomit without missing a beat.
We bowled a third game before I insisted that we leave.
That second game, I bowled my all-time best game-- a 166.
Bowling alleys are now officially fucking nasty.