Hear the roll, the crash, the mechanical reset. Smell the shoe deodorizer and the odors it can’t beat. Heft the battered polyurethane orbs, taste the cheap beer and pizza, and gaze upon the rows of glistening lanes. Now look up—away from the long lines of polished wood—to the missing sections of ceiling. To the exposed wires. To the water-damage stains.
North Portland’s Interstate Lanes used to house two long walls of bowling lanes. League players with determined faces would spin heavy balls across the vast room, while their jovial companions traded statistics over $6.75 pitchers of PBR. The entire congregation wore matching shirts.
One of a handful of Portland bowling alleys known for its league bowling, Interstate closed at the end of April to make way for apartments.
But while Interstate is gone, the alley was hardly alone in facing a new landscape. The bowling alley has long been part of American life, but now, it’s entered a different era: Unable to depend on leagues for the majority of their revenue, alleys have shifted their businesses to attract more casual players. Alleys are no longer crammed with regulars who roll at their own pace and keep careful track of which pins fall. These days, alleys have made room for younger players who forget their scores as soon as the 10th frame closes. But what does it mean for bowling that its most devoted players are seeing their longtime haunts turned into neon-filled, glitter-splattered nightclubs?