But if you want a glimpse of what bowling was like back when Dewey was defeating Truman, Arcade Lanes is the place.
Opened in 1948 as Froy's Bowling Alleys, Arcade hasn't changed since Kennedy was in the White House, except for ever-warping lanes that make any score over 150 cause for celebration. Proprietor Jim Lampson will talk your ear off about bringing this place back to its glory days, but, as with wine, the Arcade has gained a certain nuance that's best left alone.
The faded floral carpet. The jukebox that plays 45's by the Mills Brothers, the Stones and Sinatra. The ancient beer signs. The vintage Brunswick table set in a spacious billiards room.
The musty smell.
And it's usually empty, making Arcade a perfect date destination when you're low on cash and that special someone understands.
It's near the end of the year, and no one has yet figured him out. Baseball takes great comfort in statistics, but to compare numbers between one era and another is tricky. It's hard to gauge which player had the best first two years in the majors. But whenever that debate is pursued, Albert Pujols' name is going to be mentioned. Poo-holes: Get used to saying it. He's going to be the talk of this town for a long time. All he needs is a nickname.
The Katy Trail -- its name taken from the now-defunct Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad, one of whose routes it traces -- starts in St. Charles and spans more than half the state. Country towns are spaced nicely apart, and wildlife encounters are not uncommon. We've got a number of good trails around here, though. The North Riverfront Trail is very doable. From the Arch north to the Chain of Rocks Bridge, the twelve-mile trek wends through urban, industrial and natural settings. Ride past scrapyards, fields of restored prairie grass, men fishing from the banks of the river. The Great River Road Trail, starting in Alton, heads northward with the shining Mississippi on the left and towering bluffs on the right. Barges, laden with coal or grain or salt, ply the river; egrets, gulls and, in winter, bald eagles soar overhead. The spirit of the mythical Piasa bird is strong here. None of the trails should be missed -- you like living, right? -- but it's the Katy we ride when we're searching for natural beauty.