This week, we present part two of “Whadda-we-got-that’s-world-class-around here,” an unscientific and well-lubricated survey as dreamed up and fleshed out by long-time residents at a local watering hole, who felt completely confident to speak for you on such bar fodder. For this second segment, we’re dealing with local world-class action in man-made stuff/events.
To begin, there is a large, world-class building in the heart of downtown Reno. Well, actually, it’s not the building we’re talking about; it’s the facility inside, although the building itself is fine and certainly no eyesore. In fact, when it’s lit up at night, this particular neon-streaked behemoth adds some nice lines of color to the downtown skyline.
Yep, our National Bowling Stadium is a world-class piece of work. I realize that may sound a tad oxymoronic at first glance, but it’s true. We have a state-of-the-art bowling facility, the Pebble Beach of bowling lanes, right here in River City. After all, the Farrelly Brothers could have filmed the crucial scenes of Kingpin pretty much anywhere, but in the end, they came to Reno. That’s gotta be good for something.
According to our Pale Ale Panel, we have no less than four world-class events every August and September. If you’re a car lover, there is no way Hot August Nights isn’t a world-class scene. If you get a good nighttime spot on Victorian Avenue with a cold beer and a decent lawn chair, and if you don’t get in the way of a couple of s-faced 64-year-old Elvis fans goin’ at each other with broken Bud bottles, you’ll be treated to a stunning parade of chrome and steel, one that indeed rates as world-class.
Our Balloon Races are big. And well-done. Last time I checked, the only one bigger and better is the one in Albuquerque. It’s safe to say we gotta be Top 5 on Earth, and that translates into world-class. The Air Races are undeniably w.c., especially since now they are one of the last, if not THE last, head-to-head (more accurately, wing-to-wing) races for airplanes in the world. You may be a little blasé about them, but every year, they sell 150,000 tickets to these pylon-scraping hair-raisers, many of them going to folks who come from a long way off to get their aeronautical joneses hammered out. And then there’s Burning Man. I’m not sure what exactly you call it, but whatever it is, it’s gotta be world-class. Especially if you love glow sticks, bottle rockets and unisexual shirtlessness.
To finish in a rush, we had to mention IGT, slot provider to local, regional, national and international practitioners of modern techno one-armed banditry. We also want to acknowledge the world-class efforts of two local men, both outstanding in their chosen endeavors. Clay Jenkinson has proven over the years that he is way up there in the world of Thomas Jefferson Chautauquans, and, well, could there possibly be a better waver on Earth than Ed?