In 1992, before I moved to Minnesota, I had a three-month temp job filling in for a lady who was on maternity leave after having a baby in the backseat of her car. Just to be clear, she's the one who had a baby in the backseat of her car, not me.
In any event, every day at lunchtime at that temp job, a guy named Herb would eat super hot peppers - the kind that are currently in my fridge - out of the jar. Meanwhile, as many cribbage games as possible would be played in the 30-minute lunch hour break and cash would change hands. I watched for a couple of months, played one game of cribbage, pocketed the cash I won, and didn't play again until two weeks ago.
This weekend, I met my former co-worker, cyclist-extraordinaire Ward, to give him my studded mountain bike tires, since I no longer need them for commuting. Over coffee, and then lunch, we played three games of cribbage. I lost all three. But not by much.
This rule chart doesn't list the points for having a hand of the same suit. |
Today, my most regular cycling companion Matt and I did a ride organized by a local bike shop. It was supposed to be totally off-road, but the warm weather and some eager riders a couple of days ago messed up those plans. (Some other day I might share my thoughts about what it's like to go to those rides with a bunch of dudes and my own desire - yet lack of corresponding skill - to hold my own.) Anyhow, the bike ride ended at a brewery, the bike shop offered lunch, and Matt had a cribbage board and a deck of cards. So it was a good, fun weekend.
The halfway point - cyclists wearing helmets on playground equipment. That's the nice new fat tire bike I got this fall in the lower corner. |
We did a stretch on snow and ice. I'm the one represented by that speck of red. |
The photo that someone took of us as we began playing cribbage perfectly captures my consumption of potato chips. |