Sunday, January 28, 2018

Just kicking down the cobble stones looking for fun

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.






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