Part two of seven: San Francisco, Japan, & Thailand (July 2013)

At about 7:30 AM PST, we excitedly wake up to start the day. A self-guided bike tour of wine country - too much fun! The previous night we had searched the web for a bike rental place and found a shop in Yountville, CA. OMG...the California sun, bikes, the open road, and wine. I'm sold! According to the web site, the rentals are very reasonable and a map is provided of all of the wineries that wind through the beautiful, green vineyards brandishing green and purple grapes. We decide to give it a try. Hurriedly we shower and get dressed. Deezy throws on a white t-shirt and gray shorts and grabs his sunglasses. I wear a blue sleeveless mesh-like hooded shirt with blue, teal, and white plaid shorts. My hair is adorned with a headband rag, and I pack sunglasses. We travel lightly because, aside from money for the wineries, we really don't need anything else.  

We wait at the elevator, which seems to take an unreasonably long time to reach our floor. In the lobby downstairs, we quickly find the kiosk for car rentals.  Identify the type of car to rent, sign our names, give a credit card, and we're off.  Napa Valley is over an hour from San Francisco, and we wanted to have a full day.  Our rental car is a compact SUV with its own GPS assistance. We, however, decide to use our own because theirs was a bit antiquated. The drive was quite nice and every easy. There is nothing of importance to note except that California has remarkably courteous drivers. Then again, we're from the Northeast so anything in comparison would seem so, right?!

Upon arrival in Yountville (Napa Valley), we enter into a quaint shopping center.  It's not a strip mall and not quite a plaza. More like a collection of brick-faced and wood-sided restaurants and shops tastefully positioned in an adorable neighborhood leading to the obscured "entrance" to a vast number of vineyards.  Simple and classy. I like it already. We search and search for the bike shop.  It's hidden.  We're in a sparsely populated parking lot. An Italian restaurant and wine bar appears to be the main attraction; it's too early to be open. But, this is the address. Hmmmm. I call the bike shop...from right in front of it --- rather, behind it. Of course the back side doesn't have a shop sign. No problem. We get inside, get our equipment and bikes, and off we go.  

We discuss the route and the wineries at which we plan to stop. But really, there is no plan. After all, what do we know about wine tastings? Neither of us has ever done it, so fortunately for wine country, there are no expectations. Sounds like the perfect day! And it was... We first bike briefly through a neighborhood and follow a narrowly paved, tree-covered road along the back of a vineyard. As we are biking, Deezy was enjoying the scenery but also busily navigating and studying the map. I, on the other hand, had fallen behind, overwhelmed by the serenity of the area and deafening silence that made it so peaceful.

We were alone. Nobody around.  No cars, no other bicyclists, no runners. The path, which is now packed dirt with a sprinkling of leaves, was ours to enjoy. No pressure to stop or go or veer one way or another. Alone and together in the beauty. Well, alone until I saw the cutest little family crossing the road. We had to stop to appreciate the mother and her more than half a dozen little chicks.

After the slight digression, we continue on. The vineyard neatly lines the path. The vines are ripe with lush green leaves and plump grapes ready for picking. The purple and green grapes are flawless and beckon to be eaten. The bunches are so dense and heavy, yet hung so effortlessly from its host. I desperately want to tear them off the vines. A flash of one of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun, pops into my head and I think, "I eat a hot grape from the [vine], and the violet sweetness breaks open in my mouth.  It even smells purple." The vineyard did smell purple and green and lush and fresh. I debate it. Just a taste...or maybe I smuggle a few in my pockets for later. Maybe I could pick several bunches and start stomping them into wine or jam. Yes, that's it! I'll make my own wine right here and now. Okay, totally irrational. Although quite tempting, we take no grapes, nor do we stomp them. Instead, we stop and take pictures. And by "we," I mean me. I take lots of pictures. And by lots, I mean scores!

We bike along the path that leads to a paved street. The paved street has light traffic and no designated bike lane. (Some of the wineries are off main/paved roads, while others are tucked away with no traffic to speak of.) Deezy grows a little concerned for me. Although we have biked a lot over the years, he is convinced that I pay no attention to my surroundings or the road --- lost in my own thoughts and enchanted by my surroundings --- I suppose that this is mostly true. He rides on the outside. Good idea! Growing up in the streets of Boston, he learned to bike with someone on the handlebars, looking back and perfectly steering forward, popping a wheely, and driving handless. I'm definitely not as skilled.

With the vineyard now to our right, we bike less than a mile before coming to the first winery on the map. We decide that we have to start somewhere, so here it will be. From the looks of the parking lot, we won't have much company inside.  We park our bikes and take off our helmets. As we approach the door we think, "Is it open?" One pull of the door and we learn that it is. Quickly we take off our sunglasses. A young guy, probably in his mid- to late-twenties, casually struts behind the counter. His hair is slicked back and his look is far too severe for an afternoon wine-tasting bike tour. His speech is slightly affected. You know the type: swanky, pretentious and likely educated on the finer things in life without ever really have to learn the unrefined things in life. I'm slightly uncomfortable with the expectation of sophistication that exists in this situation, so I quickly blurt out, "We've never done this before, so you'll have to guide us through it." The gent asks where we live, clearly trying to place the accent. "Boston," we answer. His pleasantries don't extend much further.  

Deezy and I decide that we will share a glass, and we get to choose four different wines for the tasting. The man suggests that some people prefer to spit out the wine in between each taste. From the look of his face, he was displeased with my remark, "What's the point?" and thought it to be crude. C'mon man, what is the point??? There was no spitting out. We enjoy the wine. It is smooth and the taste is quite unexpected. The first is a white wine. It's practically fruit juice. Both of us agree that we could drink a bottle of it in one sitting. Mind you, we drink less than once a month. The next three are reds. Each had a distinct taste, although Deezy matter-of-factly announced that there was no difference in them. I giggled. We are enjoying ourselves. This is a fun outing. The whole episode lasts less than twenty minutes. We discuss the wines and were tempted to purchase the delicious white wine, but decide that it would be a burden to carry around. I grab a business card and we head out, much to the relief of our host.

Outside, there are vines with fresh grapes wrapped around the entrance. I grab a grape and pop it my mouth --- perfectly juicy! We take a moment to set up a photo opt under the vines and grapes. My camera is amazing, and no third party is needed to accomplish this task. Snap, snap.  Done.  Onto the next...

Biking along, we decide to go off the main road and onto the more secluded streets where smaller wineries are scattered throughout never-ending vineyards. After another mile or two, we come to an adorable winery. There is a long road with a vineyard along one side and a grove of beautiful, full fruit trees on the other.  Straight ahead is a wide red barn with white accents. It seemed more like a farm than a winery. We bike to the building but learn that tastings are by appointment only. It's not a waste. The scenery is so beautiful that it's hard to feel slighted.  Because I'm obsessed with pictures, we take the opportunity for another photo shoot. This time, I set up a few different shots.

There is no right or wrong way to bike through wine country. Just go with the flow.  And that we do! When we leave the red barn winery, we come to another lightly traveled road and along the right is an awesome sight. Vineyards in the forefront and hills in the distance. It's breathtaking. We stop to appreciate the view. We also take the opportunity to figure out which winery we want to visit next. We decide to go to a quaint vineyard called Piña. It is well kept but still looks abandoned. As we approach the building, we see a side door and decide to open it. It leads to a room with stacks of barrels of wine from the floor to the ceiling. That's no exaggeration.  It was mostly dark in the room, with enough light to see everything but dark enough to feel like we're intruding. An old man walks into the room.  He said he was surprised to see us but didn't seem surprised at all.  He explained that he usually hears the cars drive up the twisted driveway and can prepare to greet his visitors. We explain that we rode bikes. He gives us a smile and invites us to taste some wine.

The pricing is standard throughout the wineries. Each tasting is $20 or $25 per glass. We share. This winery deals only in reds. What I neglected to first say, but my family knows all too well, is that red wines are my kryptonite. I love the smell, the taste, and the feeling it gives me; sometimes, too much feeling! Okay...all reds it is. The gentle old man is very knowledgable and serious about his wine and gives us a real lesson about wine, vineyards, and tastings. We enjoy his company and haven't even tasted the wines yet. As the man prepares the wines (no choices are given), I glance at the brochure with a list of the wines and prices --- ouch!  The wines are expensive. Better taste good. Mmmmm...I'm not disappointed.  

Deezy again tells the host that the wines are good but there is no discernible difference in them. Instead of becoming indignant, the old man agrees that this can happen but over time a person can adapt his palate to differentiate the tastes.  I immediately start to feel the effects...it doesn't take much. We thank our gracious host and take a business card before leaving. As we leave, I spot an old tractor under a shady tree and jump in it.  Photo shoot!!!  Deezy snaps some shots of me on the rusty old thing (below) and off we bike down the windy driveway towards the road.

After ten minutes of pedaling, I stop. Deezy stops too. "What's wrong?," he asks.  "Nothing," I honestly reply feeling tingly and joyful. The combination of the wine, the sun & heat, and the biking causes me to feel the alcohol more intensely than normal. I say that it would not be responsible for me to ride the bike right now.  We rest for fifteen minutes and I start to feel much less swirly. We visit two more wineries and go through the same custom. We share a glass, we comment on the taste, we pay our dues, we enjoy the unique scenery of the location, and we bike again. The last place we stop, however, is different. It looks like a winery combined with a lodge, very picturesque. It attracts quite the crowd: mothers and daughters, families, boyfriends and girlfriends, girlfriends on a long weekend trip, married couples. This is the spot.

Everyone else has driven and are dressed for an elegant tour of wine country. I like that we don't fit in. The bike tour is far better than driving from spot to spot. I feel kinda badly for these folks. They're missing some of the best parts of the tour...the journey. Then again, everyone doesn't have to like the same things or have similar experiences. After we visit our final destination (not truly convinced that we were through or not), we sit for thirty minutes near the koi pond outside and watched people coming and going. A couple in a convertible arrive. They are the stereotype. I bet their names are Biff and Buffy and that they work hard for their California tans. Seriously! Even though we were a good number of yards away, I could smell the cologne on him. And she, well, she was just perfect in her white knit top, pink skirt, and beige pumps. Hair was flawless and bright red lipstick too. Deezy and I chuckle. I love people watching.

We start our route back and discuss whether or not to stop elsewhere; we don't.  We return the bikes approximately seven hours after we first got them. We biked only about fifteen miles in that time but, boy, was that area stunning. After dropping off the bikes, we stop to get dinner and then head back to San Francisco to return the car.

The car return is located in a garage in the Tenderloin.  Now, we don't know about the Tenderloin, but we quickly learn. As we came back into the city, we take a turn off the main road. "Do you see that?," I ask. "What?," Deezy replies. "Look!," I demand. We both start laughing. (Not in the ha-ha funny sense; more in the I'm uncomfortable and what is going on sense.) Yes, there it was. A man carrying a queen-sized mattress on his head as he walked down the street. Welcome to the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin is both easy and hard to explain. Every city has its seedy area. San Fran's is the Tenderloin. "How come nobody told us about this?," Deezy asks rhetorically.

We drive through the streets. It's like old-school New York City. Sex workers, drug-addicted and unhoused people, dirt, filth, graffiti. All of San Francisco is clean, sophisticated except for here. Here is the place that nobody acknowledges. All the people are invisible. They don't exist. It's considered a stain on the city. No wonder nobody told us. All we did was take a turn. BAM! Right into the center of despair, abject poverty, and waste. It was what most people will see as a colony of beggars but I see them as unrealized dreams. The streets were straight out of a movie. No police presence, no store fronts. Everything was in shambles. A grown man carrying a damn mattress on his head...

The car was returned and we climbed our way back up to the hotel. It was dark and pretty late by now. Tomorrow we have until 3 PM in the city so we plan a trip to Haight/Ashbury and Ghirardelli Square. We get to sleep so we can wake up early and hit the streets before leaving for Japan.