A saturday drive

People used to go on Sunday drives. Just get in the car with the family and go. Wind through the hills and maybe stop next to a bridge and throw stones in the river. I suppose that's gone out of fashion. People don't want to pollute just for the sake of driving, and gas is so expensive.

But though we don't call our excursions Sunday drives, that's really what they are. About half of our weekend activities are planned excursions and half we head out the door, keys in hand, asking "where you wanna go?"

The answer, inevitably, is "I don't know."

So we head some direction. Sometimes we take our little tourist books with us to give us ideas for whatever direction we choose, not that we won't change our mind halfway there. Usually our planned trips are the best, but sometimes our spontaneous excursions are quite memorable.

Today we decided to head north, via 101, along the mountains and valleys that form wine country. Though our destination this time was Jack London State Park, a park made out of his former estate. But we got sidetracked. Last night, we had the most wonderful wine (at least for $20) and we decided to go check out the winery. The only problem was that the winery was on the other side of wine country, back towards I-80, from where we had come.

So we wound our way across the lazy Napa hillsides flecked with California Oaks, admiring the green grass that so recently had been golden brown and would soon be again. We watched rows of dormant vines go by, with bright yellow mustard flowers growing between the rows (the mustard keeps out other weeds and mulches easily in the spring).

Our destination was a remote winery called Buehler. The owner says, "We're not in the middle of nowhere, but you can see it from here." As we turned off the side road, we can see the road is old. Oaks grow right up to the edge of the road and form a canopy above us, as if passing through a long gate. Everywhere, moss turns the tree trunks bright green, and clover grows on every rock and blankets the hillside down to the road, as if poured like syrup on hot pancakes. Oh, for a place to pull over and take a picture!!!

Alas, that one will have to remain in my memory. As we approachedour destination alongside a low mountain lake, we realized that we should have thought this through more. The middle of nowhere, a small family-owned winery, a seldom travelled road. Tastings by appointment only. The gate was closed. Oops!

We went to another winery and found it by appointment only as well, though they were open. The man behind the counter looked down his nose at our khaki shorts and fleece tops and paused, as if to consider whether we were appropriate to visit his winery, and decided we could pass muster, I suppose as long as he could hide us from the other guests! He was nice enough to us, but his sub-conscious look made me feel uncomfortable enough that it reminded me why some people hate wine snobs. Apparently, we need slacks and an oxford to taste wine.

He said he could fit us in within 20 minutes, but in the end, though the winery looked promising, the tasting fee - $20 a person - made us think twice. Perhaps on a more special occasion.

We did manage to find a few wineries on the way home, some new and some familiar. And ended the evening with friends over a bowl of homemade chili and...chocolate souffles. Chili and souffles. I know, I know...but hey, at least nobody is going to accuse me of being a food and wine snob!

Here's a pic of our adventure, slightly photoshopped to work out the sunflare from my cheap lense. You can't see nearly as much mustard here as in other vineyards, but still a nice view I think.