good days bad days

It's funny how quickly the emotional scale balances itself. One day you're up the next you're down.


Two days ago I was flying along on top of the harvest, feeling really good about how it was going and how I was feeling. My body finally seemed to have accepted the fact that it wasn't getting any hard aerobic workouts and was going to have to be satisfied with the morning vineyard sampling and the random tromping around the winery as exercise - functional fitness as they say. Mentally and emotionally I'd gotten through the always hellish first 7-10 days of harvest when you really don't know what the hell is happening. Draining down the first dry Pinot Noir has an amazingly calming influence. You actually know or at least have an inkling of what's going on and you can either continue the course or modify the recipe as needed. In the case of this harvest continue the course is it.


Then yesterday I was promptly dragged back down to earth mostly as a result of saying yes too readily to PR/media requests. I had been asked to do a radio interview for a show. I said yes as I figured at worse it would tie up 30 minutes to an hour of the late afternoon when I'm not very productive anyway. Wrongo dongo it was 3 hours of hassle and very intense interaction with the interviewers. The show's a sort of click and clack format. I finally escaped their clutches and then had to buy beer for Fin to pay off a big favor he'd done me, and then finally into town and out to dinner with friends of Heidi. It is startling how exhausting the social aspect of life can be. I woke up this morning positively nauseous with fatigue. Heidi, poor thing, had managed to pour boiling water on herself at 5 so that was awful on top of it. Harvest though was still relentlessly steaming ahead with a pile of work orders to write, and a large block of Pinot being picked. The high point of this morning was coming into the celler and finding that the swing shift had cleaned up the ungodly mess I'd left behind in my quick departure last night. I owe them some beers. The low point was the super drizzly fog the settled in between 6 and 7 am. Wettest fog of the year. Welcome to fall.

Luis Bunuel's Martini

I am currently reading James and Kay Salter's Life is Meals, and while this is not literature on the level of his superb novels, there are some interesting bits to be found in here. One was the recipe for how Bunuel liked his daily Martinis. As I am a fan of both Bunuels movies and of Martinis I was quite eager to try this variation out. The day after reading it I mixed one up. Here's how he made them. Put a few drops of dry vermouth and a dash or two of Angustora bitters in your shaker. Shake this up and pour it out leaving only a slight trace behind. Then add your gin, shake and serve. I used a twist of orange, but lemon might be even better. The Martini comes out very slightly colored by the bitters. The flavor is subtle, unique and delecious. The trace of bitters expands and slightly softens the bite of the gin. I think this may enter the repetoir on a regular basis.

Cigarettes

There is a quote from that most famous of cyclists, Eddy Merckx where he says, "I was never afraid to have a cigarette or a few beers." While as my son points out, "Pops, you are no Eddy Merckx.", still I like the sentiment in this quote. It's best to not fear the small pleasures in life, even if they are rightly considered vices when taken to excess. For me I limit my smoking to harvest time. I abandon the bike this time of year as I don't have the time or energy to spare for it. And once I stop being athletic the main reason for not smoking is gone. I keep it to a few a day - usually not more than three or four. Yesterday morning, Sunday, I was sitting out on the crush pad. The air was humid and still and so absolutely silent that I could hear the tobacco burning as I enhaled the smoke. Some birds flew by chattering and broke the spell of silence so I stood up feeling that wonderful momentary lift that a cigarette gives and got on with my day.

Last Rose of Summer

A few days ago, on Wednesday, it got really hot, for around here at least. The day dawned clear and fogless. The temperature briefly hit 99 or 100 around two in the afternoon. I called and told Heidi that I was bringing home the case of half bottles of Pinot Noir that we'd talked about. She said, "It's so hot. Doesn't a bottle of rose sound good?". It did sound good so I walked over to the tasting room and asked for a bottle only to be told that it was gone and had been pulled. They said they could find me a bottle, and sure enough Heather had two in her office. I took one of them home and stuck it in the freezer after pouring out a glass on the rocks for Heidi. I had a glass an hour or so later as I was frying up a steak for the two of us. It frosted up the glass and glowed pink briefly, and then like the summer it was gone.

Basic Civility

This subject viz a vie bicycling has been growing more irksome the last few years. It's always hard to tell if the world is changing at a faster rate or if the changes are in my own attitudes as both are obviously in motion constantly. I have been fairly committed as the years accumulate to not becoming and old curmudgeon, so my guess is that the manners and mores are in more rapid flux than I. It seems that for as long as I can remember if you were out riding on the open road and you saw another bicycle coming towards you, you would nod or wave or somehow acknowledge that cyclist and then they would return the greeting. If you were passing someone going the same way it was standard to say something, no matter how briefly. It could be a simple, "Hi", or if you were not in a big hurry you might comment on the fellow riders bike or mention what a splendid day it was to be out riding, etc. These were expected courtesies and only the real greenhorns or real idiots didn't abide by them. There was of course always room for exceptions. If you were pounding out a sprint or an interval or killing it on a climb no one expected you to have the energy or attention for a greeting, but these circumstances were exceptional.
All this seems to be changing. Now it is not uncommon when you wave at someone else on a bike to have that wave ignored or worse. For several years I have tried to not get upset by this, a simple shrug and the thought, "what an idiot" sufficed, but this year I have changed my tact. I now don't take no for an answer. Here are three examples of my ongoing evolution as far as this goes. All are in the category of passing or being passed by other riders going the same direction, normally the more social encounter.
1. A few months ago I see a guy ahead of me on a touring bike as I'm riding up the very lightly travelled access road parallel 101 between Avila and SLO. I pass him on the left giving him lots of room because there's lots of room available and say a polite "Howdy". No response - not even a glance. I keep riding, but then think, "No, this will not stand." I dropped back and riding right next to him say hi again. Still no response so I say, "Hey, I said hi." He then gets all peevish on me and says back, "You're supposed to say "on your left" when you pass somebody." I think whaa the hell you talking about, who's rule is that? Instead of getting all up in his face I shake my head in disbelief and say, "You've got to be kidding me?"
2. Just the other day I'm cruising out LOVR just out of SLO on the way to Los Osos. A very fit woman on a nice bike, obviously a commuter is ahead of me. I very slowly overtake her and as I pull next to her say, "Good afternoon" - no response - how rude! So I check to make sure she doesn't have ear buds in or some mitigating factor, and then keeping pace with her say once again, but a bit louder, "Hi." She reluctantly replies and continues to stare stone faced ahead. OK fine have a bad day!
3. Yesterday, as I was turning onto LOVR from Turri Rd. 2.5 hours into a 3.0 hour ride, a fit young rider all kitted out pulls up next to me says not a word and turns towards town. He's really motoring, but my legs are solid for the moment so I reel him back in in a few hundred yards and engage him in conversation. It turns out that he's a perfectly decent local kid, keen on bikes and happy to chat about them the six or seven miles we're on the same road. Finally, success, I refuse to be ignored and a positive outcome ensues - stubbornness rules!

Riding Tired

It really is amazing how much of feeling tired is mental. Like most people with full time jobs my weekday window for riding is frequently at the end of the day. Often, like yesterday, I'm exhausted at the end of the day. What I most feel like doing is plopping my ass in a chair and sipping a painfully cold Martini, not perching my ass on a narrow racing saddle and hammering away on the pedals. But, what happened yesterday is not unusual. When I was complaining of how tired I was and how much I didn't want to ride my main squeeze Heidi bluntly stated, "Ride your bike or come help us paint the house." God bless her, put in those terms the bike ride suddenly seemed more desirable. And sure enough as soon as I was actually on the bike I started feeling better. My exhuastion evaporated and I had a more than decent little ride where my legs felt solid the whole time. I guess the lesson is listen to your legs once you're on the bike, not to your brain before your ride.

Et Voila

I was reminded at lunch today who is the best chef in town. For my money it is Jose at Et Voila. While the location in a small strip mall off Los Osos Valley Rd in the auto dealership neighborhood is far from ideal, and by that I mean too far from downtown to walk, the many charms of the food outweigh the relative sobriety that driving to a restaurant enforces. Heidi and I arrived famished - always a good plan. There is no better combination than a good kitchen and a good appetite. All of the specials sounded wonderful, but needing to stay awake for the afternoon's tasks we opted for reason over passion. First let me say that the house made bread is delightful, and in a town without a decent bakery this alone gives Et Voila a leg up. We started with a tomato salad dressed in herb infused greens with a tiny pat of goat cheese. Both of us decided on the Dover sole served on polenta. It was superb! I washed mine down with a little Ugni blanc/Colombard blend from Gascogne, and Heidi drank some local Pinot Noir. We finished it up with a fresh banana and rum cream tart and two perfect espressos. The only thing that could possibly have improved it would have been the leisure to take a nap afterwards. Alas, we're bottling this week and next and it would have been bad form at the least to blow the afternoon off. That will have to wait till post harvest I'm afraid.

Shawn's on Main

Morro Bay is a town I bicycle through all the time, and a frequent stop for a double espresso and a cookie to fuel me on those last 10 miles or so back to SLO. It has its own funky blue collar beach town vibe. Glamorous it's not. So I was a bit surprised when Darren, our local rep said I should check out Shawn's. As he so perfectly understated it, "They've got a good kitchen.". Darren having eaten a lot of good food and knowing my love of the same is not someone I ignore when he makes a recommendation. The next Friday night we were on our way. The menu is simple and changes frequently. Everything sounded great so the three of us each ordered different entrees. The food did not disappoint! The soups were very fine, the grilled artichoke was perfect. We splurged on an abalone appetizer that was fine. The baby ribs were the best I've ever had, period the end. Zoie had hand made potato gnocchi in a mushroom cream sauce that were to die for, and Heidi's beef Milanese was scrumptious. The desserts were equally good and the wine list though short has a range of dessert wines by the glass - very unusual for a restaurant of this size. The decor is downscale, but the prices are more than reasonable to make up for the lack of white tablecloths. This place has vaulted to the top in terms of food quality and presentation on the local scene for me. I can't wait to go back.