I flew to San Francisco, drove up into the Sonoma Valley, and slept in a pear orchard beneath the stars. I'm going to argue that, while it wasn't really camping because there was a house there with a fridge and a place to take showers, it was a style of outdoor living that I really could get used to. Outdoor kitchen, outdoor fireplace, outdoor dining area, outdoor room (AKA tent) for sleepin. Nights are tinged with chill and backed with a full cicada rhythm section.
Johnny and Barley, little buddies!
I was there to visit Lance, who's been helping Billy and Evergreen build a private backyard bowl for skatebirding. My first day in town was also the first pour day—shot crete was flying by 8:30 a.m. Instead of helping, Cathy, Marsha, and I went to the winery. I mean, right?!
My advice for wine tasting is quality over quantity. We found one really good spot, kicked down $25, and posted up for a hot afternoon. I detest champagne but drank some that was so cold, bright and sharp—it was like the festive, adult answer to a nice glass of lemonade. Then chardonnay all light and balmy, like drinking a delicate tropical breeze. Then Pinot that was, I dunno, at that point you stop thinkin and just keep sippin.
Catherine, Marsha and me—the last to leave, they had to kick us out.
In the shade of the wisteria, overlooking the vineyards—not a bad spot to be in life.
We rolled deep to the coffee spot every morning—a scooter shop with a coffee cart out front called the Scooteria. Loved everything about this.