Pedals and Pinot

Maya: You know, can I ask you a personal question, Miles?
Miles: Sure.
Maya: Why are you so into Pinot?
Miles Raymond: [laughs softly]
Maya: I mean, it's like a thing with you.
Miles Raymond: [continues laughing softly]
Miles Raymond: Uh, I don't know, I don't know. Um, it's a hard grape to grow, as you know. Right? It's uh, it's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's, you know, it's not a survivor like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and uh, thrive even when it's neglected. No, Pinot needs constant care and attention. You know? And in fact it can only grow in these really specific, little, tucked away corners of the world. And, and only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time to understand Pinot's potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and... ancient on the planet.

I thought for certain that I’d see Miles and Jack stepping towards us off of the highway. There it was, The Hitching Post, the restaurant Maya waitressed at. And driving into town, commercials for Pinot. And, granted, wishes for my own encounter with ‘Maya.’

I was in Solvang to ride the Solvang Century with my friend, Robert. It was a bookend in some significant ways. It marked 20 years since we did our San Francisco to San Fernando ride. Fifteen years ago, I’d ridden it with cheers from Kristina at the beginning and end of the race. Interestingly enough, I did receive a phone call from Kris on Friday night while driving into town.

I slogged through the ride, one pedal stroke followed by another. Mostly riding alone, as Robert had trained significantly longer and better. One thought leads to another as the miles go by; thoughts like, “I’m too old to be doing this.” And at a significantly low psychological (and blood sugar?) level, when I was convinced that they’d be dragging me off of the route at the end of the day, I decided not to do Seattle to Portland this year. Riding for long periods is difficult enough with discontinuous camaraderie; alone, for me, it is daunting at best, depressing at worst.

At about mile eighty, I found myself in dire need of a bathroom. Neither tree, nor tall building was in site. Finally, I came across the Tres Hermanas Winery. Open for wine, open for water closet. In gratitude, I look forward to trying their Syrah.

Somewhere after Tres Hermanas, I got a second wind, and was able to keep pedaling with greater energy, and slightly more speed. This took me up the BIG HILL of the climb and down the other side where Robert had graciously waited at mile 90 so that we could ride together to the finish.

The earlier thoughts I’d had—“I should have said NO to this ride,” turned to positive thoughts as I finished the last 12 miles. Thoughts of victory, and thankfulness for a long friendship. Overall, I’d finished feeling much more like Cabernet the survivor than a thin-skinned, temperamental Pinot.