Not quite "Sideways" Part III, or Jeepers Weepers
Miss parts 1 and 2? Grab some wine and read them here and here.
With nine hours of sleep under our quickly-widening belts, we woke up bright and early on Saturday, ready to start the day. I had booked a Jeep company to take us on a tour of the bigger wineries, but since they weren't coming until 11, we had a few hours to eat and shop on our own. We headed back into Solvang where we enjoyed a hearty breakfast at Paula's Pancake House, and shopped for overpriced trinkets that have no place in my modern apartment.
We pulled back up to the hotel at 10:45, and there, shining brighter than the blazing sun, was our big yellow Jeep ready to take us on an open air tour of the grounds. Because the Jeep holds six - and we were only three - there was to be a second party in our group: three women our mothers' age with enough collective energy to power the Jeep even without gas. We were greeted camera lens first, overwhelmed by hearty hellos and welcoming whoops. Would we have to stay with them all day, I thought?
A bit taken aback but excited for a good story, we piled in the Jeep and prepared for 50 MPH winds whipping through our carefully coiffed 'dos. The Firestone Vineyard was first on the agenda, and a Bachelor Andrew sighting was high on our weekend priority list - windswept hair or not. The vineyard was beautiful - large, rolling desert hills, lush foliage, and striking bluejays completely unafraid to be privy to the party. The scenery - and our lives - couldn't have been more presently perfect; therefore, what better time for God to shake things up, ensuring no one was truly happy for longer than our selfish hearts were deserving?
Heather left the tasting room on an emotional high; the physical beauty of the vineyard was moving enough to want to share with her family. Fifteen minutes later I found her outside crying, bawling, if you will, on the phone with her mom who just explained that the family dog had died that day. It wasn't completely unexpected, but sooner than anyone thought, and apparently closer to the family than any pets I've ever had. She was beyond consoling. We all tried to do our part in comforting while also giving her space, but an unmistakeable shadow had been cast on the day.
Not that our three companions would let that slow them down. After trying their best to lift Heather's spirits (to be honest, they offered better advice than me), they decided to sing songs, based on any random word we threw out. Mountain? "Climb every mountain!" Yellow? "We all live in a yellow submarine!" Yeah. It was awkward.
So we headed to Kohler nonetheless; Heather managing to stop crying only so our three new friends might leave her alone. Halfway through the second tasting, though, I started to feel strange. First I thought I was just full - I ate a small breakfast but last night's dinner and wine selection were surely still in Bodyland. Then I thought maybe I was just going too fast - sniffing the wine too quickly, taking large, careful sips - must be gas piling too quickly in my stomach. Funny how no one else had this problem. By the time we arrived at our third winery in Los Olivos, I felt even worse - my back was hurting - surely from standing up at each bar for so long. And this is when I knew something was not right: I actually stopped drinking.
If you haven't figured it out by now - not from reading this post but from reading this blog over the last year and a half - I like to drink. There's very rarely, if ever, a time that I won't drink, and while it's not necessarily something I'm proud of, it's something I'm keenly aware of and, for the most part, embrace. But I couldn't drink now. The thought of ingesting one more thing - even the finest wines in the region - weirded me out. So I took a break. Uncharacteristic, but we still had the day in front of us, and surely it would pass, I would come in strong for the comeback late in the game - slow but steady, right?
Oh, I was so wrong. We arrived at Bridlewood, the most scenic and historic of all the vineyards, and we were to eat a picnic lunch before the tasting. If there's one thing I do more than drink, it's eat, yet here I had no appetite. At this, I started getting really scared. I can always eat! I thought maybe I was internalizing some of Heather's pain and that was causing me to be too full to drink, but there's always room for lunch in my stomach. But not today. After lunch the group went tasting, and I stayed outside having a minor, personal panic attack, freaking out at the fact that I was missing crucial time with my friends, one of whom was mourning her dog, wondering if I was imaging the whole thing in my head for some personal, need-for-drama reason, but WHY THE HELL DOES MY BACK HURT SO MUCH??? Near tears in my own personal pity party, I contemplated calling home but tried to hold it together for the sake of not having two criers on the Jeep. There's no crying in wine tasting!
The final winery was Kalyra - where Miles and Jack meet Sandra Oh in the film - and I didn't even try. I stayed in the Jeep the entire time, shivering in the 75 degree sun and stretching my achy back over the two back seats. To look at me, you'd think, poor drunk girl, can't hold her liquor. To you, I'd say, liquor? I hardly know her! I haven't had a drop in four hours! Beyotch! But I wouldn't have had the strength, so you could have judged me all you want.
By the end of five wineries our companion trio finally ran out of songs, though oddly, not out of energy, and we all arrived back at our hotel at 4 PM on the dot. I tipped the tour guide and counted the steps to the elevator, and the seconds until I could collapse my sad, feverish body into bed.
With nine hours of sleep under our quickly-widening belts, we woke up bright and early on Saturday, ready to start the day. I had booked a Jeep company to take us on a tour of the bigger wineries, but since they weren't coming until 11, we had a few hours to eat and shop on our own. We headed back into Solvang where we enjoyed a hearty breakfast at Paula's Pancake House, and shopped for overpriced trinkets that have no place in my modern apartment.We pulled back up to the hotel at 10:45, and there, shining brighter than the blazing sun, was our big yellow Jeep ready to take us on an open air tour of the grounds. Because the Jeep holds six - and we were only three - there was to be a second party in our group: three women our mothers' age with enough collective energy to power the Jeep even without gas. We were greeted camera lens first, overwhelmed by hearty hellos and welcoming whoops. Would we have to stay with them all day, I thought?
A bit taken aback but excited for a good story, we piled in the Jeep and prepared for 50 MPH winds whipping through our carefully coiffed 'dos. The Firestone Vineyard was first on the agenda, and a Bachelor Andrew sighting was high on our weekend priority list - windswept hair or not. The vineyard was beautiful - large, rolling desert hills, lush foliage, and striking bluejays completely unafraid to be privy to the party. The scenery - and our lives - couldn't have been more presently perfect; therefore, what better time for God to shake things up, ensuring no one was truly happy for longer than our selfish hearts were deserving?
Heather left the tasting room on an emotional high; the physical beauty of the vineyard was moving enough to want to share with her family. Fifteen minutes later I found her outside crying, bawling, if you will, on the phone with her mom who just explained that the family dog had died that day. It wasn't completely unexpected, but sooner than anyone thought, and apparently closer to the family than any pets I've ever had. She was beyond consoling. We all tried to do our part in comforting while also giving her space, but an unmistakeable shadow had been cast on the day.
Not that our three companions would let that slow them down. After trying their best to lift Heather's spirits (to be honest, they offered better advice than me), they decided to sing songs, based on any random word we threw out. Mountain? "Climb every mountain!" Yellow? "We all live in a yellow submarine!" Yeah. It was awkward.
So we headed to Kohler nonetheless; Heather managing to stop crying only so our three new friends might leave her alone. Halfway through the second tasting, though, I started to feel strange. First I thought I was just full - I ate a small breakfast but last night's dinner and wine selection were surely still in Bodyland. Then I thought maybe I was just going too fast - sniffing the wine too quickly, taking large, careful sips - must be gas piling too quickly in my stomach. Funny how no one else had this problem. By the time we arrived at our third winery in Los Olivos, I felt even worse - my back was hurting - surely from standing up at each bar for so long. And this is when I knew something was not right: I actually stopped drinking.
If you haven't figured it out by now - not from reading this post but from reading this blog over the last year and a half - I like to drink. There's very rarely, if ever, a time that I won't drink, and while it's not necessarily something I'm proud of, it's something I'm keenly aware of and, for the most part, embrace. But I couldn't drink now. The thought of ingesting one more thing - even the finest wines in the region - weirded me out. So I took a break. Uncharacteristic, but we still had the day in front of us, and surely it would pass, I would come in strong for the comeback late in the game - slow but steady, right?
Oh, I was so wrong. We arrived at Bridlewood, the most scenic and historic of all the vineyards, and we were to eat a picnic lunch before the tasting. If there's one thing I do more than drink, it's eat, yet here I had no appetite. At this, I started getting really scared. I can always eat! I thought maybe I was internalizing some of Heather's pain and that was causing me to be too full to drink, but there's always room for lunch in my stomach. But not today. After lunch the group went tasting, and I stayed outside having a minor, personal panic attack, freaking out at the fact that I was missing crucial time with my friends, one of whom was mourning her dog, wondering if I was imaging the whole thing in my head for some personal, need-for-drama reason, but WHY THE HELL DOES MY BACK HURT SO MUCH??? Near tears in my own personal pity party, I contemplated calling home but tried to hold it together for the sake of not having two criers on the Jeep. There's no crying in wine tasting!The final winery was Kalyra - where Miles and Jack meet Sandra Oh in the film - and I didn't even try. I stayed in the Jeep the entire time, shivering in the 75 degree sun and stretching my achy back over the two back seats. To look at me, you'd think, poor drunk girl, can't hold her liquor. To you, I'd say, liquor? I hardly know her! I haven't had a drop in four hours! Beyotch! But I wouldn't have had the strength, so you could have judged me all you want.
By the end of five wineries our companion trio finally ran out of songs, though oddly, not out of energy, and we all arrived back at our hotel at 4 PM on the dot. I tipped the tour guide and counted the steps to the elevator, and the seconds until I could collapse my sad, feverish body into bed.
To be continued...
posted by Lori @ 5:04 PM
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