Napa.

Just the name of the place conjures in my mind images of crusty old farts surrounded by snotty, towel-armed sommeliers, sitting in antique chairs, sipping their $100 glasses of grape juice while looking down from their high horses on all the annoying little people.

I love pissing off folks like that, which is half the reason we decided to visit Napa – to crash the party.

Awake early again, Sleeping Beauty and I set off for Napa. We have a reservation on the lunch time wine train. Before we leave Jenner, I made sure to try and get some of the wrinkles out of my best black Old Navy T shirt, and I even wipe some of the mud off my riding boots.

I’m sure I’ll fit right in.

Rain Cloud Follows At the Gates of Wine Heaven

Even though it cost more than a new set of Michelin Pilot Road 2 tires, the whole wine train experience is actually a pleasant surprise. We show up mid-morning at the train station, and they immediately pour some wine to taste. To be honest, drinking wine at 10:30 in the morning wasn’t all that hard from Sleeping Beauty and me. Maybe these wine boobs are on to something.

As we sip our aperitifs, a helpful tour guide tries to point out the finer notes of what we were tasting. “This medium bodied Merlot has hints of blackberries, with subtle undercurrent of citrus and a nice, smoky note. Does anyone else detect that?”

We try, but all we can taste is… wine. I already know I am blessed with a beer and whisky palate. Then again, my idea of a ‘good’ wine is anything that doesn’t come in a box, so maybe I’m not the best judge. This wine thing could take some time to learn. But hey, if they start drinking before noon, I’m game! Let’s get our learn on!

We board the train, and are amazed at the lavish interior. Our dining car is a beautifully restored 1915 Pullman car. Actual sommeliers, sans towels on their arms, come to our table, suggesting excellent food/wine pairings. This is a bit too much for me, and it’s hard for me to keep from laughing at the seriousness the sommeliers display. It probably doesn’t help that we’ve already tasted five different kinds of wine, and haven’t eaten anything all day.

We kindly accept their suggestions, and soon hoist our first of many, many vino toasts to the Best Day Ever.

With a gentle lurch our train departs the station. We sip our wine, trying to detect subtle hints of mocha, tobacco and leather. We keep our snickering to ourselves. We may not exactly fit in, but this is definitely fun.

Lunch is fantastic, complemented beautifully by two glasses apiece of Napa’s finest offerings. We stare out the window at row after row of grape vines in vineyard after vineyard, until the train lurches to a stop and lets us off for our tour of Grgich Hills Winery.

During our one hour tour, I am most amazed at the amount of care – love, even – that goes into growing grapes. Here at Grgich Hills, we learn that they trim all the leaves on the east side of the vine, but don’t trim the west side. This way the grapes get more early morning sunlight, but are protected from the harsher afternoon sun.

Wine – Still On The Vine

Sleeping Beauty’s favorite part of the tour was the wine cellars. The idea of filling her garage with barrel after barrel of Chardonnay had her smiling.

Too bad, babe. The garage is already chock full of motorcycles.

The tour concludes with, you guessed it, even more wine tasting! I’m really starting to get into being a crusty wine snob, though by this time I’m not sure I can even taste the wine, never mind detect subtle essence of elderberries. Interestingly enough, on the train, we sleep the entire ride back. Fortunately we took a cab to the station, by the end of our wine train experience, I’m in NO condition to ride back to the hotel – it’d be an RUI for Frenchy for sure!

Stuff happens the rest of the day, mostly involving wine. And naps. Lots of that stuff that happened is now a happy blur.

Only partly by choice, and partly because we’re completely wined out, we retire for the evening fairly early. Besides, we have plans to get really high early the next morning, and we don’t want to be too hungover.

Our balloon pilot, an almost insanely cheerful woman, rattles off facts about her balloon faster than my early morning, wine soaked mind can comprehend. Fully inflated, we load the basket with four other victims, and with a huge blast of the propane jet, we slowly depart terra firma.

I’m hard to impress, and flying over the beautiful vineyards of the Napa Valley in a hot air balloon was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever done.

Tomorrow, on to other impressive things, as the newest members of Wine Snob Nation leave the civilized refinement of Napa for the wilds of the Oregon Coast.

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