Day 11 - Towards Ukiah
The gates at Dancing Crow Vineyard
Heading north towards my next destination and the sun and my smile are beaming because I'm looking forward to going a little bit rural.
I'll be staying for the next three days in Ukiah, which is almost as far north as I'm travelling on this trip, and as I leave Sonoma, I pass by Jim Rickard's place, where I give a wave of thanks for his company yesterday (the interview will be featured in the next edition).
Up in Mendocino there's a feeling of space, of land that fights back if you don't treat it with respect, and of a wine country that feels how it used to be down the road in Napa and Sonoma.
A lot of the folks I meet are people who have come here to escape the rat-race of somewhere else too noisy. It feels like the sort of place where hippies arrived in the late sixties to get away from 'The Man' before discovering they could make a ton of cash from city slickers who want that same dream, but only for a weekend. Yes, it’s paradise, and I love it.
All roads lead somewhere
Before anything else, I'm here to meet Katrina, the owner of Frey (pronounced Fry as she gently admonishes me when I get it wrong) Vineyard.
We shake hands and she gives me the lightest, most infectious laugh and smile, and I'm immediately enchanted by a lady who came here via somewhere else to do something entirely different from what she originally intended (interview next). Yes it's a common tale up here, but before all this there's a problem.
On the way here, the address my sat-nav had ordered me to go to seems empty and I find myself in a thick, deserted wood with a lone cabin and a few discarded buildings. It resembles one of those film sets where a selection of arrogant youths are finished off by a lone crazy. No matter how blasé I act, calmness refuses to descend.
A young man with a lived-in beard and an enquiring look appears, and I'm about to scream until he patiently tells me that though this is part of Frey Vineyards, it is no longer in use since it was ravaged by fire. With his help I’m on my way and starting to regulate my panicky breathing. I knew I was okay all along!
I break speed limits getting to the correct location, and the warmest of welcomes from Katrina with her steely voice that is full of sound observations about her life, and plans for the future at Frey.
Outside of a new, unfinished, facility she tells me about the evening when old location was ravaged by fire so quickly that she only had half an hour to evacuate before it came and took most of what she’d taken an age to build up (part of that half hour was spent waking up her boys).
This new place is in the process of being built, and the unfinished tasting room offers the promise of somewhere special you'll want to visit, and I know that I’ll have to come back to see these dreams realised.
Outside the new tasting room at Frey
After too short a time I have to leave because my schedule is crowded and other locations have got to be sought out. There are times when you know that you're never going to have enough time. Moments when you wish you'd have added a suitable amount of time to your visit. In this case, six months might have be just about enough.
I head towards the quiet city of Ukiah. When one usually hears of a small American city being called 'quiet' it often implies a hot-bed of something, or is that just me?
Truth be told, it's a place for working stiffs who live in a beautiful location and know it, while wondering why we're not all moving up here.
With a quick check to find my motel for the next three nights, I continue south to Hopland and a meeting with old friend Paula Salmonte, who has arranged to meet at the exotically named Dancing Crow Vineyard.
Chatting to the wonderful Tony and Sarah
I've known her for a few years now and we bonded over a love of the Simaine Winery. The winery's now closed, but our friendship has continued, and I'm so looking forward to meeting her, and another friend called Karen, and catching up on the gossip, because these two have kept me informed about all things Ukiah since I last visited.
Dancing Crow Vineyard cannot be missed as you head north on the 101, and it's big red barn easily attracts attention, and is the sort of place you want to visit to see what it's all about.
I park the motor and see hardly any cars around and wonder if anything actually goes on around here. I also wonder if I might have got the time, week or month wrong, but you're never at a loss when there's a vineyard to explore.
The grounds are set out as though a picnic is about to take place, and white tables and chairs are placed on a lawn in the shadow of a wonderfully sculptured gazebo that psychologically orders you to stay for a while and pull up a chair.
Wandering inside the tasting room I find a graciously kind lady ready to pour wines and a man who fusses over the bottles as though they're his children. I'm guessing that he must be somebody important around here.
The lady informs me that I've arrived about half an hour too early. This is just enough time to look about, get my bearings and chat to the pair behind the tasting bar.
She tells me a little of the winery's history before the man is revealed to be Scott the winemaker. A man with an incredible wine philosophy. Talking to him I've already decided that a return visit and interview is a must, if time allow (interview to follow).
I sit down and nurse a glass of something while I'm waiting for Paula and Karen to turn up. Suddenly, I'm joined by a couple of fun types who turn out to be Tony and Sarah, who actually own the place. By the end of the next half hour I'm so glad that I came here, feel like I've know Tony for decades, and could listen to Sarah talk all day.
Tony is a Brit from Hampstead who is charming, fun and such great company that once again I feel short-changed when he has to go just as the party is starting.
He tells me that Sarah (his wife) is Napa royalty and has tales to tell of days before truck loads of money poured in and some of the heart poured out. She's been in Napa since about 1960 when her father, an architect of repute helped design and build some of those iconic structures that line the roads of the 29 and the Silverado trail. We're talking about places like Robert Mondavi in case you're wondering, but you'll be hearing more from her in this and the next edition.
The Dancing Crow Barrel Room
They are amazing, and have the energy of a couple of whirling dervishes. Their approach to life is to make you feel as though you've known them forever, and I can more than testify that it works, in fact I regret that I’ve not known them for all my life because of their joyous enthusiasm, tales of the past and interest in other people.
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Paula and Karen arrive with a whole posse of charming people who are here to celebrate Karen and her husband's anniversary, and I’m honoured to be included as sumptuous food is unwrapped, exciting wine is delivered to my table and easy conversations flow by like a mellow river.
These people also form an intrinsic part of a fan club for Simiane Winery and Victor, the former owner and winemaker. It's a place that is no more, but that used to make wine of such depth and heritage that I labelled Victor as the heart of California winemaking on a previous visit. From the love and enthusiasm coming from this collection of people I can see that I'm not the only one.
Unfortunately Tony and Sarah, my new best friends, have to go, and with a promise of a future meeting we part, them to their place in St. Helena, and me to enjoy Paula (a musician of repute) playing piano in the calm of the Dancing Crow tasting room as wine continues to flow, a tasty cake is devoured, celebrations are offered, and memories of Victor and Simiane are mulled over.
The shame for me, apart from Tony and Sarah’s departure, is that Victor, the maker of one of my all time favourite wines (Simiane Sangiovese) cannot be here, but I'm assured that there's a possibility of meeting him on Sunday. That’s great because we have a little catching up to do, and I'm formulating a story that I very much want him to be a part of. Still, it just means I’ve got more time to enjoy the company of this wonderful collection of people who are never far from laughing and finding ways to celebrate life.
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Without warning there are copies of my books produced for signing, and this party turns into a miniature book signing. I am so humbled by the sheer kindness of these people that I would sign the books they offer for hour after hour.
All too soon it ends and I head to the edges of Ukiah, briefly stopping to sample a Mexican meal that describes itself as the best around, but is awful and tastes of fat, grease, and little else.
Beer seems to be the only antidote that keeps me from being sick. As a lover of Mexican food I'm now rather worried if I'll ever eat a good plate of enchiladas again.
I revisit for another mouthful, but my face contorts and the food is quickly left before I head to the other side of Ukiah (not too much of a drive) and my motel.
It's bigger than I thought it would be (the motel and not Ukiah) but the decor makes it look like a room stuck in the seventies and unwilling to let that decade go. The bed is so hard it would put a bed of nails to shame, and there's a smell of must that reminds me of a date with Miss Haversham.
After such a warm welcome to the area, an easy-going assortment of chatter, and the excitement of what's to come, I feel as though I've washed up in Hotel California lite!
The evening brings a sense of renewal as I take a couple of beers at the Ukiah Brewing Company, which is a great place to delve into the local beer scene (which is more lively than a room full of pensioners on viagra) while stuffing my face full of a tasty pizza. After the awful Mexican sacrifice at lunchtime and a motel that is so tasteless Norman Bates would have disowned it, I might be back on track. Ukiah has been like a sandwich with two excellent pieces of bread and a worrying piece of something Tex-Mex in the middle.