Pilot Mountain

We left the home parked at the winery by prior agreement between my sister-in-law and the winery with whom she has  a more than passing acquaintance. Instead we took a day long ride in their Toyota Prius a vehicle in which I have never previously spent a day riding around aboard so it was an instructive day. Our target was the rocky pimple you see below called Pilot Mountain.

Before the mountain there was the river to cross, a river of wine in this case. Yadkin Valley is home to numerous wineries many of them advertised alongside the freeways that cross the area. The notion that wine can only be produced in California, Oregon and Washington  is long out of date and we have stopped by vineyards in Texas, Vermont, and New York and places I can't even remember off the top of my head.

Geeta and Bob are avid oenophiles and they study the form like baseball addicts. Like most things in my life I know what I like even if I'm not sure why and with wine, or beer, I seek out that which makes me happy. A puckered tongue, a bitter taste or similar does nothing for me. I know how to do the wine tasting nonsense of swirling and looking for legs and measuring sugar and all that stuff. In the end it's the taste that works for me.

After all that talk about plonk much of which actually tasted really good, we moved on to the main event which was lunch at the winery's restaurant. Lucky I was not to be driving as we had a bottle of white to deal with alongside the rather delicious food. Crab dip:

The fussier members of the team wondered why it was served with tortilla chips but I was too busy shoveling to worry about such niceties. It was excellent. My main course looked like this:

A delicious salad on top with a spicy oil and vinegar dressing and chunks of beef underneath with mushroom risotto at the bottom. It was   a really good lunch and I scraped the plate. Geeta and Bob belong to the denial brigade modestly averting their eyes from the dessert menu but Layne and I were made of sterner stuff and ordered four spoons with chocolate brownies and a lemon cake. Guess what? Even the deniers dug in.

Then the serious business of going for a walk. Check out these woods which have delayed changing color this year expressly to celebrate our retirement. Ask me later if I miss work or wish I could answer just one more 911 call.

The parking lot at Pilot Mountain had the usual smart aleck remarks on signboards everywhere for the less bright among us. I told Rusty it was lucky they had put this sign here else he would have gone overboard but he ignored me and declined to give me the subservience to which I am not accustomed.

Bob, stuffed full of fried goat cheese salad and brownie looked over the side and remarked it didn't look the least bit like the Bordeaux wine growing region of France, his latest craze, which was such a non sequitur I asked if it vaguely resembled Mexico? As usual my joke missed the mark. Mexico is next on my list of places to visit, where incidentally they also grow wine. We shall taste it and pronounce on its oak in the nose and sugar content, or something.

The mountain is 2400 feet tall and climbers like to haul themselves up the Knob, a rather rude nickname for the big pinnacle. Ordinary people  who fear falling off cliffs get to stumble unhandily up to the smaller pinnacle and admire the rugged emptiness of the big Knob covered with trees and apparently highly attractive to turkey vultures.

The colors are nice on the little pinnacle and the views splendid whatever they lack compared to Bordeaux.

My wingspan is five foot six with arms splayed so not too well do I compare especially as I have to walk everywhere.

Walking around here is actually a tad bit tricky if you aren't Rusty who leaped like the proverbial mountain goat. The trail is a winding path through rock formations which create natural steps which unfortunately aren't accurately measured to take into account the average length of the human stride.

The result is a walk that is half scramble, half shuffle and always looking where you put your feet as the surface is never flat and smooth, at least it wasn't where I followed Rusty's leash.

I was relieved to see some few people found love here. Apparently it was a place occupied by the unknown-to-me Saura Indian tribe before the rest of the world dropped in. They are a confusing bunch as they are most commonly known as Cheraw and they had their first contact with Hernando de Soto in 1540. He was the explorer who landed in Bradenton more or less, near Tampa and created his own brand of havoc thereafter. Wikipedia says the Saura/Cheraw have essentially been wiped out which may explain why I've never heard of them. They are now reduced to the status of "remnant people" which sounds desperately sad. 

The little pinnacle was filled with people and I was reminded how when Americans look at a dog they wonder about the breed for reasons not known to me. Even more mysterious are Mexicans who want to know the gender. Apparently dog penises are invisible to them. Anyway the answer is "Macho" for male (and you thought it meant something else), and "Embra" for female (which you also thought in English meant something else). If they are going to get personal with Rusty I add they he lacks balls (falta las pelotas) so they know the full story. Rusty doesn't seem to mind. He'd better get used to it where we're going. The other question they ask is if he's "bravo" which in Italian means good. In Spanish it means fierce which has led to some amusing (to me) misunderstandings as Mexicans leapt for the lamp posts when I smiled and said yes, he is fierce. Oops.

The scraggly trees in the distance marked the Knob (not Rusty's). It looked a rather arid destination to climb  but climbers are weird.

In places not known to him Rusty is not of the explorer caliber of Hernan de Soto and prefers to stick close to the known and familiar. Me? I'm ready to wander off down any old trail but he prefers parking lots, outhouses and dumpsters. Lucky me.

They even have a kids program along one trail which I figured couldn't be too arduous for my outdoor dog but he declined and sat on the spot just like Track, until I gave up.

Then we did some people watching. Very companionable. A pretty good day and we had frost to investigate for the first time the next morning. Oh and I dropped my driver's license in Elkin. The day was not over...

Crossing The Carolinas

I have to confess I should have got up when I woke up yesterday and sat like a disciplined little essayist at my desk aboard GANNET2 and started typing. Instead I pulled the bed clothes up a little tighter to my chin and stayed where I was warm.  Rusty, the 5 am alarm clock wasn’t going anywhere, he stayed curled up next to me, if not sleeping then pretending total exhaustion.

We left the campground mid morning and took off for a winery some four hours away in the Yadkin Valley of North Carolina, the wine growing equivalent to the Napa Valley. To get there we started out avoiding freeways and taking South Carolina backroads to Gaffney home to a truck stop. Exciting eh? Everyone in vans  loves gyms and truck stops for a reason as we shall see. 

On the way we came across a traffic jam. Chaos.  Well, not really, as everyone kept their heads and figured out what to do as they waited for the tow truck…No cops, no flags no stress. The Prime truck had tried to take the corner and failed as it was just too tight and his trailer tires slipped into the ditch and would only come out with help. The logging trucks took turns with oncoming traffic one by one and when our turn came we followed the blue Google line to the right and off we went.  Five minute delay. Easy. The no stress accident. 

Why the truck stop? Because it was 55 degrees out and no way were we deploying the solar shower! For thirteen dollars we shared a shower and it was excellent.  The shower was clean the towels were thick and fluffy and now you know why we enjoy showering on the road with truckers. Anyone is welcome to use them no matter what you drive.  Gyms aren’t good for us yet as long as Layne has auto-immune issues in the pandemic but gym showers are another popular way to stay clean when wipes have outlived their cleanliness. That hot shower feeling!

After the Pilot truck stop we took I-77 past Charlotte to the Yadkin Valley and the winery selected by my sister-in-law.  It was perfect, a building on a hill with a gorgeous view to the Blue Ridge mountains to the north, no neighbors, clear skies and silence. 

A weekday parking spot just for us and the offer of two nights at what is in reality a harvest host stop. We had a wine tasting, then bought some wine. The place was ours for the night.

Rusty was free to wander at will and he did, nose down crossing the fields with me in distant attendance. Full sized white tailed deer popped out of the woods to graze at dusk and he watched  in fascination.

The deer are a problem for anyone growing what they view as food so the winery uses electric fences which Rusty seemed to recognize as he avoided it without getting a shock much to my relief.

For some reason the fall foliage is holding on later than usual this year according to our relatives and the colors are superb.

We broke out our puffy jackets.  We have a few days in North Carolina then we drive north to Rock Island and Chicago where temperatures are supposed to be what they are now here. The next test is our electric heater which we will try out and report back.  Our bed is warm and comfortable and made by RV Superbag, a kind of well built sleeping back with proper sheets. The van is well insulated so with fifteen minutes of engine heater we have a livable environment when it’s 40 degrees outside with our windows sealed with insulated covers. It’s actually quite snug. Rusty sleeps comfortably judging by the snores.

My in laws brought chicken to their hotel room and took us to a drive through for fries at McDonalds. This probably doesn’t sound so very radical to you but you have to understand my sister in law and her husband have followed an alternative path through life being annoyingly woke before woke was a phrase in common use. Age brings wisdom and who doesn’t like fries with that? I sure do as did the other old age pensioners in the Prius. I would never have believed it but here’s Bob, proof positive he was in line at a major corporate fast food restaurant overcoming a lifetime of rejection of fast food. 

Dinner was delicious and I scarfed my fries with chicken and wine and got a ride back to the winery for the night. This was where we did the tasting, ate cheese and crackers and caught up with the winemaker in attendance. It was all very decadent. I said to Layne “How long have we been on the road?” Nine days she said. “Oh,” I said, “about half a usual vacation…”  Imagine that and here we are, still going strong!

Wine tasting without driving.  Excellent retirement practice, and I recommend it. Cold yes but out of season means not many people. Thumbs up and bring your puffy jacket as you’ll need it.

North Carolina Wine Country

There  was  a time in my young life when I  used to marvel that there were wineries outside the fabled grape fields of Northern California's fabled Napa and Sonoma Counties, and less fabled Santa Cruz and Monterey Counties. Since those naïve days I have come to understand that grape growing goes on everywhere in this amazingly diverse country and excellent wines are being produced all over the place. If you have been reading this blog for a while you will have read of wines tasted everywhere from New Mexico to Virginia, and also previously here in the Yadkin Valley of North Carolina. 

Today is Bastille Day in France, that country which prides itself on producing the best and most famous wines in the world, so I suppose that today when the fall of the infamous prison is celebrated it is a good day to celebrate the wines of North Carolina, an up and coming source of the grape.

We left Geeta and Bob's home in Celo, near Burnsville, in two cars and made our way across the state for an hour or more winding down the foothills and away from the incessant rain for a little while. Cheyenne is not much of a wine drinker but she likes grass and vineyards have grass so this was for her a last day in the cooler air Up North before my wife and I started our two day trek back to South Florida. Cheyenne enjoyed her time in the cooler air Up North and I was glad of her company for she is the quintessential Good Dog, always patient and no trouble at all. I never cease to be amazed by the callous fools who dumped her at the pound.

Geeta had planned a very military  circling maneuver around the Yadkin area taking in five of her favorite wineries. That was quite a feat as there are 43 such wine makers listed in North Carolina and they are scattered across miles of rolling hills. My brother-in-law Bob pointed out this wine making region is far less compact than Napa Valley.  

Stony Knoll is a smaller operation much revered by Geeta and Bob who take pleasure in talking to the owners and discussing wines in dizzying depth and detail. My style of tasting is to belly up to the bar, figure what I like, order a few bottles and move on. Its a bit the way I do all my shopping. All this "hail fellow  well met!" stuff is for the birds...

My wife and I had pretty much run our wine cooler dry so we were looking for decent modestly priced reds and a few whites to get us back on track. we like wine with a meal every now and again and we enjoy opening a bottle that reminds us of an occasion or place. It's easy enough to get decent wine at the supermarket (in Florida, some states have old fashioned bans on "liquor" in supermarkets!)  but opening a bottle with a memory attached adds to the pleasure. We got a mixed case of this lot most of them with prices around twelve bucks.

The nattering went on for a while. The owner was actually quite interesting. He got a career in banking "Nothing more boring than approving loans," he said while he ached to return to his native land.  Instead of growing tobacco as used to be the norm around here he got into wine making which he loves. He has a real businessman's instinct, pricing his small vineyard correctly and working on the quality of his wines. Bob loves this place and he has a good nose for wine.

The light was crappy and I hate taking pictures of people as poses look so stiff but here he is, Van Coe running his place, Stony Knoll.

Outside the storm clouds were barely visible in the distance as Cheyenne, my wife and I took in some fresh country air and marveled at the greenery. You do get to miss this stuff sometimes when surrounded by salt water and mangroves,  amber waves of grain are hard to come by in  the Keys:

 From Stony Knoll our precise itinerary landed us here for lunch:

This bottle of white came in at $24 so we treated ourselves for lunch as they charge tasting room prices in the restaurant but we didn't take any of their wine home.

As usual Geeta was making friends with the help and apparently the old chef at the winery had gone since their last visit so we were waiting to see what the new man could whip up.

The dining room was quite busy and no surprise as this was the day after the Fourth and the holiday mood was upon a nation not used to taking an extra day when the holiday falls on a Thursday. I am not much of an adherent to the puritan work ethic as advertised by corporate America (hence this weeks' vacation!) but I am not in the majority on that. I like my time off and away from even thinking about 911 calls. this was a great way to do that.

Fried artichokes were not enticing to me on the menu but they were amazing. Crispy batter filled with flavor and I couldn't get enough of them.

Geeta hovered over the crab and shrimp dip which was also perfectly delicious without being salty. Naturally I dived into the friend green tomatoes and they were  a horrid disappointment. Sliced thick and with flavor-free coating it  was  odd considering how  good the other appetizers were..

The dining room is built with timber harvested at the vineyard and it imparts the air of dining in a Viking hall which is okay, especially when the risotto main dish my wife and I shared was perfect. I forgave them the fried tomato fiasco and took another glass of wine while checking out the joinerwork.

I went out to take a walk while the others tasted the plonk, but my dog was tired already and had no desire to get out of the car so I deployed my Kermit chair and took twenty winks in the shade of the magnificent oak trees. This was turning into a splendid end of vacation tour.

This lot call themselves "Chianti in the Carolinas" and  Raffaldini is my brother-in-law's favorite. Certainly the place looks lovely and all Italian and everything but there is something rather over the top about the forced Italian-ness of the place. 

The landscaping is lovely, the vioews are tremendous as the winery sits on a slight hill overlooking an endless valley...

...and the winery  takes advantage of their excellent location to put on a show. I saw a calendar of events and they celebrate Italian food and wine in the italian-American way with pizza and sausage and funicoli music and tarantella dancing and all the sort of folksy stuff that makes my skin crawl. we sat out for a while and lsitened to the jazz duo inbetween wine tasting.

I played with my camera for a while and fiddled with the settings. Bob bought an ice cream, hereabouts called a gelato to stsay in keeping with the theme and we admired the scenery.

I guess the wine is good if it gets Bob's seal of approval. I left the tasting to my wife who made the decision that the wines were too expensive to be worth buying especially as we had one more winery to visit before we split. One more...and we had only seen five out of 43...I was flagging. 

Dobbins Creek was more my speed. Here we found a building at the end of a dirt road on a little knoll and there were no signs forbidding walking here or there as the Raffaldini crowd likes to do. We could walk on the grass cheyenne and I so we did and we inspected the grapes and admired the view after we ambled down a quiet lane through the fields. Sometimes I need peace and quiet to recharge my internal batteries.

Cheyenne was a good companion, wandering with me almost as though she had figured her mountain vacation was about to end and she wanted tot ake advantage of every minute. Perhaps she was just sick of the car.

I liked the winery, unpretentious and quiet, so much so a visitor had bought a glass of wine and was sitting on the proch reading a Ken Follett novel, and he even admitted to not minding my dog who sniffed his ankles and curled up next to his chair, not mine! 

Bob and Geeta struck a gothic pose and tasting began.

My wife liked these wines so much she inveigled me into giving my seal of approval to a few of them and we ended up taking half a case home. Thats part of the fun of travel by car instead of travel by plane- you can load the trunk at will with no interference from anyone least of all "security" inspections. 

The owner was happy to chat and so I listened as he told Bob about his encounter with a california wine writer who was astonished by the quality of wines not originating in California. The vintner told his story with some quiet pride and Bob got all North Carolina proud in turn as he listened to his adopted home state get the kudos.

It was agood last stop as the Geeta pulled out picnic fixings and we sat on the porch unmolested and wathced a storm brew to the south of us. Clearly it was headed our way and though the owner who by now had gone home, had invited us to stay as long as we liked, it was obvious it was time to go.

I could have stayed for quite a while longer. Cheyenne had had her water and was quite content to sit as was I, feet up, idly listening to conversation that boded the end of our North Carolina vacation.

As the big cold drops of water splattered we ran for our cars, the Prius returned to the mountains and more rain while we headed south on I-77 for a night in Columbia, the capital of South Carolina and then on home to south Florida. Loaded with wine.