January 29, 2010

(A note to readers: I originally planned to post a blog entry every night during my trip to Amador, but the Internet service at Cooper Vineyards was down during most of my visit. So, since some of this post was written after my return to Auburn, you’ll find references that may appear to be out of sequence.)

I’ve been thinking, planning, spending, working and scheming to get out here, and it is everything I imagined. . .at least Day One, anyway. The only limitation is time; despite my impression that my sojourns into wine country would be leisurely, it seems as though I’ve had the hammer down since I woke up Thursday morning.

Just packing up Moose, my eight-month old Italian Greyhound, is logistically complex. He’s staying with a co-worker from Carpe Vino while I’m in Amador County, my favorite sub appellation of the Sierra Foothills AVA (www.amadorwine.com). I even made a checklist: Kibble, turkey patties (he sneers at dry food), crate, baby gate, treats, dog bones, toys, leash, harness, jacket and, just in case, a spray bottle of doggie deodorizer.

Before loading my truck, I made an early morning run to Raley’s to get provisions for a dinner I’m planning Friday night with my beloved, Ellen, and our friends from Volcano, CA, Adam and Meg Gottstein. Then, it was back to the house to pack the truck before racing over to Carpe Vino to meet my son, Drew, who had agreed to help me retrieve the Airstream where I have it stored—the KOA campground on Hwy. 49 north of Auburn. 

We hooked up with no issues and I drove back to Old Town to drop Drew and Moose off at the shop. I parked the Airstream in front of the California Club next door, and it shone brilliantly in the early morning sun. . .no matter that much of its luster will not be revealed until I have the aircraft aluminum skin polished to perfection next month. Before heading out on for the first time on the Vintage Highway, I walked up to the Old Town Dessert Café and Reese Browning made me an extra hot latte for the road.

There is no direct route to Amador County from Auburn, about 90 minutes distant. Rather than deal with the twisty challenges of negotiating Highway 49 through the steep drops and climbs of the American River Canyon and the curly cue pavement to Placerville, I opted for a straighter and narrow path. I drove to Folsom, took the new bridge that has supplanted the old Folsom Dam crossing, and then made my way to Route 50 and Latrobe Road where I effectively left suburbia in my rearview mirror. With the Airstream gently bobbing behind me, I relaxed to find myself virtually alone on this comfy country lane. All too soon, though, I was in Plymouth, the tiny foothills town that is the commercial center of Amador’s wine country.

My specific route is of little interest to others, I suspect, but to me, “the getting there,” is half of what compels this trip and all the others I have embarked upon. Even without its vineyards—magnificent at any time of year, including this moment when vines slumber, plunged in the depth of dormancy— Amador’s Shenandoah Valley and its rolling hillsides seduce a seasoned voyager.

My first appointment is at 1 p.m. with Dave Crippen, the winemaker at Renwood Winery on Steiner Rd. From the time I arrive at Cooper Vineyards, the place where I will make my base camp for the next three nights, I have a scant 45 minutes to check in with my hosts, decide on a place to position the Airstream, and then drop it and set up. Fortunately, the two wineries are barely five minutes apart.

My friend and principal contact, Chrissy Cooper, is not at the winery on Thursdays, so I was not surprised when the woman behind the tasting room bar welcomed me as a tourist and presented the wine list. I explained who I was, and while she had a dim awareness that “someone was coming today,” she didn’t have a clue about what to do with me.

Fortunately, the family patriarch and vineyard savant Dick Cooper—resplendent in a classic, black felt cowboy hat—pushed through the massive winery door and greeted me warmly. Though the family planned to have me park my Airstream down by the winery’s new production building, I convinced Dick to allow me to set up right next to the tasting room in a neat little pea gravel parcel adjacent to a handicapped parking space and backed up by a retaining wall. The bonus was this positions the trailer just a matter of feet from a hose bib and electrical outlet. . .everything I needed to operate in comfort. Plus, I wanted the visibility which will be so important in the future as my concept develops legs.

Though I’ve met Dick on just a few occasions, including for an interview for my former newspaper column, I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. Last time we met, we took a short ride on our motorcycles—with Jim and Ryan Taylor of Mt. Vernon Winery in Auburn—before sharing dinner at a restaurant in Plymouth.

If he hadn’t told me, I never would have guessed he is recovered from a serious surgery. He looks great, and he was happy to fulfill my request to get behind the wheel and back my Airstream into its temporary home. I really need to learn how to maneuver this thing, but I just didn’t have time to screw around with the back and forth. Besides, I am one of the few Type “As” who is not afraid to ask for help when overmatched for an assignment. . .admitting to a minor incompetence is less humiliating.

Once in position, I cranked the trailer off of the hitch and disconnected all of the chains and cables; then I placed chocks in front of the trailer wheels. I wasn’t exactly sure if they should go in front of or behind the wheels, but I’m parked on level ground so I was moderately confident the trailer won’t roll away.

Then it was off to Renwood, where I was just 10 minutes late for my meeting. You can read about my visit with Winemaker Dave Crippen and one of the winery’s owners, Rene Smerling, in a separate report.

I returned to Cooper—on Shenandoah School Road—at about 3 p.m. and checked back at the winery to meet Jeri, another daughter of Dick’s who tends to the tasting room, the focal point of this substantial operation of nearly 160 acres. Though we had never met and she was not aware of my specific mission, she was cordial and helpful. Later in the evening, after I returned from a grocery run to Plymouth, she had connected with her father who brought her up to speed. She presented me with a key to the tasting room so I would have access to the rest room overnight.

Thursday afternoon was a lazy one for me. I walked around the estate and took photographs during the “golden hour,” that time just before sunset went the light is perfect and the shadows long. The light’s mellow, amber hues make it the ideal time to shoot vineyards, winery buildings and Airstream trailers.

Since this would be my only night alone in the trailer, I decided to just vedge . I drove the back way to Plymouth—down Shenandoah School Road—past Montevina/Terra d’Oro and C.G. di Arie Vineyard & Winery. The road is uncomfortably narrow with no shoulders, but you are enclosed by vineyards on both sides, making it a beautiful ride.

I was headed for the Pokerville market in Plymouth, with the objective of finding something to grill on my new Coleman Roadtrip portable grill. Before buying a new one, I did a Craigslist search and found one for $85—used just once—what a score.

If any community could benefit from some stimulus money, it is Plymouth. On one hand, you can appreciate the undisturbed nature of the place. But the reality is many buildings are undermined by neglect, not having seen a fresh coat of paint since at least the Eisenhower administration. And it is disturbing to see the conditions in which some people are living. Plymouth is clearly suffering, but its plight probably has little to do with our current economic collapse. Many of the people who live here appear to have been desperate for generations.

Yet the main commercial districts are original and appealing enough, anchored by a couple of truly wonderful businesses. The Vintage Market (9393 Main St., 209-245-3968, www.amadorvintagemarket.com) is an oasis of exceptional deli offerings, wine and old school candy. It is owned by the talented Beth Sogaard, who exploits the spacious commercial kitchen as home base for her catering operation. The structure housing the market has been gently restored, leaving many of the period features intact. During my stay in Amador, I seemed to frequently circle back to the market for espresso drinks and enjoyed a tasty lunch in the dining section. . .which is also home to a compact wine bar.

Directly across the street is Taste, a fine dining restaurant in a beautifully restored building (9402 Main St., 209-245-4782, www.restauranttaste.com), with a fabulous wine list and attentive staff. . .an obvious incongruence based on where it is located. . .but also a streak of brilliance. My beloved, Ellen, and I enjoyed dinner there, so look for more about Taste in a sidebar.

If you love food like I do, the Pokerville Market (18170 State Highway 49, 209-245-6986, no web site) is another welcomed surprise. I’ve visited on several other trips to Amador, and I have always marveled at the quality and quantity of meats, fresh vegetables, cheeses and grocery items—especially for a store in a community as small as Plymouth. What I really appreciate is the wide selection and great pricing of local wines. . .most of the popular Amador wineries are represented in the store.

By the time I returned to Cooper, the sun was disappearing. I parked in front of the Airstream, which looked great docked adjacent to the tasting room, which at one time also functioned as the crush pad, tank room and barrel room. I set up the grill and unpacked a portable fire pit. Then, after preparing lamb chops, Brussels sprouts and a combination of zucchini and yellow squashing with extra virgin olive oil plus salt and pepper, I lit the grill for the first time. Though the light was dim, the lamb was grilled perfectly to medium rare and the vegetables were awesome. I ate alone in the trailer. . .in fact I was alone on the property. I didn’t mind at all; in fact, I enjoy my solitary time because it gives me time to think, especially after a day like my first in Amador.

The chemical log I fired up came to life slowly, but eventually threw off substantial heat. I lit up a cigar and relaxed under what would soon become a full moon. The sky was clogged with stars; the air January crisp.

The only thing missing was silence. . .something that came as a surprise since I was truly alone. From across the highway the piercing baas of a herd of sheep filled the night. And soon enough, wafts of wind transported the accompanying odors of fifty or more adult sheep which refused to settle in for the evening.

A croaking chorus of frogs from a pond below the winery contributed mightily to this nocturnal symphony. It sounded as though 10,000 frogs were warbling simultaneously, putting an end to my plan to hit the sack early. Instead, I inserted my latest Netflix cd into my computer and watched four episodes of 24 before finally dozing off. . .bringing a merciful end to my very first day on the Vintage Highway.