This story first appeared in The Province.
It’s early for a Sunday. At least it’s early for me on a Sunday. But I can’t think of a better time for a quiet bike ride through Sonoma wine country so I pull a bike out of the rack in front of the H2 Hotel Healdsburg, put my camera in the front basket and head out for a 12-mile journey through Dry Creek Valley.
My map, which isn’t more than a sheet of office paper printed by the front desk staff, crinkles in my hand as I pedal along the sidewalk that flanks Healdsburg Avenue. I pass the Hand Fan Museum, a one-room shop covered floor-to-ceiling with fans from the last century and handwritten anecdotes posted beside them, and head in the direction of the Singletree Café, a roadside diner that serves up excellent breakfast burritos to patrons who sit on plastic booths repaired with Duct tape. The café is a throwback to the way I imagine Healdsburg used to look when it was just a cluster of buildings along the highway. These days, it’s a town where even grocery stores recommend wine pairings with their sandwiches.
I turn west, over the railway tracks, under an overpass and across a bridge. A minute later I’m out of town, in the heart of wine country. There are few cars on the road at this time so it’s just me, the rising sun and acres of grape vines, edged in rose bushes.
The wineries here are small and peppered between beautiful estates. In front of one home an American flag flaps in the breeze, while across the street a hand-painted sign offers “Eggs 4 Sale”. If I had a kitchen I would pick up a dozen. Instead, I continue down the road and round a bend where I’m beckoned by the stately Dry Creek Vineyard, which is just opening up for the morning. I lock up my bike and head into their tasting room where I’m greeted by three chipper staffers. As one pours me a glass of dry chenin blanc, she explains which fruit notes I should be looking for, what type of finish I can expect. Since my palette is as delicate as a hammer, I taste only wine, but still, it’s fun to sniff and swirl and savour and pretend I have a clue what I’m doing.
As I head back toward town, a rack in front of Yasuko Kimonos on Healdsburg Avenue catches my eye. I thrust out my bike’s kickstand and pop inside only to emerge a few moments later with a printed steel-blue kimono. It’s the last souvenir I’d expect to find on a bike ride through wine country, but I’m thrilled.
Back on my two-wheeler I cross diagonally through Healdsburg’s heavily treed town square to Oakville Grocery Co. There, I order a smoked turkey and brie sandwich, which is, according to the sandwich board, best paired with a glass of zinfandel.
