Where ever the Car Takes Us.

When I was growing up, one of the greatest adventures we could have was to go out for the day for a ride in the car with my mother’s dad. Always some place different, always some thing we hadn’t done before.

And of course, whenever we would ask where we were headed that day, he would always tell us, “the car knows where it’s going.” For a young child, the promise of an unknown adventure was just the thing. Travel down a new road could (and usually did) offer all kinds of rewards. A new place for lunch, a stop at a roadside fruit stand, even ice cream! There where times when I think he was as amused by those days out as we were.

There were all kinds of adventures. A stop at a trout farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains was one occasion. Sure, it was exciting, but when that six-year old puts a hook and a line into the water of a pond, only to be rewarded with a trout on the line moments later, it was pretty neat! That first fishing trip lead to other adventures, such as the casting ponds in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and lunch at the Angler’s Lodge, as he proudly showed off his grandson’s to friends. Later on, some of us even accompanied him on long fishing weekend trips up to Fall River Mills in Shasta County. The Golden Gate Casting and Angling Club had arranged the use of a section of prime trout fishing along the Fall River. Whether trolling from a rowboat or casting from shore, adventure was always there.

One afternoon in particular always comes to mind from those years. We were fishing from a road bridge as the sun set. Now, my grandfather was very proud of his hand tied flies used for fishing. Works of art, they truly were. One in particular he was very proud of was a large back ant. Using that ant, he had hooked into a good sized trout and was giving it all the fight it could handle. At 14 inches, the trout was not giving up easily. He must have spent a good 20 minutes letting the fish run and reeling it back in. It was a moment for the ages. Until the line broke and the trout went free.

I don’t recall my grandfather as an angry man on many occasions. You could annoy him, as kids are want to do, but for the most part, he didn’t display anger often. I recall a few choice words being said, and that we grandchildren were very quiet on the ride back to town. Looking back, it may have been he was angrier about loosing the black ant fly than he was losing the fish.

As we grew older, he discovered another passion. Wine. With a basement at the home in Seacliff that never varied in temperature, it was the idea wine cellar. With California wines coming into their own, he was able to explore vintages by sampling on various trips about Northern California.

A couple of those are notable. The first one was a trip to a railroad museum, east of Fairfield, on State Route 12. We made the trip from Walnut Creek to Fairfield in a little more than 45 minutes, pulling off on eastbound Interstate 80 onto West Texas Street. And almost as soon as we made that turn, we made another sharp turn into a driveway of a house. Now, I had no idea where this detour was taking us, but he certainly did. We ended up downstairs at the house as he tasted the wine. And we left with several gallon jugs of good red wine. Years later, as a volunteer at the same railroad museum. I enjoyed more than a few glasses of the same jug red wine; the product of the Cadenasso Winery in Fairfield. Closed since 1982, it was good enough for my grandfather that first trip and friends, years later.

Another trip took us along the Sacramento River through the Delta, from Walnut Creek. It was a warm summer day when we found ourselves in Clarksburg at another home. This time, it was a tasting room in a converted garage. At the Bogle Vineyards. And as I recall, there were more than a few bottles purchased to make the trip back to San Francisco, with him.

He passed away in November of 1978. And while I didn’t taste a great deal of wine while he was alive, I did pay attention to lessons at the dinner table about what folks were about to enjoy. When it came time to clean out the house in Seacliff, the wine cellar was one of the last parts of the house to be addressed. My grandmother, aunt and mother decided to sell the collected wines together to someone they had known in the area for a number of years. In fact, my mother and aunt had grown up with him. The only proviso was that my mother would be allowed to keep a case of wine from the collection for herself. Being her fathers daughter, she chose well. Almost too well, as the gentleman making the purchase began to object to her choices. “She was taking the best wines!” Of course she was, and informed him that if he didn’t keep quiet, she would take it all.

I can attest that she did pick some of the best wines. We had a selection of them on my 21st birthday, including a stunning Chateau d’Yquem. A trip to Germany in 2001, saw us visit and sample at his favorite German winery, Schloss Johanisberg. We had another for my 50th birthday and most recently for my 60th, an absolutely amazing 1966 Chateau Margaux. It was as close to perfection in a glass as I am ever likely to enjoy. He would be greatly pleased that 46 years later, it was enjoyed as he would have liked to have done when he laid it down.

Recently, I was taken back to that afternoon at Clarksburg many years ago. Buying wine for an upcoming train trip, I picked out four bottles of Bogle’s Old Vine Zinfandel to enjoy. It may not be the equivalent of that 1966 Margaux, but I will indeed raise a glass with a smile to his memory when we open a bottle ad go back to that afternoon when the car knew where we were going…