Following our Auberge experience, which was absolutely lovely, we met up with Ian's belle, Kathy. I had met Kathy a few months before for Ians birthday celebration. She had organized a group trip to the Giants/Mets game. It was at this event that the horrifying picture of me becoming one with a hot dog was taken. The event was a rousing success. We hit it off immediately, I found her to be a delight, Im not entirely sure what she saw in me. (my charm, wit, and self-deprecating humor possibly?) It is always a bit worrisome when you meet a good friends significant other. There are few situations more uncomfortable than not liking a best friends girl/boyfriend. Thankfully, this was not at all the case, if anything I think Ian my have been a bit annoyed that I monopolized her time a bit (singing his praises the whole time). I was excited to see her again, and excited to get dinner because, well, dinner excites me. We stopped by her place to pick her up, and I met her beautiful pug Lucy. It was nice to get to know Lucy so it wouldn't be awkward when we were sleeping together on the same couch later that evening. Ian and Kathy were fired up to go to a place called Ubuntu, which is a renowned vegetarian restaurant in Napa. Now I am aggressively omnivorous, I love vegetables but it is very rare that a meal of mine does not integrate the flesh of a once living animal. Usually the meat, or whenever possible, meats, take center stage. The vegetables, though playing an integral role, are supporting actors. Occasionally I allow the vegetables a star turn, often with great results, like Paul Giammatti in Sideways. So I enthusiastically embarked on my first meal at restaurant that did not allow meat. Now, when I say the place is renowned, I am not exaggerating. It has a Michelin Star, and the front window had reviews from the Chronicle of course, but also The Chicago Sun-Times, The Washington Post, and The New York Times, which described it thusly: "Ubuntu is where virtue meets naughty sensuality. It’s the Angelina Jolie of restaurants." High praise indeed. The space is beautifully understated, modern but comfortable. The server was bright and bubbly, if slightly overwrought. We started off with some Almonds, Sea Salted and lavendered up, they were quite tasty. There were some falafel like french fry things, an amazing cauliflower au gratin type thing, probably the best vegetable soup I've ever tasted. The meal was amazing, except for one dish. I found it insulting. (in my inebriated state I imagined the chef creating it as a joke "Apricot Mayo? Sure! Smurf Garden of edible flowers and hazelnut soil? of course! Cheese the consistency and taste of silly puddy? Why not? Have you seen my reviews?" The worst part is that it was the one dish that we got on our waitresses recommendation. "whats your favorite thing on the menu?" "The Smurf Village "(Im paraphrasing) All in all, though, it was a pretty fantastic meal. If the opportunity arises, give it a shot. Its pretty amazing the things they can do with vegetables these days.

Non trip related post

Twas the night for Thanksgiving, and all through the Bay
People were drinking, being merry, being gay
I was gonna give you, another trip post
you'll have to make do with this, Prost!

One of the last pictures taken of me before my trip.
Think about this when your going for thirds tomorrow, I dare you!
Happy Thanksgiving all, be safe.

5. Auberge Encore

After documenting the cocktail and it's surroundings, Ian and I set to catching up. By the time I finished my Gimlet I was bulletproof, and I think I may have been giving Ian a bit more grief than I should have. I've known Ian since I was 11 years old and he has been one of by best friends ever since. He is a great guy, world traveler, bon vivant, and in many ways, possibly more than any other of my friends, a kindred spirit. We went through many of the same things together. We were the weird, funny kids in junior high, we hung out on the outskirts of the cool kids but were never actually cool ourselves. We were straight edge, semi dorks freshman year, I can clearly remember the night at the beginning of sophomore year when we decided together we were going to start drinking and going to parties. We became interesting to girls at the same time (I lost 40lbs between freshman and sophomore year, he lost his glasses and the over the top weirdness, all of a sudden girls approached us, which was good, cause neither of us had the guts to approach them ), sometimes, the same girls, at about the same time. (Not like that you sicko) We were both longhaired hippie Defensive Ends on the J.V. football team Sophomore year, we both went out for the team Senior year, he played the whole season, I lasted three days (got in the way of Nap Time. . . Alright, AOL Chat room time, whatever, don't judge me.). You get the idea, he is as close to a brother as I've ever had, and we've grown apart a bit in recent years. More to the point, he has grown up and changed in a lot of positive ways. I have as well of course, but I've grown into an older, chubbier, more self-confident and self-aware version of my younger self. He has discovered new interests, and abandoned a lot of the old ones which we shared. I still like Phish and Taco Truck, probably as much as I did when I was 16. In fact I wore a pair of pants I've had since high school to a 3 day Phish Festival at the end of this trip.(They used to be WAY too big for me) He doesn't eat meat, wears designer jeans and goes to places that serve 20 dollar Gimlets. I think I may have heckled him a bit too much, it was probably mostly cause I was worried about losing one of my oldest friends. And maybe I was feeling a little fat that day, its really hard to say. The worries were unfounded, and the heckling unnecessary. Im sorry buddy, I had a blast. We were certainly enjoying ourselves when this 2nd pic was taken.

4. Auberge, on a beautiful Napa afternoon.

We left Chandon and went to an even more beautiful Napa Valley locale, Auberge du Soleil. The place is spectacular, a short, meandering drive up a beautiful hillside brings you to the restaurant , which opened in 1981, and the European style Inn which opened 4 years later. The place, though nearing 30 years old, which is ancient in restaurant years, remains chic and modern, with contemporary touches and old world style. Is this a place that I, myself, would go to on my own? Not in a million years, but I'm glad Ian took me there. The view from the terrace was exceptionally beautiful, the service and drinks fantastic, and the company incomparable. I had left my camera in the car, and didn't realize it until after we sat down and ordered drinks. I took the ticket out to the valet and grabbed my camera. On my way in, camera in hand, I explained to the valet that I "had to have a picture of my 20 dollar cocktail". He laughed and shook his head, as did Ian. So here it is, my good friend Ian on the left, the splendor of the Napa Valley unfolding in the background, and a 20 dollar Cucumber Gimlet in the lower right. I do believe it was the most expensive cocktail I had all trip, not surprisingly, it may have also been the best.

3. Chandon, and on, and on.

By the time Ian got back, I had a beautiful buzz and had made myself at home behind the bar with my main man here. (we'll call him chief) Me thinks he may have done his job a bit too well as Ian seemed anxious to get me out of his place of employ as soon as possible upon finishing his duties. This also may have been due in part to another friend of his recently being taken from the grounds in an ambulance after unknowingly partaking in some marijuana cookies at a neighboring vinyard. She lost her cookies, both literally and figuratively, Ian wasn't taking any chances this time. He swooped me up and I left willingly and without incident, although homie did have to remind me that just cause I was holding the wine bottle, that did not make it mine. And here I thought possession was 9/10ths of the law. "Hey, where do you think you are you going with that Pinot?" "Oh, sorry chief" I said as I sheepishly returned him the bottle. Onward and upward!

2. We arrive at Chandon.

After driving my new car off the lot on Saturday night, I left on Monday, June 20th around noon. My original plan had been to head south to Santa Barbara, LA and San Diego. I had planned (very roughly) on my trip being a counter clockwise circumnavigation of the United States, making numerous inroads along the way. A funny thing happened on the way to the forum however. Ian Winget, one of my oldest, dearest friends, and his girlfriend Cathy Shinn invited me to join them in Napa for the evening. I had yet to visit Ian in Napa, even though it had been his home for the past several years. So I ended up scrapping the southern route, crossing the Bay Bridge (78 miles on the odometer) and heading north and east to Napa and Younteville. This was the first of many, many times where I planned on doing one thing and ended up doing something else entirely. Sort of a theme for the trip. I arrived at the Chandon Winery around 2:30ish (I got a bit lost, I was using a Tom Tom I'd bought and for the first little while. . . . To be honest, the first 3 months, I would often pass the turn it wanted me to make, thinking the distance it was reporting and the distance I was seeing didn't jibe. "It must mean the next one, that cant be 300 yards" I would think to myself. . . . . . "At next intersection, turn around" it would respond in a sexy, british accent) The grounds of Chandon are spectacular, It'd be difficult to imagine a more perfect place to start my adventure. I wandered in through the idyllic gardens, ponds and fountains and into the lobby where Ian met me with one of his substantial hugs. He's a big guy and not afraid to express his feelings through hugs. The same could be said of me. It was monumental and I knew immediately I had mad the right decision heading east. He gave me a quick tour of the building, introducing me to a few friends and coworkers before heading back into the bowels of the building to finish his days work. He told his boy here to make sure I was drunk when he got back. He was a really nice guy and did as he was asked. (Ian, can you help me with his name? Corey? Aaron? Chief? I'm pretty sure I called him all three)

1. Some background info before we begin.

This is the very first picture that I took on my trip. In front of Chandon in Younteville, I dug the Monet style pond. (Manet? Gaugin?, I'm pretty sure its Monet)
A little bit of background into the why and how of it. This is something that I have wanted to do as long as I can remember. Two of my favorite childhood memories are of family road trips, one south to L.A. (Disneyland! Woo to the Hoo!) and San Diego ( we stayed on the Queen Mary and at the Hotel Del Coronado, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed wandering the various decks of the enormous luxury liner, and I remember the arcade and the volleyball courts at the Coronado as vividly as if it were yesterday.), and the other north to Oregon (Dune Buggies!), Washington (rain forests and streams we could drink out of!), and Vancouver (Glass bottom boat, catamarns, wax museum, Killer Whales, pretty much everything that my young heart could desire). I hadn't really thought about it until just now but I am sure that these wonderful childhood adventures were the foundation for my insatiable urge to wander the country as an adult. It had been a dream that had always been percolating in the recesses of my mind, but one that that I hadn't thought of in any real sense until about 6 months before I left. My Uncle passed away a few years back and he left me enough money to make the trip feasible. My girlfriend of 4 years (nearly all of which spent living together) and I were having some problems that I had trouble seeing myself get past. I was bored out of my mind at a job I could do in my sleep, (or, more often, do while very drunk). So the plan started forming around November of 2008. Nothing solid, but it was then that it became real to me. It was no longer something that I wanted to do in some far off future, but something that I very well could do, in the fairly near future. By February I had built up the guts to confide in a few friends, (chief among them, one Evan Sutherland, who would go on to be a big part of the trip itself) and by doing so I took another step towards actually taking the plunge. The following month, after I returned home from a golf outing with a friend (one which I won handily, a rare occurrence) my girlfriend broke up with me, very unceremoniously, and there was no longer any question, I would be embarking on my long awaited cross country adventure. (I was a little drunk when she told me it was over, I was upset and emotional by the way it ended. I had a good cry for five or ten minutes before I started laughing, softly at first, hysterically by the end. "Please don't cry, you're just making this harder" soon became "what the hell is so funny you son of a bitch". . . ."I was gonna break up with you, but at least I was gonna take you out to dinner, and wait for our lease to run out!". She didn't really see the humor at first, but she came around.) I spent the next months, living in a 1 bedroom apartment with my now ex-girlfriend, planning my adventure. (there was a 3000 dollar penalty if we broke the lease, we were still friends, neither of us could afford it on our own, it was really our only viable option. Our sex life actually improved the first month or so, it was kinda like we were cheating on each other, with each other. It got a little awkward when she started going on dates during the final few weeks, but all in all, not too bad.) By planning my adventure I mean I bought two books and perused them occasionally. I came up with a basic outline of my route, and would have the books with me to examine as needed. This was to be an adventure, and I didn't want it to be overly thought out. I suppose a lot of adventurers have died due to that line of thinking, but why don't you mind your own business Captain Buzzkill? By the end of May I had quit my job, moved out of my place, she had my cats, my uncle was still dead, and I found myself in the unique position of having financial means and total lack of responsibility necessary to go on an outlandishly long, haphazardly planned, road trip accross America.