Somewhere north of San Francisco, 2008;

We were just outside of San Francisco, traveling at high speed in a big red convertible on the edge of the vineyards when the drugs took hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit light-headed, maybe you should drive." I looked over at my project manager, who was now pouring beer on himself to facilitate the tanning process. I figured the poor bastard had just given up, and was no longer worried about the hippies, lulled into a false sense of security by the perfect rythm of the vineyards as they passed. I wasn't going to flinch, I was keeping a sharp eye open for hippies. We have no use for their type today, they will only delay our trip with their babble about saving some bug or tree or something else for no reason based in scientific fact. I'd saved a stack of "The Watchtower" magazine I found outside the door of the hotel earlier in the day, and I planned to hand them out to the dirty hippies if they assaulted us. I'd put my arm around those stinky bastards and explain my mission to save their souls in a deep, and almost aggressive manner. I'd stare them down and use Jesus Christ and the rumor of a limited supply tofu in heaven to terrify them. I'd be visibly sweating by this time, letting the water drip behind my wraparound sunglasses, but not acknowledging that it was happening. I'd still be staring them in the eyes, looking over the top of my sunglasses. All the time while my shirt darkened with the wetness of intense perspiration. Did I just think that? Enough, we were moving far to fast at this point for the hippies to be a factor. Even if one ran into the road like a crazed squirrel, I'd stay my course and do the global gene-pool a favor. We were on a mission, and it was like old times again, only this was a bit different from Miami in the early 90's.

Too bad we didn't have a convertible, or even any drugs, but we were going to make the best of this road trip to the strange and terrible place known as Sonoma County, CA. The availability of any dangerous chemicals or hallucinogens has really changed in Northern California in the past thirty years, and we were forced to binge on spring water and bags of trail mix. Not exactly the same feeling, but we can still imagine a time when you could go up on the mountains near here and see where the wave of enlightenment washed over the nation, starting right here at the intersection of Haight and Ashbury streets in downtown San Francisco, sometime in the early sixties.

We had left the Golden Gate Bridge and hiked through Muir Woods. After hiking a few miles through the giant redwoods, we were all beat, like a road-killed cat. Julio was sleeping in the back seat with James not clearly grasping consciousness either. Gerardo was in the passenger seat navigating, as well as making suggestions to improve my driving. I wasn't listening, and was focused on the vineyards in the distance. This Sonoma County California, and the focus of this area is on dairy farming with happy cows, and the production of copious amounts of alcoholic beverage. The well known beverage of choice here is wine, but we were making the hour-long drive north for beer.

Russian River Brewing is rated as one of the top craft breweries in the USA, and the world. Their owner and brewmaster, Vinny, creates some truly incredible brews, including some barrel-aged selections, two of which we were able to get samples of on our visit. Here is a list of the beers we were able to taste:

Aud Blonde, Dead Leaf Green English Ale, OVL Stout on Nitrogen, Blind Pig IPA, Pliny the Elder IPA, Little White Lie Belgian White, Damnation Strong Begian Ale, Perdition Biere de Sonoma, Salvation Strong Dark Ale, Supplication aged in Pinot barrels.

I've been to many, many breweries and I have to say that Russian River is remarkable. I have never sat down with a sampler and been so impressed with each selection as I was there at Russian River. Everything we tasted was dynamic, and had a unique personality. Even the more common beers were something to be enjoyed. At times I have visited brewpub after brewpub, only to find that they might have a single shining star of a beer, and many dogs. In the case of Russian River, their cellar is full of stars, and I mean really, truly remarkable brews.

I'm not a BJCP certified beer judge, or even an expert, but I know what my senses tell me after so many years of beer travel. This place is special, and worth the drive if ever possible.

As I zoomed in on my mapping program on the laptop, a road appeared that was not visible when viewing at a normal resolution setting. I figured it might be a logging road, but worth a look since we were sitting a few miles south on the California coast at Stinson Beach, just outside of Muir Woods. The road was called Fairfax/Bolinas Rd, and it was so small and obscured by brush that we drove right by it the first time. We finally felt that we drove too far, and turned around near a place called "Dogtown" per a wooden sign on the side of the road. Once we found the road it did look like a logging road, but there was at least pavement. We entered and passed a gate, thinking we might be on a private road. We started up the mountains and away from the coast, all the time getting a bettter view of the Pacific Ocean behind us. The road was narrow, about one lane, but basically paved. Out of nowhere, a VW mini-bus zoomed around the corner ahead of us and zoomed past. It was painted like a hippie bus from the 60's. Seriously, it was, and that cold feeling went down my spine. The feeling that told me we might be driving right into the heart of the Northern California Hippe Leftist campsite.

The next day we woke up and went to breakfast at Don Taylor's Omelette Express. This is a family owned place that serves some great food. It is along 4th, which also has a great number of statues of the Peanuts characters. Santa Rosa was of course the home to Charles Schultz, the creator of the Peanuts comic strip.