Wine and Whining

I had the pleasure of hosting a fundraising wine tasting with the wonderful people at Prospero Winery. They took care of everything: the tour, tasting reds, whites, blends, and later on, dessert wines, not to mention the food (which was excellent), and everything went off without a hitch. We had a headcount of 20 people, netting us $500.00

A crucial part of the wine tasting was the raffle, and to say we had a ton to give away is not an exaggeration. My uncle Jim mobilized the Pleasantville Flemings into an army of raffle prize gatherers. We had books, haircuts, oil changes, pizzas, skin care products, dry cleaning, I don’t think that there was a business that we didn’t have represented at the raffle, barring the tattoo parlor, not for lack of trying from the indefatigable Uncle Jim. Thanks to their efforts and every one that was so generous buying tickets, we netted more than $1,200.

And my brother’s skills at bringing the lovable Hoser to market wine also needs its due. Ryan did a great job and Hoser Estate is a big hit. The net from Hoser sales to date: more than $750.00. For those that are still interested in getting a Hoser for their wine fridge, they are still available ($20 for a bottle, $15 a bottle if you get a case). Just let me know.

Grand total: $2,603.29

Does that get me to my goal of $5,000. Drum roll, please…No. It doesn’t. I am about $1,500 shy.

So, I have a cocktail party in Jersey City with Dawn and Eve on the 20th of May, and a date to spin in front of the Hoboken ShopRite earlier that day. And more good news: Jessie has graciously agreed to pitch in for a bake sale-type event at my hometown parish of St. Francis.

So, that’s the wine. Let’s get to the whining.

Since I had the wine tasting on Saturday, I had to do that day’s training today, by myself. 63 miles. And I wasn’t looking forward to it. Jenn G forewarned me, saying she was wiped, and she’s in shape and 10 years younger than I am.

Sunday’s weather was accommodating. The sun poked out from the clouds towards the tail end of the ride, allowing me to peel off my sweaty arm and leg warmers. But the wind was a real buzz kill. Any good hill I would get hit head on by an unrelenting gust of wind, or worse, I would cause the chain to fall off my bike. I did that three times. And when you clean your bike with the infrequency that I do, getting the chain back on is a black, smudgy, gritty mess of an endeavor. Man, I hate when I do that.

I know I’ve been dancing around the subject, and you’re all chomping at the bit, wondering “But did Eric miss a turn and get horribly lost??!” Sorry to disappoint. Apparently, my brand of idiocy can only really reach its maximum efficacy in the company of other big idiots. But I did miss a couple of turns, so you got me there. But in my defense, one was marked a “left” when it was clearly a right, one sign was really hidden and there was one turn onto “Lebanon St.” when the road’s actual name was “Stanton Mountain Rd.” But the two are so similar, an honest mistake, clearly. Or maybe a typo. Each error took me off course just a few yards, that’s my story and I am sticking to it. Nobody was there, so I can make up whatever I want. So there.

Now, when I had about 20 miles to go, I decided the coffee, two apple-cranberry-walnut health cookies and three-quarters of a bag of peanut M&Ms just wasn’t going to carry me across the finish line. That meant that the wait was over to find out just how delicious the Clifbar people had made the Iced Pumpkin Pie bar. Oh, and it was darned good.

But as I was eager to get off the bike and finish the ride, I decided to multi-task and try to open the wrapper while moving. Yeah, those Clifbar people are getting a letter from me on what a headache it is to get at their products through their plastic prisons of deliciousness. So, anyway, there I was, biking along, with both hands in a death struggle with that energy bar’s wrapper, just minding my own business. And then it happened. I turned off my computer, erasing the mileage that I was using to figure out where I was on the cue sheet, and the time and average speed, all that cool and completely useless data that I love to look at later.

But it was worse. For some reason, that computer went back to its old habit of beeping when I drop below 80 rpm. And the beeping had to be stopped. So, naturally, I started pressing all the buttons, and then tried combinations, then tried resetting the thing. And I must have, in all my button pushing, made the thing crazy, and instead of resetting, it would go to “sleep”. And so, to avoid the incessant beeping, I just shut the thing off. The beeping made me yell at it and call it nasty names, and I think I was starting to scare the joggers and people with kids walking along.

Despite the computer going beserk, I made it back to my car, 63 miles (at least I assume it was that distance, stupid computer) under my belt.