He says it’s a bullfrog.

I clean up the dishes leftover from the night before. Feels a bit like a meditation.

Huge croissant. Hot coffee. Orangey-sunrise glow on her face.

Note to self: don’t walk on Silverado Trail. How do people even ride their bike on this road?

2 miles and 18 flights. That’s a good morning.

The details were so well thought out.

The hazy shadows of the Mayacamas and the Vaca Mountains.

Empanadas and jerk shrimp and steak tacos. A can of San Pellegrino. A short walk in Yountville.

Slow tasting at Chimney Rock. Can’t go wrong with Tomahawk. This rosé of Cabernet franc.

No more hiding. What is there to be afraid of?

I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.