I'm driving up to the Santa Ynez Valley from Santa Monica in my new Prius. Seventy miles north of Los Angeles, Highway 101 bends toward the coast. Past Santa Barbara, the road skirts the edge of the ocean and the homes in the hills disappear. The Amtrak Coast Starlight briefly obstructs my view, then chugs past, leaving a windswept Pacific glittering to my left. It's a gorgeous, cloudless day. The thermometer reads a pleasant seventy-five degrees.
As the 101 peels away from the ocean and crests the Santa Ynez Mountains, I glimpse the gently undulating hills and olive green scrub oak scattered across the valley below. In spring, wildflowers carpet the landscape in an iridescent yellow. But it's fall now, and the summer has burned the grass amber. The shadows are growing long as I head west on 246 toward La Purisima Golf Course. As I climb over a little knoll, just past Babcock and Melville Wineries, the course gleams emerald when I squint directly into the sun. Even though La Purisima has an august presence from the road, the entrance is nondescript and marked by a small wooden sign, and first-time visitors often streak past. But I know this right turn like the back of my hand, and I slow down.
It's Sunday, but the parking lot is nearly empty, and as I pull in I'm reminded of how La Purisima ("the pure one") got its name. The course is routed through rolling hills and a shallow canyon. There are no cookie-cutter condos flanking the perimeter. Opened in 1986 in anticipation of a population boom in nearby Lompoc—where NASA had planned to land the space shuttle on the Vandenberg Air Force Base but never did—the course struggled early on. Its economic woes were my good fortune. I remember my first round there like a pro remembers every shot he hit in a tournament he won.
There's barely enough light to get in a quick nine, but at any muni in L.A. the loudspeakers would still be summoning foursomes to the first tee. Since the course is all but empty, I scoot out to the twelfth hole, a stunningly beautiful 609-yard dogleg-right par five with dense scrub oak framing its right side. In the nineties, my three-handicap swing was more limber and powerful, and I once hit this green in two. Yet again, I find myself all alone on this course where I've played so many times by myself.
Before the wineries, before the movie, this was my church and golf was my religion. I came here to get away from the sharky Hollywood producers with their doublespeak, the backstabbing agents, the countless rejection letters. This is where I got through my divorce, dealt with my father's tragic death and came to terms with my mother's even more tragic stroke. This is where I brought all my cares and worries and anxieties about the future, bundled them into a corner of my mind and had them momentarily ameliorated. There's something about golf and playing golf by yourself that lifts you out of the morass of quotidian life. You're entirely focused on yardages, getting the line on a birdie attempt, little things you're working on in your swing. In the process, you become almost dispossessed from the world. The wind gusts and it blows everything out of your head. You hit a great shot and an almost irrepressible glee overcomes you and there's no other place you'd rather be.
I tee up my ball and get ready to swing. I set up with a driver and, without the benefit of any kind of warm-up, nail one down the middle. Maybe not as far as I used to, but it's dead center, right down the pipe. I still have it, I think. If I work on it, if I can get out more often, if I put the hours into the short game...
To the west, the sun starts to sink into the perennial mist obliterating the horizon. The sky above colors a deeper shade of blue and starts to bleed stars. Memory after memory, like a fusillade of arrows, assails me: the seventy-five I shot from the tips in a three-club wind; the wild boar I saw lumber across the fairway and crash into the underbrush, utterly unnerving me; playing one last round with my old friend and La Purisima habitué, Pem McGirt, just before he died. I have played a lot of golf in California, from Tijuana Country Club (featuring nine holes designed by Alister MacKenzie) to the Links at Bodega Harbour north of San Francisco, and I truly believe, if you factor in greens fees, course design, degree of difficulty, natural beauty, overall course conditions, lack of crowds and speed of play, that La Purisima is the finest golf course open to the public in the entire state.
And for years I had it all to myself.
Was it really fifteen years ago, after yet another round at the Sandpiper Golf Course near Santa Barbara, that my playing partners beseeched me to head over the hills another forty miles to play La Purisima? In L.A., where I live, playing golf is fraught with long waits and exorbitant greens fees unless you're a member of a private club. Back then I was an impecunious screenwriter-cum-novelist, so I could take off midweek to Sandpiper, paying the twilight rate of $25 to play until it was too dark to go on. The one hundred miles up from L.A. was well worth the drive. But yet another hour? That was pushing it. Nevertheless, one day the nagging feeling that I was missing something got me over the hills into the Santa Ynez Valley and on to La Purisima. I haven't stopped at Sandpiper since.
It was only a year ago when Fox Searchlight Pictures put me up at the posh Bacara Resort in Santa Barbara for the premiere of Sideways, the movie based on my novel of the same name. Sideways chronicles the adventures of Miles and Jack, two thirty-something guys who decide to spend the week before Jack's wedding in the Santa Ynez Valley, prowling the region's wineries and playing golf. After its opening in Santa Barbara, I celebrated alongside the actors Paul Giamatti, Thomas Haden Church, Virginia Madsen and Sandra Oh, director Alexander Payne and other bigwigs from the movie. The local wine flowed—it was a heady time. Sideways went on to win an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, Golden Globes for Best Screenplay and Best Picture, six Independent Spirit awards and five L.A. Film Critics' awards, among many others.
Now, just six months after the Oscar, the valley has been transformed. Since the movie, pinot noir sales have skyrocketed and travel to the Santa Ynez Valley is on a similar trajectory. And though I couldn't really imagine it at the time, my life would change forever.
Back in the early nineties, when I made my first pilgrimage to the valley, I would head straight to La Purisima and play it all day—sometimes thirty-six holes—shower and change at the nearby Windmill Inn, then walk the half mile or so to the Hitching Post II and plop myself down at the bar. Midweek it was quiet. There was a waitress working there, a gorgeous woman on whom I very loosely based Maya, the woman who my character Miles falls in love with, played by Virginia Madsen. I never really got to know her, but she was every wine geek's fantasy. Locals would trickle in. Winemakers and other people in the wine world would drift in and settle at the bar. The conversation was always convivial. One night I got a lecture on beermaking from the young brewmaster at Firestone, which makes beer as well as wine. After a few glasses, I might have let slip that I was writing a book that was set in their area. More idle chatter. I was blissfully anonymous.
But when Alexander Payne optioned the book in late 1999 and Artisan Entertainment green-lit it, the news was trumpeted in Daily Variety and the Hollywood Reporter, and I proudly brought up the industry rags and showed them off. See, I crowed, I'm going to make you all famous! Excitement briefly mounted, but then Payne decided to do another film (About Schmidt), Artisan fled the project, and the fever waned. I was just another loser Hollywood scribe up from Sin City to weave stories and drink wine. All those years, this valley, with its cheap motels, inexpensive golf and great, little-known wines, was my only refuge, my only retreat from the indignities of my existence. I dreamed of renting a trailer, playing golf and drinking at the Hitching Post, and just calling it quits. Life wouldn't be so bad, I thought. Then Payne decided that his next movie to follow About Schmidt would be Sideways. With his writing partner Jim Taylor, he started to write the script. I could sense that something significant was building, but I'd been disappointed so many times in the film business. It's never a sure thing until they write the big check, which, in 2003, they finally did.
The Sideways production crew spent the fall of 2003 headquartered out of Buellton, shooting in all the authentic locations that I used in my novel: the Hitching Post II, the Sanford Winery tasting room, the Windmill (now Days) Inn—the rooms so tiny the crew had to tear out a wall and make two rooms into one—and numerous other locations now immortalized in a deluxe Sideways winery map that can be found at every tasting room and hotel in the area. To say that the movie has had an impact here would be an understatement. The Hitching Post's business has boomed. Wineries, both on and off the Sideways map, have seen a threefold increase in their tasting room business. The Days Inn's room rates have tripled. Weekends are a mob scene. After last year's Academy Awards nominations, the Sanford Winery tasting room, a quaint little adobe structure at the end of a dirt road, was inundated with tourists. Additional tasting stations had to be set up and portable rest rooms were trucked in. "It was insane," remembers Chris Burroughs, the tasting room manager who appears in the film and is now a local celebrity.
I decide to take my own little Sideways tour to see for myself just how much things have changed. In the movie, Paul Giamatti and Virginia Madsen have a somewhat critical exchange about a wine from the Andrew Murray Winery. Even so, when I stop by I see that the winery has greatly benefited from the mention. Fifteen or so people now crowd the tasting room, three times what would normally have been found before Sideways. I casually ask the tasting room manager how business has been since the movie. He brightens. When I then mention that I wrote the book that it was based on, he turns and makes an announcement to the room. Heads whip around, Sideways wine maps and wine purchases—even business cards—are produced for me to autograph. Digital cameras appear. Ten years ago I could have shambled into this room, sipped in silence, and left. Now I am mobbed, a veritable celebrity.
The same thing happens to me at Longoria Winery's tasting room. I escape around the corner to Patrick's Side Street Café—one of the main watering holes for the movie's cast and crew. The affable Patrick Rand seems delighted to see me. It's been almost two years. He's just wrapping up lunch, and his staff is prepping for dinner. He pours me half a glass of viognier, we reminisce, and I promise to return for dinner. Next it's down to the Ballard Inn, in the even tinier town of Ballard, where I plan to stay in a couple of days. A charming two-story Victorian with a terrific restaurant and a skilled new chef, they're—you guessed it—conducting wine tastings. I sense a little Sideways avarice when I belly up to the tasting bar, because I don't ever remember the Ballard Inn doing wine tastings before. Then it's off to the Hitching Post.
Among local establishments, the Hitching Post II—the original is in Casmalia—and its owner, the ubiquitous, pith-helmeted Frank Ostini, have profited the most from Sideways. It's here that Miles and Jack meet Maya and have a drink with her after dinner. It's here that Miles waxes on about the house pinot noirs. And it was absolute gold for the restaurant when the film took off and became that rarity in Hollywood: an indie film with no real stars that crossed over into the mainstream and stole the hearts of wine lovers—and those who vowed to become wine lovers afterward—forever.
I arrive there in the early evening and I've never seen anything like the scene inside. One year after the release of the movie and they can't stem the tide of Sideways fans. Thirsty crowds swarm in and jockey for position at the bar. Frank and his wine-business partner, Gray Hartley, tell me with eyes lit up like slot machines that since the release of the movie it's sometimes four deep at the bar. It's impossible to get reservations. I thought things might have died down since the film came out on DVD, but evidently not. Last summer it kept cresting, night after night. The locals complained that their Monday night hamburger and glass of wine was a thing of the past. The owners are all grateful for the free publicity, but they also privately lament that their world has been changed. For how long, no one knows, but a recent poll of several thousand Brits revealed that, because of Sideways, one in seven adults—in England!—now want to visit California wine country. And I'm assuming less than half of those polled actually saw the movie. But then again, fans of Field of Dreams flocked for years to an Iowa farm to see that baseball diamond hewn out of a cornfield and buy T-shirts. At least in following the Sideways dream, they can play golf, eat great food, imbibe great wines and marvel at the scenery.
It's all overwhelming. The next day, I hightail it out of Ballard and get back to La Purisima.
The fifteenth at La Purisima is one of my favorite holes in all of golf. On a windy day (which is nearly every day), it begins a stretch of four holes that may be one of the most punishing finishes in all of California. Number sixteen from the tips plays 436 yards straight into the teeth of the wind to a green that is guarded left, right and back by more dense scrub oak. I've laid up on my second shot there just because I was too terrified to hit a long iron into that green. Number seventeen is a relatively short downhill par three and an almost impossible club selection. It's so ridiculously hard when the wind is blowing that I've seen assistant pros rip their scorecards up after putting multiple shots over the fence and out onto Highway 246. And eighteen is another demanding par four dead into the wind.
The fifteenth itself is a serpentine par five with a tee box cloaked in a shroud of oak. The tee shot is really a layup for good players because the big dog can take them all the way into the yawning canyon that demarcates the first fairway from the second. When you ride out to the fairway on fifteen, you exit the canyon and the whole course opens up like a Monet landscape. Here at this high point, there is a view of Lompoc and the Pacific in the distance. I've experienced some late afternoons where a low-rolling phalanx of fog moved in so quickly off the frigid waters that by number sixteen I was so engulfed that I had to pick up and go in. Usually, however, I find myself bracing against a three-club wind debating my second shot, also a layup. Yes, it's a two-layup par five, and it's one of the best holes I know.
Whenever I bring someone up to La Purisima, when we get out to the fifteenth I announce that this fairway is where I'd like my ashes strewn. It's that special to me.
It's time to head to my next stop. i drive the long, lonely stretch of 246 back to Buellton as the sun is snuffed out in my rearview mirror. I ride by the Days Inn where Miles and Jack were encamped and where I would normally turn in. A mile later I pass the Hitching Post. The parking lot is jammed with cars, and more are braking to pull in. I try to imagine the three nights that a film crew of two hundred descended on this small watering hole and unwittingly immortalized it. All because I wrote a book.
I continue on through the kitschy town of Solvang and hang a right to the Alisal Guest Ranch, a ten-thousand-acre working ranch and resort. The rates for one night equal my monthly rent back in the nineties when I was writing Sideways. Life, I'm reminded, is now a little easier. Over the next few days I stay here and eat and golf—and drink wine, of course—at some of the best places the valley has to offer (see sidebar, page tk), places that I wouldn't have been able to afford before the movie. I'll reminisce with old friends, get toasted at tasting rooms, have my picture taken numerous times, and all the while feel like some archetypal war hero returning home after a triumphant conquest.
Ultimately, though, I can't resist spending the final night at the Days—formerly Windmill—Inn. When the time comes, the desk clerk doesn't recognize my name. I'm somewhat dismayed by the rate, but everyone is cashing in on the movie, so why not Days Inn? I lumber to my room and plop down on the bed. Same old back-aching mattress. Same old theft-proof shower nozzle. Yep, same sinus-desiccating air conditioner. Itching for a drink, I amble over to the Clubhouse Bar.
They shot a big scene between Miles and Jack in this tacky place and now it, too, is mobbed, but I remember back when you could go in and find yourself all alone with a bartender who wished he had another job. I order a glass of bad red wine—that much hasn't changed—and sit alone with my thoughts. It's been a great week; it's great to be recognized, and it's great to have your efforts amply rewarded. But something saddens me just the same.
Two young couples come in and take a seat at the bar. I overhear one of them mention Sideways and, wrenched from my reveries, look up from my wine. One of the guys is telling his friends that this is exactly where Jack and Miles sat when the former told the latter that he was thinking of calling off his wedding. I'm tempted to tell them that the guy who wrote that scene is sitting next to them, but I'm afraid all hell will break loose. So I smile slyly to myself and remain silent. I've come full circle, and nothing has changed—though, of course, everything has.
Rex Pickett's Sideways Tour
Where to Play
Alisal Ranch Course Not to be confused with the uninspired Alisal River Course close by—where the golf scene in Sideways was shot—this is for members and guests of the Alisal Guest Ranch only. That's the bad news. The good news is that the course is in immaculate condition and uncrowded during the week. Designed in 1955 by Billy Bell Jr. (Torrey Pines before the Rees Jones redo), this relatively short (6,830 yards) course by today's standards is deceptively difficult. Laid out on a flat parcel of maturely wooded ranchland, the fairways are serpentine and narrow and the beautiful bent/poa greens tiny, requiring pinpoint yardage control. An old-style design without all the undulations in greens we see today, it's a beautiful parkland course in a very special part of the world. 1054 Alisal Road, Solvang; 805-688-4215. Greens fee: $100.
La Purisima Golf Course In a word: majestic. Robert Muir Graves crafted a masterpiece out of a roller-coaster canyon interlaced with scrub oak. Only two adjoining fairways, starkly different nines, greens that are impossible to read, barbarous spring winds that wreak havoc on your psyche, and at 7,105 yards from the tips with a 143 slope rating, this track has it all. And I love it! La Purisima is demanding but fair—so well-rounded it's been used numerous times for PGA and Champions Tour sectional, regional and even final qualifying. 3455 Highway 246, Lompoc; 805-735-8395, lapurisimagolf.com. Greens fees: $60$78; twilight rates available.
Marshallia Ranch Golf Course The generals must have been tossing a few back when they decided to open up the former Vandenberg Air Force Base military course to the public. Just north of Lompoc, it's close enough to the ocean that it's plagued by fog, but it's a great track at muni rates. Number sixteen, a brutish par four into the teeth of the wind to a treacherous green, is the signature hole. Not always in resort condition, but a hidden gem. Once used for U.S. Open qualifying. Casmalia Road, Vandenberg AFB, Lompoc; 805-606-6262. Greens fee: $37; twilight rates available. Weekend priority is given to military, but the public can enter a lottery for untaken times.
Rancho San Marcos Golf Course A little inland up Highway 154, set in a gorge in the Santa Ynez Mountains, this relatively new (1998) Robert Trent Jones Jr. course features contrasting nines—the front lies in a valley, while the back sports a lot of elevation changes and views of nearby Lake Cachuma. A heavily bunkered par seventy-one, it's only 6,817 yards from the tips but it's in great condition, with lightning-fast greens, blind tee shots, doglegs and uneven lies. The round gets off to a benign start, but the back nine will eat your lunch, so go light on the beers. Like La Purisima, it's blissfully unspoiled by fairway homes. 4600 Highway 154, Santa Barbara; 805683-6334. Greens fees: $65$85, including cart, but you're welcome to walk, too.
Where to Stay
Alisal Guest Ranch and Resort An upscale but utterly unpretentious ten-thousand-acre working ranch/resort tucked against the north face of the Santa Ynez Mountains. It comes with all the amenities and more: scenic hundred-acre lake stocked with bass and trout (and guides to take you fishing), miles of riding trails, hiking, boating, picnicking, tennis and your own private golf course. The seventy-three cottages have high wood-beam ceilings, beautiful brick, and wood-burning fireplaces, and are hugely commodious. No TVs or in-room phones, but my cell worked just fine. Breakfast and dinner are included in the room rate in the Ranch's own fine restaurant, presided over by Chef Pascal Godé. The eclectic dinner menu changes nightly and the breakfasts are everything you would expect at a truly great resort, from artery-clogging omelets to yolkless scrambled eggs and grains. A truly magical place in a preternaturally beautiful setting and, frankly, considering what you get, a bargain. 1054 Alisal Road, Solvang; 888-425-4725, alisal.com. Room rates: $450$590.
Ballard Inn A charming fifteen-room two-story Victorian B&B centrally located just south of Los Olivos. Quiet, rustic, a great place from which to begin your wine- tasting excursions or to unwind from a brutal day battling La Purisima. Miles and Jack probably wouldn't be caught dead here, but that was then and this is now. 2436 Baseline Avenue, Ballard; 800-638-2466, ballardinn.com. Room rates are a value at $215$305, but it fills up fast.
Santa Ynez Inn In the tiny faux-western town of Santa Ynez, this fourteen-room B&B newcomer is a tastefully appointed two-story Victorian that provides more amenities than most such establishments. Sumptuous breakfasts. Outdoor sun deck with whirlpool. Fitness room with sauna and massage treatments. Like the Ballard Inn, the Santa Ynez books up fast on weekends. 3627 Sagunto Street, Santa Ynez; 800-643-5774, santaynezinn.com. Room rates: $285$475.
In the past I holed up at the two-story no-frills Windmill (now Days) Inn, largely because it was cheap ($30) and I was running on credit card fumes. Fronting the noisy 101, the Days Inn is where the two main characters in Sideways, Miles and Jack, bivouacked, and where the scenes between them were actually filmed. I don't recommend it at today's inflated rates unless you just have to have that Sideways experience. 114 East Highway 246, Buellton; 805-688-8448. Room rates: weekdays, $60$80; weekends, $110$159 (ouch!).
Where to Eat
American Flatbread About fifteen miles north up the 101 from Buellton in the tiny—aren't they all?—town of Los Alamos, this artisanal bakery magnanimously transforms itself into a pizzeria two nights of the week. Delicious wood-fired pizzas baked in a massive stone oven, employing all local, incredibly fresh, organically grown ingredients. But what really impressed me was the plethora of local wines, more than ten of them by the glass. What a gift to the area, and arguably the best pizza I've ever had. 225 West Bell Street, Los Alamos; 805-344-4400. Only open Friday and Saturday for dinner; no reservations taken. Pizzas come in two sizes—ten-inch and fifteen-inch—and all are ridiculously low-priced for what you get. $$$
Ballard Restaurant On the first floor of the Ballard Inn, Chef Budi Kazali, whose impressive credentials include stints with Ming Tsai of TV Network fame, has returned to his home stomping grounds and brought a pan-Asian influence to his many creative dishes while transforming what was formerly Café Chardonnay into one of the best restaurants in the valley. Charming, intimate dining room with a wood-burning fireplace that's especially cozy in the fall and winter. Another outstanding, fairly priced wine list, mostly of local product. 2436 Baseline Avenue, Ballard; 805-688-7770. Dinner only; closed Mondays and Tuesdays; reservations suggested. $$$$
Hitching Post II An institution, and now, owing to the movie where it almost became a character in and of itself, a legend—a dark, wood-framed building with odors of oak-grilled meats wafting from the smoking chimney as you approach. With its own line of pinot noirs sourced from local vineyards, it's basically a steakhouse with scant attention paid to the secondary dishes, but it oozes charm and local color. Despite the rabid Sideways crowds, it's still worth a visit. 406 East Highway 246, Buellton; 805-688-0676, hitchingpost2.com. Dinner from 59:30; wine tasting from 46:30, with an $8 tariff. $$$
Panino A great little sandwich shop in Los Olivos, and a relaxing place to unwind from all the wine tasting. I love the chicken and roasted red bell pepper sandwich on a baguette. Beer, soda and local wines. 2900 Grand Avenue, Los Olivos; 805-688-9304. MondaySaturday, 9-5; Sunday, 105. $
Patrick's Side Street Café The affable Patrick Rand is the terrific chef/owner. In the heart of Los Olivos, this casual dining spot with its open kitchen puts out dishes that belie its decor. It leans toward the hearty—the slow-roasted prime rib is the best I've ever had—so bring an appetite. Great wine list, featuring primarily local wines, many of them by the glass. Patrick's keeps long lunch hours, and don't forget the outdoor patio, which is lovely on a warm summer night. 2375 Alamo Pintado Road, Los Olivos; 805-686-4004, patrickssidestreetcafe.com. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays. $$
Where to Taste
Alma Rosa Winery & Vineyards Tasting Room Pioneering Richard Sanford, formerly of Sanford Winery, has just opened this new winery and its new tasting room just off of Highway 246 in Buellton. Having retained 107 acres from the sale of Sanford, Alma Rosa's first vintage features a pinot gris, a chardonnay, a pinot noir and a single- vineyard pinot noir from its La Encantada property. Chris Burroughs (who cameoed in the movie)—arguably the most famous tasting room manager in the world—has left Sanford and is conducting the pouring here. Christian Roguenant, who spent fifteen years with the French firm Champagne Deutze, is the winemaker. I have not yet tasted these new wines, but the pedigrees of all involved promise incredibly high quality at mid-range prices. 201 C Industrial Way, Buellton; 805-688-9090. Open daily 114.
Foxen Winery and Tasting Room This scenic spot is sixteen miles off the 154 up the tortuous Foxen Canyon wine trail. Drive right past the tourist traps of Fess Parker and Firestone and head straight to Foxen, an old blacksmith building rent open on the sides by large sliding doors to allow the afternoon zephyrs to waft through. Splendiferous wines ranging over a wide spectrum of grape varieties, from pinot to chardonnay to cabernet franc to mourvèdre. On a warm day (or any day!), this place is just heaven. 7200 Foxen Canyon Road, Santa Maria; 805-937-4251, foxenvineyard.com. Open daily from 114; $10 tasting room fee.
Sanford Winery Tasting Room (not to be confused with the actual winery). Five miles west off the 101 just before Buellton, the wine sampling takes place in an old dairy barn nestled at the end of a gravel road. It's my favorite tasting room in all of the area. Unfortunately, since longtime owner Sanford sold out to the Terlato Wine Group in 2005, I can no longer vouch for the wines, but it was once one of the great pinot producers in the area, and is still a great tasting room. 7250 Santa Rosa Road, Buellton; 805-688-3300, sanfordwinery.com. Open daily 114; $5 tasting room fee.
