Walking: feel sorry for the over privileged (or overreaching) people in sports cars, collecting cases of wine from a dozen vineyards in a day. They won’t feel the soil crack under their feet or commune with the gnarled roots of grape vines. Their mouths won’t water when thinking of their destination while resting under the only tree in the last three miles. They won’t drip with the same sweat that went into crafting their drink. They’ll never be present, instead always wanting just one more taste. They won’t put in that extra effort to get to know the wine growers they meet because there will be 100 more with the same shallow sales pitch. Walking was the perfect complement to the ancient art of winemaking; thank goodness the bike rental store was empty.

On a related note, you should threaten to break the fingers of the caviste after the first wine he serves you in order to gain his respect and get to the real stuff.