It took me a couple of days of bike riding from the Paris airport to approach the steady climb on my way to Burgundy. I was used to mountainous terrain (did I mention I was born in Hamilton?). The climb was long and into a strong headwind. Finally, I arrived at the summit and saw the other side. There it was. The Cote D’Or. A valley carpeted with vineyards. I had never seen anything like it. I started down the long ride still into the heavy wind. The wind was so strong it kept me from gaining too much speed on the decent. I didn’t have to brake at all. It was like floating. Floating down towards the vineyards. Towards something I could feel was very special. I had arrived in the world of wine, soon to be hooked.

Arriving in Charles De Gaulle airport I reassembled my bicycle and arranged my side saddles. I had spent the months previous training; biking back and forth from my residence in Toronto to my parent’s home and place of birth in the foothills of the Hamilton mountain. I learned it was essential to bike “balanced” - with the weight of my packs strategically positioned on the bike- anything out of kilter, out of the centres of gravity and the bike is difficult to control. I mention this as I remember for a departing gift leaving Pearson airport my mother gave me a large chunk of Christmas cake (my mother is from Newfoundland) thinking to sustain me for the next 12 months. Peddling away from the airport with the added tonnage on my front handle bars I wove my way across the eight lane highway. Deciding safety first, I hid the Christmas cake in a small wooded area vowing one day to return for it (My mother’s Christmas cake has an extremely long shelf  life) and headed east. I still remember where it is. Biking across France stopping every so often for the smallest cups of coffee I had ever seen. The coffee came with cute little spoons reminiscent of having afternoon tea with my older sister, her tea set and her dolls. I would use the little spoons to heap in the sugar changing the coffee to a syrup and then peddling on, rejuvenated. 

I often get asked two questions: What does a winemaker do and how did I become an Icewine specialist?To answer the first question I usually respond with, “Which part of the word; “wine maker” don’t you understand”? To answer the second is a longer story and through this blog, I will address both questions in detail over time.  To begin, if you want to be a winemaker, it helps when given, at a far too early stage in life, the choice between arts and science to have chosen to follow the sciences. It is the foundation. For me it was biology. Unbeknownst to me at the time the nuts and bolts of winemaking are botany, biochemistry, microbiology and chemistry.    So, on my pathway to becoming a winemaker, I graduated from Queen’s University without any inkling of winemaking as a career (nor in fact any inkling of a career period). I then attended Laval University to study French.  With “une petite peu” of French and a connection through some friends I went to work the vendage in St Aubin, Burgundy chez Hubert Lamy. I had no idea.