I'm driving bleary-eyed from Los Angeles to the vineyards north of Santa Barbara when I decide to roll the windows down and turn up the Dead, winding my way up the Pacific Coast Highway and into the slotted canyons of the Saint Ynez Valley. My exhaustion isn't due to overindulgence the night prior, though. It's because of a 4 a.m. wake up call to catch my flight from the East Coast—all so I could get myself to Buellton.