Run Like a Local Legend

Run Like a Local Legend

An old Portuguese farmer sits on his tractor smoking a well-deserved cigarette. Years ago, his shirt was white, but even an untrained eye would call its current color a dusty taupe. He worked all morning on a steep, exposed slope, the dry and sinuous pinot grape vines his only respite from the 112-degree heat. As he takes a drag, he squints under his sweaty brow into the wavy afternoon air. Like a mirage, a figure fades into existence. First a b…