By Stuart  J. Faber

Hidden Beach at Pescadero. (Stuart J. Faber)Whenever I travel, especially in California, my conveyance of choice is my airplane. For example, I can fly from Los Angeles to the Bay Area in just one-and-a-half hours.  On a good day, the same trip by car takes around seven hours.  A few friends of mine have bragged that they have whizzed along Interstate 5 and made it in five-and-a-half to six hours.  To those who have never driven along the dreary I-5, I certainly don’t recommend it.  Along that route to San Francisco, there is little scenery other than miles of arid flatland with hardly a tree or body of water along the way.  Several gas stations, along with a Denny’s here or there, look no different than similar car-stops on any Interstate in the country. Perhaps the mile-high advertising signs are substitutes for trees.  One exception:  Harris Ranch with its great restaurant and hotel (not to mention, its own landing strip), about halfway up the road is one of my favorite places.

There are times when Cheryl, or others whose enthusiasm for flying, especially in heavy IFR conditions, is somewhat less than mine, will conspire to conduct an aviation intervention. Screaming, kicking and scratching, I will be forcibly removed from my airplane, strapped  in a car seat and pointed in the direction of our destination. Even under those circumstances, there is one thing upon which I will insist – we must avoid the Interstates.