I answer the phone and my friend is asking me if I want to go on a plane ride on a Cesna out of San Francisco International with Bob the mechanic. It is Sunday morning, the day after St. Patrick’s Day and I’m in my underwear, waiting for the plumber to fix my stopped-up sink, but I say yes.
The fog has pulled back from coast and N58689 is all gassed up and ready when we arrive. Bob gives me some brief instructions, informs me he is the only one allowed to smoke in his airplane and asks me over the roar of the engine if I can hear him on the headset. I flash the thumbs up.
Bob’s a gifted 30 year pilot. The first time I become aware of this is as we are approaching the Napa airport he practically stops the engine and banks a 180 degree turn putting us right in position for a smooth landing, but leaving me a little dizzy. They order some steaks while I eat a salad adorned with beets and cottage cheese, Bob’s raving about the Jonesy Special Potatoes; a freshly grated hash brown, topped with a slab of Velveeta and grilled onions. Apparently Herb Caen mentioned the potatoes once in a column.
Back in the skies we pass over Oakland and hang a right just past Hayward. The radio goes out while were running parallel with the San Mateo Bridge and while bob is changing channels and asking for call backs my friend taps him on the shoulder points out a commercial jet flying in the vicinity.
“Tower, 5868Niner come in?”
“Tower, 5868Nineerrrrrr?”
“What frequency am I supposed to be using?”
“Tower, 120.50”
“The switch panel isn’t working”
The second radio works and we get ordered to turn a hard 90 degrees and queued up for a second approach around the bay. So it’s back across to Hayward and then a few more 90 degree turns and we are now hitting some major turbulence on our approach.
“That’s a strong tail wind”
“No, it’s a head wind,” says Bob
“Tail, look at the windsurfers”
Bob starts counting out our altitude in 100 feet increments from 1000 down and when we hit 400, he masochistically slows the engine and it gets so incredibly quiet I think I am in a glider. We’re wobbling back and forth and just after we hit the runway the copilot says, “Felt like both wheels hit the ground at the same time.” Bob, says “Yeah.”
Yeah.
A dog is truly man’s best friend and my buddy Potsey is riding shotgun with me on my way to Infineon Raceway in Sonoma. It’s 6:30 am and he isn’t bugging me to stop for a latte and a bagel; he is just sitting patiently staring out the window. Occasionally he glances over at me and tries to rest his head on my hand when I downshift. 
I’m meeting an attorney who owns three Lotus Formula One race cars, one of which is a black 1976 “John Player Special” driven by Mario Andretti. The Lotus 78 also called the “Wing Car” because of its inverted wing look helped win Andretti the 1977 Grand Prix.
