I don’t know his name, and I didn’t quite catch his N-number. But somewhere in the San Francisco area, there’s a pilot who owes me an apology.
I was flying my Cheetah down to the Oakland International Airport on July 4th to pick up a friend who was flying in for a visit. It was a pleasant morning, clear and smooth, and I was enjoying the short flight south across the Bay. I was at about 2,500 feet, still outside of the Class B airspace but talking to Bay Approach, when the controller called out traffic at my same altitude, going the opposite direction, at 11 o’clock and one mile. I looked and quickly spotted a fast-moving gray plane headed past me, to my left.
