There was, for example, a recent flight with my friend Jeff back from Redmond, Oregon, where I'd dropped the Cheetah off for its annual. We were in a rented Arrow, returning to Livermore Airport on a beautiful, cloudless, spring afternoon. We diverted slightly to fly over Crater Lake, which was stunning in its snow-rimmed serenity, the late afternoon sunlight sparkling off its deep and crystal waters. We then happily wound our way down past Mount Shasta and the northern California ridgelines in the golden evening light before crossing the Sacramento River Basin just as dusk darkened the hillsides east of Mount Diablo. All was good and right with the world, and the GPS put us a mere seven and a half minutes out from Livermore. In 15 minutes, we would be on the ground, airplane tied down, and headed to a good dinner.