The first time was back in my journalism days, when I covered Camp Roberts. The National Guard was doing a training exercise, and I took a military helicopter out to the "battleground." Pretty cool to fly with the door open and see the golden rolling hills unfold beneath me. (What was not cool: Later, I had to pee by penlight in a port-a-potty. And then I dropped my reporter's notebook on the floor of said port-a-potty and had to make the awful decision: Do I abandon it and lose all info, or do I touch germs? I went with germs. Shudder.)
The second time was in Tasmania. Happily, no port-a-potties were involved. Instead, there were views of white sand and ocean. And a tricky landing between some powerlines. That pilot had mad skills. (On a side note, every time I think of Tasmania, I think of pie. And then I become hungry.)
And the third time? This past Friday. I took a wine writer out for an aerial tour of the vineyards. Sonoma County is so pretty.
We also flew over Annadel.
From the air, the trails looked like ribbons.
No comments
Post a Comment