Nothing pleases me more than hopping on a plane, grabbing a window seat on the right side and gluing my nose to the window as I head north to San Francisco, Santa Rosa, Sacramento or San Jose.
After zipping around the country for the last three presidential campaigns, I now write about California almost exclusively. Most of my flights last less than an hour. I don't even bother to drink anymore.
Watching the state unfurl from 30,000 feet up is an unrivaled pleasure. Every flight I take reminds me of a story I've told.
Taking off into the west, I can pick out my house near the Venice Pier. A few minutes later, the Malibu Pier, looking like matchsticks, comes into view....