Dusk was settling over the san Francisco Bay when I turned onto final approach to the Oakland International Airport. I'd flown in past the mottled green hills of Point Reyes and skirted over the Golden Gate Bridge. I then circled the fortress of Al-catraz once, catching a last glimpse of the orange sun sinking into the western sky as the lights came on in downtown San Francisco, and was now descending into Oakland. "Looking good," said a voice behind me. "Yeah, she's set up pretty well," said another. "Little high, though," offered a third. I throttled back, flared and touched the wheels of the Cessna 172 down on the runway. "Good job," a fourth voice offered. "Yeah, right on the centerline," agreed someone else.
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