There are airplanes out there, and I know it because they're all stepping on each other over the radio. The CTAF is a cacophony of squeaks, squawks and indecipherable gibberish clearly announcing that everyone and their brother is flying today. And why not? It's a gorgeous Saturday in coastal California. It would be nice to actually see the traffic though - I am squinting in vain to pick up something shiny and moving amid the patchwork of golden fields, vineyards and caramel hills that surround Watsonville Airport (KWVI). My wife, Dawn, ever the eagle eye, spots what she confidently proclaims to be the RV-6 that just announced turning crosswi - SQUEESHHRRWOOOP! I hopefully turn in trail. Our Piper Pacer has 9 gallons of avgas in the left tank, and my grumbling tummy is running on E. If I recall correctly from my last visit 14 years ago, Watsonville has a decent airport cafe. In the local vernacular, I'm pretty stoked to be back.
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