In the early seventies a wealthy man named Harvey lived in Monterey, wanted to involve more high school kids in sailboat racing and sponsored a regatta for them. He convinced yacht clubs in the major harbors of California to organize kids and form teams. He paid for their travel to race old keel boats in Monterey Bay. I was seventeen and stayed in Harvey's mansion for a few days. My privileged and wealthy teammates behaved boorishly while I watched from a distance. Thus, only I was invited back many times, not to race but to visit and enjoy his home, its extensive grounds and Monterey. This continued for a couple of decades. Harvey passed away. Harvey's mansion became my first, post April Meier destination.

A deep marine layer hovered above the airplane and enveloped the castle in fog. I crept downhill on my bike, the visibility improving as I neared the runway. My flight took me through the clouds to Paso Robles. I flew an instrument approach there, landed, taxied to the pumps and filled the plane. Reorganizing my stuff left April out of the equation. The sense of freedom, of being alone, of not having to worry about someone else's feelings was pervasive and calming. I sat in the plane and thought for a while before flying on to Monterey. My flight would be in the clouds from a couple of minutes after takeoff to about three minutes before landing.