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It is about four in the afternoon. Our rented Cessna 182 hums along in the afternoon heat, and as we descend, the thermals say hello, rocking the wings and pushing us around a bit.

The GPS shows where we're headed, but the windscreen doesn't. Although it is a gorgeous VFR day in the Central Valley of California, my destination runway is about the size of a bikepath.

Harris Ranch sits directly between Sacramento and Los Angeles, just to the East of the main vertical vein through the state, Interstate Five. It really is in the middle of nowhere, and is a good rest stop for those bound by four wheels, or 18.

As for pilots, Harris Ranch is an oasis. It's an uncontrolled airport with no taxiway. And only a short walk from the runway is a very comfortable hotel with resort-like qualities. And for dinner, well, forget the $100 hamburger. The restaurant serves-up some of the best steaks in the country.

But you have to find it first.

Interstate Five comes into view as we lower the nose. That's the easy part. Now comes the tough part - finding the narrow runway next to it.

I put the Skylane on an extended 45 degree angle to the downwind and get on the radio. No one is home. I plan for an arrival to the northwest.

Knowing that the runway runs parallel to I-5, I find myself actually using the interstate as my "runway" reference. My eyes crawl across the landscape looking for any sign of our actual destination.

Then, just off my left, there it is. What looks like a tiny side road is actually the runway - only 30 feet wide. This will be fun.

I turn base, tracking the runway as best I can under the lowered inside wing, but find that I-5 is still the better reference. Now turning final - there it is.

The Cessna drones as I add some power to counter the afternoon bumps. 500 feet. Still a small touchdown point. 400 feet. Power lines just off the arrival end - just like the AFD said.

300 feet. Cars - lots of them - now pacing with our 70 knot short final speed just to the left of the glideslope on the interstate.

200 feet. I thought the runway might look wider by now, but it doesn't.

100 feet. Thread the needle. Keep the gear on the pavement, I tell myself. Pure concentration.

Seconds later. Plop. We're down.

It's the kind of challenge any pilot can appreciate. A short, narrow, runway with a prize at the end. Fresh confidence. A good landing. And a good dinner.

Article by Chris Archer; Send him an email