November 22, Northern California.

Coming back from Placerville to Davis in the late afternoon, the sun
is left of my heading, low. While visibility is greater than 10
miles, it's hazy with the Central Valley moisture not willing to burn
off completely, typical of the winter months. Until a storm or north
wind comes along haze and Valley fog would rule.

On a bit of a whim I decide to call NorCal Approach for flight
following; that way I could fly direct to University Airport without
having to dodge the Class D and C airspace around Sacramento. The
sector I'm in is not particularly busy and after "Aircoupe 1234, Radar
Contact, squawk 0377" there are only a couple of other calls to listen
to.

Then I hear, "Aircoupe 34, traffic four o'clock..." [and instantly
thought, "four o'clock, that's a weird direction"] "...same altitude,
closing 40 knots." "Roger, looking, Aircoupe 34." Almost all traffic
calls are from about 10 o'clock to 2 o'clock, so this one is unusual,
though it's not hard to catch up and pass an Aircoupe. Hmmm, don't
see anything yet, what...??

A glimpse of white and an instant later the shape of a Cessna, a few
hundred feet away, same altitude, banking left! Another moment and
I'm pulling up and banking right, trying to maintain contact, but now
he's under me, somewhere. Where?!?

"Aircoupe 34, NorCal, traffic same altitude same position." The
controller sounds tense. So am I.

Bank left and return to original heading, still climbing, still
looking. There he is, a bit to my left and below, overtaking me.
"NorCal, Aircoupe 34, thanks for the alert, had to pull up to avoid
him."

What would have happened without flight following? I think the Cessna
saw me at the last second, but I never would have until...a startling
flash of wings and fuselage zooming by? Something worse?

Thankfully I'll never know.
--
I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is
indispensable.
Dwight Eisenhower