I am flying my own little plane, a two engine something and I notice I am low down like the scene might be seen from a car. It is too low, so I decide to pull it up to 5000 feet, above anything I could hit, like wires or low mountains. I have a hard time getting it up there and feel a bit afraid of heights, but I see the view is breathtaking. I am headed toward M City. Now my parents are calling me on the radio. I have a hard time hearing them and they have to repeat things. They say they have some things they need too talk over with me and can I come over. I say, "OK, I'll do that now; over and out." I call to the airport for landing instructions. The name of my plane is the BabyJo, and some numbers. They tell me what altitude and what direction. I fly over a low hill that is sort of an open air museum of ancient Aztec-like round calendars stones with hieroglyphics on them. I think I'd like to go down there and look sometime. I see one of the smaller stones and think, "Now that one REALLY is ours. The others are probably loaned out to us by the big museum system, and belong to everybody." I find the airport, a circle on the plains, with a runway. I come down OK. The men who work at the airport really want to meet me. I have some reputation they admire.