My grandma was the same way: she'd get in cars, busses, even trains but never a plane, until she was around 70. This meant that it was always Christmas in Wisconsin, never in Portland, which wasn't so bad but at least it was always a white christmas instead of a rainy and muddy one.
My parents had their hands full with my little brother, and the hellions that were myself and my older brother, so they couldn't afford to take us all back. So the one year my parents finally convinced my grandma and my grandpa to take a plane out to Portland was one of the few years in Portland where it snowed.