The change, when it came, was immediate and profound.
One second, my wife, Dawn, and I were enjoying our lofty morning view of the hundred miles of mountainous Canadian wilderness stretching out before us with our Stinson 108’s Franklin engine purring steadily along as we crossed the slender ribbon of water that marked the end of roaded civilization. The next second, the purr abruptly devolved to a ragged staccato, the tachometer dropped several hundred rpm, and the rugged hinterlands of British Columbia took on a Gaussian blur as the vibration of the engine shook the entire airframe and hence my eyeballs.
