Mean Mr. Mustard
I had settled in for the hour-long flight and was dividing my attention between scanning instruments, looking for traffic and enjoying the view when I heard a distinct “pop. Any unusual sound while flying my Comanche gets my attention right away, so I looked around trying to figure out where the noise came from. All instrument indications were nominal and even with my heightened sense of awareness, I could find nothing. So on I went, telling myself it could have been my imagination.