We had endured a long dry spell here in Arizona, and I'm not just talking about lack of rain. Following months of toil without a break, Jean and I were physically and emotionally drained. 'I must get out of here for some reason other than work,' she complained while packing for yet another business trip. 'When's the last time we went camping? Or walked a beach?'

“Hey, Dan, check out that ’39 Chevy. It’s just like the one I owned in high school – even the same color!” Dan drives a tricked out Camaro, so I doubt he appreciated the old car’s beauty as I did. Then again, my view was burnished by memories. As we crossed the road to see it, I remembered my dad encouraging me to buy the low-mileage antique he’d spotted on a street corner. Among life’s rich lessons was when girls at the Dog ‘n Suds drive-in bypassed the muscle cars to ride in my emerald Chevy. It only did 55mph, but like puppies and babies it exuded character so the girls loved it. Best of all, the narrow front seat ensured that such passengers rode deliciously nearby. After graduation I rebuilt the engine and journeyed in the old auto from Chicago through Canada to Maine and back.

'See where the river breaks over that wide rock?' said our guide, Donny. 'We need to be careful there because the water tumbles violently on the other side, like a horizontal tornado.'

Twin-engine airplanes weren't available for rent at my old home airport of Lafayette, Indiana, so when I decided to pursue multiengine training I went down the road to Herman Brown's flying service in Terre Haute. 'Brownie,' as he's known in the neighborhood, fit the mold of old time pilot examiners - hardboiled and independent, but warmhearted once you got to know him.

I thought I was doing fine flying loops and rolls, even a hammerhead, in the brand-new Pitts S2C with only 36 hours on the tachometer. A half-hour earlier, Sean D. Tucker (yes, world-famous airshow performer Sean D. Tucker) had said jokingly, “Now don’t lose your lunch in my new airplane, Laurel.” But, the flat spin did me in.

“I wonder if there’ll be time to land at the Patton Museum.” “I hope so,” said my wife, Jean. “You deserve it for flying me to Palm Springs. Besides, I’m getting sick of hearing about it.” I looked forward to delivering Jean to her annual tennis camp. Not only is Palm Springs an interesting aerial journey from Phoenix, but along the way lay an unfulfilled Flying Carpet adventure.

Don was at the island that Saturday, his bit of paradise on the Canadian side of Lake of the Woods, when the pain began. Fortunately my brother-in-law Dave was there with his wife, Barb. They rushed Don by boat and car to Kenora, Ontario, where he was airlifted to Winnipeg.