November 9, 1998
I guess while we're on less delicate subjects, I should relate this, another of my late father's flying stories.
One afternoon in the early 50's Dad was flying over the Texas Panhandle in the Luscombe he had acquired to travel around the Texas "oil patch" on business. He was returning from a visit to some customers in West Texas and, in his rush to beat a front that was due and having missed lunch, had only been able to grab a pint of ice cream at a store near the airport before departure. After climbing to altitude, he finished the ice cream and relaxed.
Half an hour later he began to realize that his bladder was not going to allow him to get home without a stop, since the Luscombe had no relief tube. Looking around the cockpit, he spotted the empty ice cream carton. Perfect! He carefully filled the carton and felt much better. Now, what to do with the carton? He tried to set it on the floor, but was concerned that turbulence might tip it over. Even with the lid on it, he doubted that it was fully watertight. He looked outside and realized that Texas was providing the perfect disposal site. There was nothing around. For as far as he could see there was nothing but sagebrush and scrub. Again, perfect. Pull the nose up, slow way down, open the window, roll to the left, and out goes the carton. No problem.
Concentrating so as not to spill anything, Dad completed the maneuver. As the carton left his hand and he began to watch it fall, he suddenly noticed, directly below him, a windmill, a small house, and a corral. He couldn't believe it. Of all the places for a small spread to be, it had to be directly below him where he couldn't see it until after he had dropped the carton. Even worse, the carton did not get blown open by the slipstream, but was now dropping full and heavy, like a bomb, directly for the house. Dad began a tight turn over the house so that he could watch, fascinated and horrified that he might actually score a direct hit on this house. Talk about a bolt from the blue!
Fortunately, his aim was off that day. The carton landed, splash! in the front yard of the house, missing everything. Dad didn't wait to see if anyone came out to see what the noise was. He firewalled the throttle and headed on toward Amarillo as fast as the little Luscombe could go.
Dad felt very relieved. After all, it is called "relieving yourself", isn't it?
Bob
Copyright Ó 1998 Robert T. Chilcoat