Special delivery!
Several years ago (make that many), shortly after I got out of the Army Air Corps, jobs were kind of scarce for pilots. I managed to get a part-time job with a large lumber firm in the northwest delivering tools and such into the lumber camps. These camps were high in the Cascades of Oregon and Washington and hours away by trail. Headquarters for the firm was in Portland, Oregon and we operated the planes out of Vancouver, Washington, just across the river. The planes we were using for the most part were J-3 cubs and a couple of surplus Stinson Reliant's. There were three of us pilots and it was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time, for some work.
Well! One day I happened to be in the wrong place, at the right time; although, at the time I thought it was opportunity knocking. Seems that the company big-wigs had recently landed a large contract and were at one of the camps looking things over. It was getting on late in the evening and they decided they needed to have a party to celebrate. They called down to the airport and talked to the field operator who took their message and quickly pulled out the pilot roster. I happened to be in my room when the phone rang in the hallway of the rooming house I stayed at, and I answered it. The guy from the airport told me of the up-coming party and that I was invited. That is, to bring the goodies. What was needed was a case of scotch and a couple gallons of ice-cream. I knew were the liquor store was (I'd spent a dime or two there) but I didn't know were to come up with two gallons of ice-cream. I asked the fellow on the other end of the line if he knew where to locate some and he said:
'Sure! There's a dairy about six blocks from here. Tell you what, I'll go by the
creamery and pick up the ice-cream for you while you get the booze, ok?'
I said 'Thanks'! I slipped on my flying gear, hot-footed it for the liquor store and made my purchase (on the company tab of course, I didn't have that kind of money you know. Scotch is expensive) and I was on my way across the river headed for the field. When I drove up I checked in with the operator and he told me he'd already put the ice-cream in the front seat of one of the cubs, pointing it out to me. He said it was gassed up and ready to roll, even offering to prop it for me. I took the ice-cream off the seat and put the case of scotch there, strapping it down. I figured scotch was more valuable then ice-cream and needed more protection. As I made the transfer I noticed that the ice-cream was getting soft and made a comment to my helper. He said
'Yeah! Ice-cream don't last long during these summer months! You better hurry!'
Besides the melting I also noticed some ants around the lid and a couple of bees trying to get at it. I shooed the bees away, brushed the ants off, got into the back seat and said 'Contact!' (We used to say that in those days.) Shortly I was airborne, headed for the designated lumber camp. The afternoon heat made for some turbulence and I had a rough ride getting there.
About half way there I felt something climbing up my leg, inside the pant leg, stopping now and then to take a bite of me. I figured it was an ant I had missed and tried to brush it away. But pretty soon I felt another, and another. After about five minutes I was very busy, trying to steer the plane on an even course and get rid of the 'Ants in my pants'. Those little suckers really bite and by the time I managed to land at the camp my legs looked like I had chicken pox. First thing I did when I landed was drop my drawers, took possession of a bottle of scotch, poured some over the ant bites, and let a few drops get in my mouth. I spent the rest of the night in camp, medicating those ant bites with scotch, and feeling mellower as the night wore on.