I have developed a system for determining strip length from the air. It is gauged from the performance of the 185, it can be adjusted for the Super Cub by subtracting about 200 feet. This was adapted from my buddies white water rating system, but it seems to work with airstrips as well.

If I look at the strip and I feel like I have to pee, its probably about 1000'.
If I look at the strip and have to poop, it's probably about 800'.
If I feel like I have to throw up, its probably about 600'.
If I have to do all three, its probably under 500', and I'm going somewhere else.

@ Wingnut185 :

And if your eyes tell you that you are critically low on fuel, maybe subtract another 100 feet eh ... and then go somewhere else...

Wingnut185,

I actually used that system flying pipeline, except in reverse order. The greater the need, the more positive I was about the suitability of the LZ.

When I was flying pax up north, I can't tell you the number of times I tried to wreck my airplanes because I needed to be on the ground "NOW" because I had to pee so bad.

We're talking mixtures to idle cut-off, flaps dumped, me opening the door and running to get behind the nearest Conex box.... All while still 50 feet up in the air.

Gump

I have learned the hard way to get on the ground somewhere that doesn't require critical skills, before I can use that 3 or 4 step method somewhere that does require critical skills. I can't land worth a crap when I'm suffering.

The same rule applies when entering a harbor in a 36' trawler. Pee first, before entering the harbor's mouth, because the tighter the docking, the more I'll need to pee before I'm done.

Cary

GumpAir wrote:When I was flying pax up north, I can't tell you the number of times I tried to wreck my airplanes because I needed to be on the ground "NOW" because I had to pee so bad.....

I just drape it out the window & let 'er go.
This might not work for you under-endowed guys.

FWIW at 70mph groundspeed youre covering 100 feet per second.

hotrod180 wrote:

GumpAir wrote:When I was flying pax up north, I can't tell you the number of times I tried to wreck my airplanes because I needed to be on the ground "NOW" because I had to pee so bad.....

I just drape it out the window & let 'er go.
This might not work for you under-endowed guys.

Ha Ha! Try that in a Sled with four Eskimo Grandmas, three teenage girls, and six babies all jammed into the airplane with you. You whip anything out and those Grandmas would hurt you bad.

Gump

Oh, boy.....when I was in Cold Bay, there was an outfit operating a Volpar converted Beech 18 out of there. One day the pilot asked if I wanted to ride the right seat to Dutch Harbor and back....free. We saddled up, with a half dozen pax in back and off we went.

About fifty miles out of Dutch the pilot, told me to fly--he was going to use the relief tube......no autopilot. This guy drank coffee by the gallon. He reached back and closed the little shower curtains behind the cockpit, and proceeded to proceed.

Suddenly, the shower curtains were thrown back and an elderly Aleut lady stuck her head into the cockpit, and asked "How much longer to Dutch?". If you've ever been in a Beech 18 cockpit, you'll know that her head was right between our heads. Fortunately, she was looking out the windshield.

Our Captain fairly shouted at her to get back in her G. D. seat....RIGHT NOW! At the same time he was, of course, trying to get things stowed, which wasn't going well......not well at all.

Our elder Aleut, however, was seriously irate at the Captain, and gave him a lecture on how you should treat passengers.......all the while looking him right in the eye.

All the while he's peeing his jeans, and I'm in hysterics, thoroughly enjoying the show. I may have bobbled the controls a bit there during this episode. The Captain was imploring the lady to take her seat, and she was getting more upset.

The lady took her seat finally, we landed in Dutch, El Capitan asked me if I'd unload the freight and baggage for Dutch and load the stuff for the return. Muttered something about wet spots.

As the passengers were claiming their luggage, the lady who'd created the flap took her bag from me and said she was going to inform Management that that pilot was a bad person. But she assured me that she'd tell them the copilot was very nice and had a nice smile.

I don't think I've ever worked so hard to keep from busting out laughing.

MTV

The picture in my avatar is a location that I landed for the first time right after I started flying with a Stanley thermos full of good strong coffee. I found a secure location right under my seat, like it was meant to be there. First time landing this 8600' site (about 90% of the places I've land have been 8600', a function of the local geology I guess) and while I was making the first of about 20 or 30 low fly bys and circling overhead looking it over, the urge hit bad. Mexican food the night before was involved. Nothing a relief tube or the Jonny Potty would handle if you catch my drift, I needed both feet on the ground ASAP or I'd be buying new pants.

The problem was, I kept seeing new rocks, every time I thought I had a LZ picked out, I'd spot another. They were the type that blended in with the terrain due to the moss or lichen growing on them. No place to land in a hurry, and I very seriously considered the ramifications of just letting go in flight, versus letting the need to go influence my decision making. It was not a good situation, and like many aviation accidents, one little detail wrong could start a bad chain of events. The NSTB would not be amused, or maybe they would be? Anyway, landed it OK, and after walking the area, did indeed see many hidden rocks and it worked out fine that I took my time and didn't let the need to go hurry me. Nowadays, if I take off with a full thermos, I think about my route's terrain and "flight plan" accordingly. Having a roll of toilet paper stashed in the wing root is as critical a needed piece of flight equipment as gas and oil.

It's really interesting how people read this post. I think most were thinking that the strip length tended to be shorter the more you needed a bathroom. However, this post touches on the uncontrolled visceral reaction to seeing a strip from the air and the correlation between certain feelings during the evaluation and strip length. Humorous post and thread.

Nobody's mentioned adult diapers? .... and one further. Perhaps part of flight planning... for those who have trouble with looseness and recall changing our infants diapers to find the elastic bands around chubby little thighs didn't keep the contents contained.... So....an extra large heaping spoon full of Metamucil the night before......to reduce potential of leakage. I carry the pee pouches with absorbing media... never used one or worn a diaper.... doesn't mean I haven't thought about it.


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It was back in the early 80's, and I was the Instructor Pilot for an Aeroscout Platoon (OH-58 helicopters). We had flown from Ft Ord (near Monterrey, CA) to a training area up near Yakima, WA for a 3-week Field Training Exercise, which was finally over. Our return flight included a fuel stop at Klamath Falls, OR (KLMT). We were flight-planned as a flight of 9, and I was flying with a brand-new pilot, who wanted some experience leading a formation flight. Normally, I prefer to fly the "trail" position, so I can keep the "herd" gathered up, and not wind up spread out over a 5-mile area. But this time, I assigned that task to "Doc", a CW3 (and our safety officer) who acted as the CO's pilot. The CO (a Major) would be flying with him.

Doc and I picked a tactical channel on one of the FM radio frequencies so he could keep me briefed on the "gaggle"... For this flight, since Doc had the CO with him in the "trail" position, everyone was minding their Ps & Qs, and Doc kept reporting that the formation was nice and tight. We were flying over some fairly rugged mountains, following a "tactical course" (for training purposes) that allowed us to stay just below the "military crest" of the mountains, flying the down-wind side of the valleys. The occasional turns along our route gave me the opportunity to visually check our "loose" formation (nominally 5 rotor-disk separation) to verify Doc's assessment.

At one point, near the Redmond VOR, I was able to look back and count the aircraft. 1, 2, ..., 7. Wait - shouldn't there be 8? I called Doc, and asked him if he was still in tight trail. After a few seconds, he responded that he was. I asked him to count the aircraft he could see, because I was missing one. At that point, he sort-of chuckled a bit, and said "OK - the Old Man had a 'human factors emergency' and just couldn't wait I had to land so he could go." I asked if he was OK to navigate solo the rest of the way, or wanted us to wait for him. (I knew that neither he nor the CO spend much time using VFR sectionals.) He said it was OK - he had their position plotted on the map, and they would catch up with us at the fuel stop. I told him we would see him in Klamath Falls, where the remaining 8 helicopters proceeded with no further incidents.

So, picture the scene: Nine OH-58s on the ramp, and 10 pilots and 8 enlisted crew chiefs sitting in the Klamath Falls airport lounge, which has picture windows overlooking the ramp. About a half-hour after we landed, we finally see Doc and the CO land and hover-taxi to the closest parking spot next to the terminal building - nowhere close to the rest of the helicopters. About 2 nano-seconds after the skids touch down, the CO practically threw himself out of the cockpit, and performed a "duck-walk" to the terminal building, holding his flight suit away from himself in the "seat" area. That seat area, by the way, was looking distinctly wet and discolored all the way from his shoulder blades to his ankles (both legs). The CO disappeared into the restroom without a word. We watched as Doc finished shutting down, tied down the rotor blades, but left ALL the doors propped wide open - clearly with the intent of airing out the cockpit... Then Doc began rifling through the packs in the back seat. Eventually, he exited the airplane with his arms full - a flight suit, t-shirt, underwear, and even socks. And a towel. Must not forget the towel...

By this time, all 18 guys in the terminal are howling with laughter, because it's obvious what had happened. Anyone who has worn a Nomex flight suit in the field has experienced the challenge of trying to take a dump without completely stripping down, and we were all imagining having a sudden attack of diarrhea in flight, having to land on a mountain top, and deal with the cumbersome flight suit in the "human factors emergency" situation. Clearly, the CO has "missed the mark" and had managed to soil his flight suit. And of course, with all the bouncing that those loverly 2-bladed helicopters do, the "stuff" had migrated its way both UP and DOWN to every nook and cranny... Every time we would almost stop laughing, someone would make some funny comment and we'd all start laughing again, with Doc joining in with us.

By the time the CO came back out of the restroom (roughly 45 minutes later!), I'd managed to get everyone calmed down, the hysteria was over, and everyone was ready to pretend nothing had happened. That is, until the CO marched over, stared each one of us in the eye as if to say "You got anything to say to me?" When he got to Doc and me, the CO kind of looked back and forth between us, and said nothing. Doc took a 1/2-step towards him as if to whisper something, made of show of "sniffing the air", and quickly stepped back with an "ugh" expression on his face. Eighteen highly disciplined soldiers just lost it at that moment. After a couple of red-faced seconds, the CO joined in with the laughter, saying to Doc and me, "I'm NEVER going to live this down, am I?"

Nope. Sorry, Sir! Never going to forget the crewchiefs "drawing straws" to see who had to go remove the seat and hose it off, either...

Good story JP256. We hated giving up the two piece Nomex after Vietnam. We blamed the $600 C-5 toilet seat. Anyway the Army had to go to tthe AF idiot one piece to save money. I think they thought it made them look like astronauts.

I had to wear the green one-piece in flight school, then got the tan two-piece when I got to The 101st. I've been in two-piece flight suits mostly ever since and greatly prefer them.

My favorite green one-piece story was when one of our flight school IPs had gotten on a health kick. He found a protein shake recipe in preparation for getting back into the gym and brought one into the briefing room one day. Of course everyone asked what it was and he told us - said they were delicious and that he had drank 2 already that morning. His students later relayed that they were instructed to conduct a simulated precautionary landing in a pasture on the way to the stage field that we (as a class) were supposed to meet at to practice contact maneuvers.

They said the IP told them he'd be right back as he jumped out of his seat belts and ran out of the helicopter, bee-lining toward the nearest tree line at a high rate of speed. They said he got about halfway there, froze dead in his tracks for a few seconds, then started walking again, very slowly, towards the trees.

That crew didn't make it to the stage field that day.

EDIT - typos...

Good to hear we have two piece Nomex again, Cam. Someone probably had to write a specification order for them, but it just seems logical.

High performance sailplanes have a reclined pilot seating position, in a pretty tight cockpit. One of my ships had a "submarine strap" in the pilot harness, which meant that you couldn't even get to your zipper and try to use a relief tube, or a Ziploc bag with absorbent crystals, etc. Most of the flights were at least four hours, closer to six, and on the really long flights you'd be in the cockpit for eight. As you would expect, this created some biological issues, especially since we flew in the SW USA deserts where it was hot and dry... you drank a lot of water.

One of the other contest pilots' wife was a nurse. She said that she knew of a possible solution for this problem, and it was called a "Male external urinary catheter". This was a device the same size and shape as a condom, except that the end of it had a small fitting to attach a tube. The idea was that the tube was connected to a remote collection bag.

The big idea was that you would wear this condom-like device, run the tube down inside the pants leg, and have a collection bag down near one of your feet. No need to un-zip, no need to aim anything into a bag, no need to worry about sealing a ziploc bag, etc. So she brought one of these medical devices to the next contest and I volunteered to be the test pecker...uhhh... test pilot.

So after the race briefing I went into the restroom with this kit, and opened up the package. I realized that I was in trouble very quickly, when the first thing that came out of the package was a roll of double stick tape.

Any old model airplane builder will tell you that the only sure way to remove some types of double-stick adhesive tape residue was the liberal use of Acetone or MEK, and that didn't sound like anything I wanted to use on this particular body part. So I decided to skip the adhesive portion of the installation procedure. Critical error.

Fast forward to three hours later, somewhere in the vicinity of Mount Whitney, between 12K and 14K MSL, when nature called. With a big stupid smile I just relaxed and let nature take its course, confident in the knowledge that the catheter, tube, and collection bag were doing their job. The oxygen mask prevented me from receiving what would have been valuable system feedback through my sense of smell. It was the unexpected warmth on my leg that alerted me something was wrong. A large amount if liquid had soaked my blue jeans, and the collection bag taped to my ankle remained empty.

The cause of this massive mechanical malfunction? Altitude and temperature induced shrinkage !

The NTSB report would have clearly mentioned... "the pilot's failure to ensure sufficient bonding strength between structural components" as the cause of the incident.

GumpAir wrote:When I was flying pax up north, I can't tell you the number of times I tried to wreck my airplanes because I needed to be on the ground "NOW" because I had to pee so bad.

We're talking mixtures to idle cut-off, flaps dumped, me opening the door and running to get behind the nearest Conex box.... All while still 50 feet up in the air.

Gump

LMAO!!!

I've been there.

What is it about obtaining cruise altitude that stimulates urine production?

Plus I'm hampered by a shy bladder. I'd burst if I tried to use the Snapple bottle if not alone in the plane. Even by myself on autopilot it's not an easy task paying attention to the mountains etc.

I found out that it is possible to start a procedure turn outbound on an ILS, take out a Ziploc, pee, and zip up in time for the course reversal. There must be some sadistic biological timing device that causes the urge to become greater the closer you get to the destination.

My worst experience of the "gotta go" variety was in the T210, on a trip to Detroit. My son and I were going there for a wedding where I was to be the best man. As it happened, the jet stream was pretty low, and I figured if we could climb into the bottom of it, we could make it in one stop. We both pee'd before climbing into the airplane, and with clearance from ATC, climbed to FL230. We leveled off, and the DME kept climbing until it read over 400 knots--we'd definitely grabbed the jet stream.

But over mid Nebraska, I realized that I had to go, and soon. We had a bottle, but even on autopilot with the seat slid back, I could not get myself to go. Finally I gave up, called ATC, confessed my plight, and asked to go down. I asked if ATC could keep my flight plan, and I'd call them as soon as I was in the air again. I did some calculating, and at a steady 5-600 fpm descent with enough power in to keep from super cooling the engine without going into the yellow on the IAS, Iowa City seemed doable. Do you realize how long it takes to get from 23,000' to 683' MSL, KIOW's elevation at 5-600 fpm? The prop hadn't stopped before I was out, peeing beside the runway.

I turned the airplane around, took off the opposite direction (KIOW was a very, very quiet airport at that time), and at about 1000' AGL I called ATC. He cleared me to climb on up and on to Detroit, and then he said, "Are you feeling better?" I could hear the loud laughter in the background--he'd obviously shared my situation with everyone else in the facility. Oh well!

Cary