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Many years ago, I was on mid-summer drive in the country when I spotted a few Cubs, Champs, and other vintage light airplanes in the distance flying in circles at low altitude. It looked like they were dropping something. Sensing something fun going on, I headed in that direction and was able to locate the small grass-strip airport they were flying over.

I could see there was a friendly gathering in progress, and there were a couple of official-looking guys with clipboards standing by a vintage military vehicle parked at the edge of the runway next to the windsock. I wandered over and asked them what was happening.

“We’re in the middle of a flour-bombing contest.” Sure enough, I could see a half-dozen or so well-dispersed stains of white powder scattered up and down the runway. “What are they aiming for?” I asked. One of them casually gestured his clipboard toward the vehicle we were all standing right next to. A little surprised, I started to move away as I saw an Aeronca Champ lining up to start its Pillsbury bomb run. The other guy said, “I wouldn’t be too worried. This is probably the safest spot on the whole airport.”

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