My wife and I left Palo Alto and were finally cleared to our final altitude of FL190 to cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains in our TR-182 some years ago.  At 14,000 feet there was a loud BOOM with enough energy to thump me in the chest like a huge bass drum.  We looked around to see what fell off.  Everything was fine.  We looked at one another with equally quizzical looks when we got the second equally energetic BOOM at 14,500 feet.  I called Oakland Center, told them of the two explosions and requested an expedited descent direct Stockton to check things out. 

 

Let me tell you, it can be a life altering event when you get to big BOOMs in a row that give your body a strong thump.

 

Descending through 12,500, masks off, I sent my wife over the front seat backs to investigate the rear of the cabin.  A minute later she was rolling around in the back seat convulsing with laughter.   Scarcely able to speak she was laughing so hard, she finally communicated that not one, but TWO big bags of Fritos corn chips had exploded behind the back seats.   

 

Talk about quality control in packaging!  Only a 500 foot difference in altitude between the two BOOMs. 

 

I told ATC that the problem was identified as a non- problem and we were re-cleared on course.  Then ATC asked what happened.  When I described the two BOOMs and their sources, we were regaled with laughter a second time from just about everyone on the frequency.  I never heard so much microphone clicking before and since.  All the way east bound, as we were handed off from sector to sector, I got “Are you the guys with the exploding bags of corn chips?”  History had been made. 

 

Couldn’t happen again, eh?  Wrongo. 

 

Some years later I was sitting in the back seat of Derek Hine’s LIVP at 27,000 feet over central Nevada, dozing.  Derek and Neesham Wallace were up front enjoying the view while the engine was quietly pumping oil overboard via a cracked turbo oil return line.  When the oil pump sucked air the last time, the prop governor then sucked air, lost pressure, and the prop went flat.  The airplane pitched down severely as the flow over the tail was disrupted by the prop-turned-pizza-plate.  Next to me our lunch, Jepp charts, and a big bag of Frito Corn Chips went to the ceiling, then forward above the pilot and co-pilot who both grabbed the throttle and pulled it back quickly to stop the gross RPM overspeed which was trashing the engine.  That cut the pressurization, and the Fritos bag went BOOM. 

 

Once under control with the engine shut down we began a long, long glide to Elko, Nevada.  On the way down all the trash that had hit the ceiling ended up in the pilot and co pilot foot wells.  Derek started digging all the trash out of the foot wells and handing it back to me so they would have better access to the rudder pedals.  As he did so, he asked:

 

“Where did all these effing corn chips come from?”

 

You have been warned.  Puncture those bags prior to flight, guys.   Put it on your checklist.

 

Captain Corn Chip