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1977-03-01 | Memory | Pilot Bread

When I was twelve I went on a two week camping trip with the Boy Scouts around Mount Rainier. I just had a homemade tent, a tarp and some stakes. The scout troop met at the Mormon church, and every third meeting was pure religion (which means I have been formally indoctrinated as a kid by three different formal religions).

My homemade tent didn't work so well. We didn't hike on Sundays, so we just waited all day in the rain. It rained quite a bit. We ate pilot bread, which I have enjoyed ever since. It tastes very good when you are cold and hungry the next day... nothing seems like it could possibly taste better, particularly with PBJ. That night I got very cold and tried to crawl into the scoutmaster's tent, but got kicked out. My homemade tent leaked. The next day they decided I had hypothermia, so they made room for me in a real tent, where slept as I hiked the remainder of the trip.

Another fond memory is when we stopped at Paradise and dried out our socks on the hand dryers. The feeling of dry, warm socks is right up there with pilot bread in joy for me.

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