50 years ago today, the United States space program was born. The small satellite Explorer I was launched into space on the evening of January 31st, 1958, setting the US down a course from which it may have wavered, but has never turned back. The history books tell us that the Soviets launched Sputnik to start the space age in October of 1957 while the Americans followed about three and a half months later. With 50 years behind us, these few months seem trivial, and we tend to think that the USSR and USA entered space at pretty much the same time. But looking back at the political context, those months must have been extremely nerve-wracking. Entry into space was a reflection of military might and cultural superiority, and the first nation to achieve the feat had 'won' in some sense. By losing to the Soviets in October, America was faced with a crisis of sorts: if we couldn't match the accomplishment, and do so soon, it would be hard to convince the world that Communism was an inferior mode of governance. The Cold War may well have turned out differently. Weeks passed after Sputnik, and then months -- those must have been hand-wringing, agonizing days. Finally, on December 6th, the US was ready to respond. The rocket was the Vanguard, and it signalled our readiness to enter space and compete with the Soviets. Unfortunately, things didn't quite go as planned, and a few seconds after lift-off, millions of Americans glued to their TV sets saw this encouraging sight:
That's right: a few seconds of suspense followed by an explosion on the launchpad. Needless to say, this was a huge embarassment for the national space program, and efforts to get something both off the launchpad and into space were accelerated. It happened on January 31st, inspiring a collective sigh of relief. I think the most important legacy was not political, though those ramifications are hard to deny, but rather scientific. Sputnik was little more than a glorified metronome, emitting pulses of radio signals; its importance was its presence and nothing more. Explorer I was intended to match the Soviets, but it took advantage of its environment by conducting a science experiment. The principal investigator was Dr. van Allen, and his geiger counter marked the first experiment conducted in space, leading to the naming of the van Allen radiation belts that encircle the Earth (shown below). I think this established a sort of intellectual high ground for the American space program that was never quite equalled by the narrowly focused Soviet agenda.
Anyway, happy birthday space program, and many more!
Well, I managed to survive the moderately absurd Tough Guy competition on Sunday, the annual run / obstacle course through the English countryside. Upon arrival at the farm, we were greeted by a circus - thousands of people dressed up in crazy costumes and/or carrying ridiculous props. Our group of 20 included 'Athena' with shield and spear, an '80s rocker with blond wig, and a guy in a muscle outfit. (These were pretty tame by comparison, and I ran part of the race next to a guy in a thong).
After signing our 'death warrants' aka liability waivers, we were off. We ran a few miles, climbed up and down hills, catapulted ourselves over bales of hay, crawled underneath nets, and leapt into and climbed out of pits of mud and water. And then we got to the 'killing fields'. 20-some obstacles lay in front of us, involving 30-foot rope climbs, mud, barbed wire, tire tunnels, more mud, concrete tunnels, electrically-charged wires, even more mud, a 12-foot leap into freezing muddy water, slippery climbs up muddy slopes, still more mud, burning hay bales, tightrope walks, a swim in freezing muddy water, and yes, lots more mud. Now, you would think that after you're wet and covered in mud once, the next couple of dozen times wouldn't be so bad, right? Not so much: each time was just as miserable as the time before. The worst by far were the tasks that required complete submergence - everything just kind of froze in place for a few moments before I could register just how painful it was. Here's a video from last year's competition to give you an idea of the mayhem.
Enough belly aching: we were lucky to have a good year, comparatively speaking. The course was a bit shorter than expected, and it was in the low '50s. The ordeal would have been downright barbaric if it had actually been winter-like weather. As it was, roughly 50 people or so were taken from the course to the 'hospital tent' to be treated for hypothermia.
All of this misery begs the question: why? Why subject yourself to hours of pain and misery all for the sake of a rather hideous golden medal? For one thing, I think it's marketed well, and the race capitalizes on its appeal to machismo. The vast majority of participants are men (maybe about 80%), and there is a strong military contingent. If the event were called 'Run through mud on a horse farm' I have a weird feeling it wouldn't be quite as successful. More importantly though, I think people relish the suffering. There's something empowering about suffering - it throws into greater relief small comforts, like the absence of freezing muddy water, that we take for granted. Experiences that expand our comfort zones make us stronger. I'll always think twice before complaining about being cold, reflecting back to the 'walk the plank' obstacle in the killing fields. Our lives are pretty tame, and the opportunity to run through this absurd scene is an escape of sorts, a way to prove to ourselves that we can handle extreme circumstances, however manufactured they may be.
Burt Rutan and Richard Branson unveiled "Space Ship Two" the other day, the space ship that will take the first space tourists into orbit in 2009 or 2010. First of all, creative name there guys - seems like it took a real burst of creativity to go from "Space Ship One" (the ship that won Rutan the X Prize a few years ago) to...that's right, "Space Ship Two." (What will the next one be called?) Anyway, Rutan made headlines a few years ago by leading the first privately-funded enterprise to put someone in space and return them safely. He and his financial partner Paul Allen won themselves a cool $10 million, and now Branson has spun off another Virgin company to capitalize: Virgin Galactic. Construction on the first ever spaceport is underway in the New Mexico desert.
As an established space enthusiast, I am often asked if I would want to go into space aboard a tour ship. I don't think I would -- I don't envision the experience being particularly fulfilling for those with the exploratory gene. It seems like cheating in a way; I think the real purpose of space flight is not the "gee whiz" factor of weightlessness, but rather the exploratory component, sense of mission, and scientific potential that lie beyond earth. A flight with Virgin Galactic costs $200,000, takes about 2.5 hours and includes a cool 2.5 minutes of weightlessness. Just to clarify, that's $1,333 per second of free fall (making the price of the local amusement park seem like a bargain!). I think Branson understands that this may ultimately become anticlimactic, and he's already thinking larger scale, about other benefits of space tourism. In the presentation the other day in New York, he mentioned that some of the biggest scientific breakthroughs of the future might happen through such journeys. Perhaps he wasn't quite so bombastic, but he was suggesting that his company will produce scientific results. I have trouble believing this, especially in the near term. NASA has been stuck in low earth orbit (quite a bit farther our that space ship two will be going) for decades trying to justify a science program of humans in space - it seems pretty likely that most of the worthwhile science has been done. And I have trouble seeing billionaire Bob taking an ion sputtering thin film depositor in his carry-on baggage to occupy his 150 seconds of space-time.
Even still, I think this is missing the point. The real promise of space lies in the destination, not the journey. Taking a ride on Virgin Galactic is like taking an afternoon boat ride a few miles off the coast of Spain in the 1500s. At that time, the real exploratory expeditions were focused on the New World, and it wasn't because they got months of time staring at the ocean -- it was the destination they sought. The New World was full of treasure and ensured riches for all who would make the trip (or so went the thinking). This seems like an obvious thing to say, but the true power of space exploration is where it can take you - the Moon, Mars, Europa, and elsewhere. I think we've been a little too enamored with the 'magic' of weightlessness, to willing to see space itself as the destination, to realize this.
So I'm a little skeptical of space tourism, but I do think the future of space exploration very well could be through private ventures. If NASA continues to be painfully risk-averse and some far-sighted company can be persuaded that an exploratory, science-based manned mission is worth their while, the first human mission to Mars might just be a corporate trip.
For lack of anything better to write about, I just wanted to pass this video along. I guess being the richest person in the world (or 2nd richest these days) gets you some pretty high-level friends. Enjoy!
Yesterday I had the chance to visit "the Temple" of London, a several-acre site in central London that is (usually) closed to the public, giving it an air of secrecy and intrigue. This section of the city was initially occupied by the Knights Templar - religious fighters who had returned from fighting in the Crusades. Eventually the complex was transferred to the government, and for the last several hundred years has been the site of accommodation and education for barristers and other members of the legal profession. Apparently a scene in the da Vinci Code takes place in one of the ancient buildings on site.
Two things of personal interest: First, there is a Great Hall wallpapered with coats of arms of important English families that has been used for state functions and rituals. It's made almost entirely of wood on the inside, and the time-polished edges of walls and floorboards are the products of hundreds of years of use. An evening in 1580 saw a particularly noteworthy event when Sir Francis Drake, the first Englishman to travel around the world, stopped in the Hall upon return. This was where he was received by the Queen, where he told of his journeys to far-away lands and encounters with foreign peoples. That must have been quite an event to have witnessed.
The other snazzy component was a pair of globes in the library (which also contains a copy of the US declaration of independence). They are known as the Molyneux Globes, dating from 1592. There were the most geographically accurate globes of the time, extremely valuable works of craftsmanship, and the first globes made in England. It was incredible to look at the globes and note differences between their geographies and modern maps. Mexico was looking a little skinny; Cuba slightly on the large side; Australia didn't exist at all! Certainly we've increased our knowledge of the Earth since then, but I imagine the makers of the Molyneux globe were pretty happy with themselves as well - England was, after all, the forefront of geographical discovery. The process of learning and discovery of our surroundings is an everlasting journey, which is much of its appeal. As Molyneux, Drake and their contemporaries were driven to understand and map their world, so too are we; in that essential way, I think we have more in common with the map-makers of 16th century England than we may like to believe. We are still at the tip of the iceberg of understanding our place in the universe.
If you're a tennis fan, you're probably in one of two camps: you either love Roger Federer or you cheer for anyone else to beat him. You can make an argument for Michael Phelps or Tiger Woods, but I would back Federer as the single most dominant athlete in his sport. He's been ranked first in the world for the last four years, the longest streak ever, and it sure doesn't look like that's going to change any time soon.
While there's nothing like a good underdog story, I'm in that first group - I admire Federer and cheer for him. I enjoy watching true excellence, and I think his mastery of his job is inspirational regardless of what you do. But I wouldn't be able to cheer him on if he weren't also a pretty good person. He occasionally makes seemingly arrogant comments about how good he his, but he's being realistic more than anything. He never throws tantrums on the court (though I suppose there's no need if you always win) and he has a great respect for the game. I think he's humbled by his dominance, yet determined to sustain it. I think he also knows 5 languages or something like that. I would say that as a tennis fan you either love him or hate him, but even his detractors like and admire him...they just want a little drama now and then.
Anyway, Roger is cruising (so far) at the Australian Open, just a few days after being bed-ridden with a stomach ailment. Here's a look at one of his greater moments:
Quick, list 10 political issues that matter most to you, in order.
An interesting report came out today about "Science and Engineering Indicators 2008," published by the National Science Board. The study looks at Americans' attitudes toward science-related issues and compares them with peers around the world. In general, the report shows that Americans are interested in, if not utterly blown away by, science. In the last several years, some indicators of interest in science appear to have improved: 87% support government funding of basic research, up from 80% in 1979. 41% believe the government spends too little on science - 34% said the same in 2002. One of the more interesting findings was that scientists are relatively well-regarded and trusted. Survey respondents expressed more trust in scientists as a group than any other profession except for military leaders.
But two things kind of frightened me. First, when asked if the government should spend more on certain things, science and space exploration fared poorly. Education (73%), health care (72%) and assistance to the poor (68%) topped the list, while science research tied with mass transit (38%) and space exploration (14%) was an afterthought. Now, this doesn't mean that people don't support space exploration, because surveys show that they generally do, but it's clear that it's not a priority. Broadly speaking, it's not a part of our national identity we want to enhance. While it's a little discouraging to think that we need the threat of competition to show us the importance of space exploration, I bet these numbers will change as we see China become a bigger player. We can hope.
Ok, now back to that first line. Subjects were given a list of 10 prominent political issues and asked to rank them in order of importance. Global warming finished 8th! After all of the media attention this issues has been getting over the last couple of years, it still is near the bottom of the list. Environmental issues have always suffered from a low salience level; that is, an environmental generally affects you in a less immediate way than, say, losing your job. For this reason, it's hard to make environmental issues a top national priority. The problem is that global warming probably isn't going to get much more salient - right now, we are bombarded with reports of record high temperatures, retreating glaciers, etc. Sure, global warming and its effects will continue, but these effects are unlikely to get more sudden or more jolting than they are today. Perhaps the best way around this is to have political action beyond the level of public support, in order to really bring about change. Somehow, I'm not too hopeful.
It occurred to me rather suddenly today that I have less than 3 months to get ready for the London marathon. In other words, it's time to get down to business. The thing is, I say this now, but I know that in a couple months, I won't quite be where I want to be in terms of training and I'll end up running another 4+ hour race. Based on past experience, I tend to do just enough training to get by, not enough to run my best on race day. I think this is because I'm still in the mode of thinking that just finishing is my goal; I'm not pushing myself to do better than that. I'm well aware that I'm never going to be a professional runner, and it's a difficult to push yourself when there is no clear incentive beyond "personal improvement." But who knows, maybe I'll surprise myself this time around.
Here's my inspiration this time around:
It's a picture of the cliffs surrounding the Orongo crater on Easter Island. When the Easter Island society started going downhill in the 1400s or so, they came up with a very interesting cultural solution to decide who would govern the island. Each of the 8 or so tribes would nominate one person to compete in the Birdman race; the winner's tribe would rule for the next year. The competition started at the top of Orongo crater; racers would climb down the 1000-foot cliff, jump in the water, swim to the more distant of the two small islands (about a mile), collect an egg of a particular species of bird, swim back, and climb up the 1000-foot cliff. Quite an impressive feat. Next to that, a marathon is nothing!
Blog hiatus #2 is now over: just got back from a week in South America, having visited Santiago and Easter Island. Perhaps I should clarify – three and a half days of actually seeing stuff, two and a half of traveling. Not that I can complain: you would hope there is some time and difficulty involved in reaching the most remote inhabited place on Earth.
Easter Island is pretty much as middle-of-nowhere as you can get, 2500 miles from mainland Chile, 1500 miles from other Polynesian islands. It was settled around the year 400. It is absolutely amazing to me that people even found the place, it's a proverbial needle in a haystack. In order to find Easter Island, Polynesian explorers would have had to row in exactly the right direction for about 2 weeks. Storms or rogue ocean currents could have altered the trajectory beyond repair at any time. How many other expeditions set off with the hopes of finding land only to be disappointed? And why did these people feel the need to row for weeks? As far as I can tell, there was no particular hardship they were fleeing; it was merely a case of looking for something new and exploring their greater surroundings. I'm impressed.
So the island was settled around 400, and was on its own until the mid 1700s, when Europeans found the place. During that time, society rose and fell, wars began and ended, and statues were carved. The inhabitants were profoundly isolated, not only geographically, but also philosophically, I would think. Imagine you were born on an island that is roughly 8x15 miles, with absolutely nothing else around except for water. The island is all that you would know - to you, the several thousand others on the island are the only other humans in the universe. Your piece of land is all that there is, the limit of everything worthwhile in your world. With no trade or flux of ideas and people, there was no sense of anything larger going on in the world. It must have been quite a shock to see a ship full of Europeans come sailing in.
Sorry about the rather massive absence - I just returned from a rather glorious trip to Nashville and Asheville, otherwise known as the tour de 'villes.
I'd been eager to check out Asheville for a while, especially given its description as the "Boulder of the East" and its mountain-town culture. People from Asheville are invariably proud of their hometown and more than willing to talk about it - it's one of those rare places with a shared sense of civic pride. Didn't get to check out the town itself too much, but I did get a brief sampling of the area's outdoorsy offerings. The wonderful Blue Ridge Parkway, a road stretching from Virginia to North Carolina through the best of Appalachian scenery, runs right through Asheville. On this day, however, this part of the road was shrouded in a thick fog. Though beautiful in its own eerie way, it wasn't exactly the grand vistas of blue-tinged hills (oh, sorry, "mountains") that makes the region famous. You couldn't see more than about 10 meters.
But fog is an easily controlled animal, trapped by its heavier-than-air need for low elevations. So if one goes through a tunnel, hypothetically, through a mountain over which the fog cannot pass, you might just have a better view. Here's the before...
...and the after:
On the clear side of the tunnel, we got the gorgeous views, as advertised. To bad we had already cashed in out hike pre-tunnel. Past the tunnel, there was a narrow pass - that saddle shaped depression connecting two topographic highs. This pass was just low enough for fog from the neighboring valley to spill over, and it looked like a slow-motion river.
Take away point was that I'm pretty jealous of Ashevillians. All along the BRP are stops to go hiking/running, etc. There's an embarrassment of outdoor recreation riches remarkably close to town. Though it's hard to argue that the offerings rival those of the Rocky Mountains, it can't be beat for proximity.
And now for another prolonged gap in posts - heading south to Easter Island this morning, where it's summer and 90 degrees. Time to work on the mid-winter tan. Oh yeah, and Happy New Year!
