The Van Horn Chronicles - Part 3
The Van Horn Chronicles - Part 3
The Saga Continues
Prologue
I was going to mix it up and step back from the space stuff, but then thought we should see this through to its logical end. So, until we get above the Karman Line, buckle up for shorter yet more frequent missives, and set controls for the heart of the sun.
This is First Human Flight.
Project: Blue Origin
Cast of Characters:
Peter - Director
Sean - Director of Photography
Hooti - Blue Hospitality Guru
Kevin - CM7
July 15, 2021
Better Than Fishstick Night
It's like we never left, and it's like we were never here. New buildings, new signage, new faces, and yet old friends, the mountains and the mission. We rose with the early morning and loaded into the Expeditions, speeding along Highway 54 like points on a plane extending to infinity. Warmth began to rise from the road and the air was heavy with the smell of clay and sulfur and incense. The scent of life without end. My mind wandered as we drove... Are there ghosts in space?
First up was capsule recovery rehearsal (again!). After a quick check-in at Mission Control, we got into the lineup at Fallback 3 and then went out to the recovery site in a much more controlled manner than I had previously experienced (see prior sound report for that tale). Although we were not yet in the full heat of the day, sweat was beginning to dry on my forehead, and the feeling of wet, dirty clothes was beginning to creep over me. We in Media Bravo took our cues, followed the Livestream crew to the capsule, and blocked our positions for the actual recovery operation. The make-believe astronauts sprayed each other with make-believe champagne, we shot make-believe footage and then did it four more times from different angles.
After a debrief, we then went to the VPF, now known as "The Barn" for a scout. And that's when things started to go a little off-book. Apparently, our previously ordered lunch from Boots N' Scoops would not get to us in time to make the upcoming challenge coin rehearsal. An executive decision was, therefore, made to feed us at Blue, in the dreaded giant Quonset Hut. Peter mentioned something about a salad bar. Oh no, I thought.
Well, everyone's suspicions were confirmed. It was uniformly terrible. Where to begin? The post-Katrina disaster camp ambiance? The stifling warm air applying downward pressure on the overwhelmingly loud din of industrial-sized fans? The look of defeat on every mouth shoveling in the day's fare? The handwritten signs warning people not to go back for seconds and to only take four chicken strips? Dare I say it - it was like the epicurean fulfillment center of your least edible nightmares.
I followed Sean into the chow line and could only hear him say "so upsetting" as he donned the clear plastic gloves required to serve oneself from the steam table. I quickly adopted a more Stoic approach and took a little bit of everything, reminding myself of Seneca's admonishment that hunger makes even the poorest bread taste delicate. I must not have been hungry enough. The "early peas" were so weird that I let out an audible hoot. They defied physics. How can something go from solid to semi-vapor to quickly and with such astonishing mouthfeel? The taste - dishwater and nutmeg. My tongue felt rubbery. My mouth tasted like a mix between soggy oatmeal and mildew. My teeth were chattering. My stomach recoiled. So, I chose a new tactic - the chicken strips looked good, like there might be a thick beer-batter, even tempura-like, but no. Once again, the universe bent toward the impossible. The "strips" were crunchy yet dry and doughy. It was like everything at once and nothing worth doing. I began to swoon and again the heaviness of the air was all-encompassing, like a seat cover made of rubber and pureed sand, bearing the imprint of each person's sweaty desert boot. Was I eating a boot?
Meanwhile, the rice was a puzzle. It looked like fried rice, but it was an imposter. I asked around and we all agreed it was white rice, dressed up to look brown, soaked in soy sauce, mixed with corn niblets, and something green. Peter, ever the peacemaker, said "it's not as bad as it’s been." Sean just continued to shake his head as Donny said something about "the grapes are grapes and the broccoli is broccoli."
Thank God Hooti showed up and raised our spirits. "Better than fish stick night!" he reminded us. Peter then capped off the meal with a Diet Coke "for digestive assistance."
With our bellies full it was then off to the ATC for the challenge coin rehearsal. We marveled at the new changing rooms that seemed to have been constructed in record time, and I was pleased by the increased air conditioning in the building. Again, we blocked out our position with the Livestream crew and Kevin went through the scenario with the stand-ins, presenting each of them with a specially minted challenge coin that only Blue Origin astronauts will receive after completing their training. As Kevin related an apocryphal account on the ancient Roman origins of such coins, involving legionnaires and empire wars, I found myself thinking - shouldn't we have our own challenge coin for eating the food today? Yes, we should. We could even trade them with other food survivors, and they could increase in value over the years. But why stop there, why not make it digital, non-fungible, a food-coin that you could exchange at certain locations, and have a celebrity endorse it, raising its value even higher, propelling arbitrage, encouraging miners to setup vast arrays of computers, each solving mathematical recipe-equations in hopes of earning even more treasure. A culinary cryptocurrency.
But before I could get on the phone with my favorite software developer, we were back in the Barn and witness to a truly astonishing feat. I saw mere humans push an entire rocket booster into position using nothing more than their physical strength and the assistance of "air bearings" under each foot of the platform. It was a meeting of human hands, metal, and pure physics. It was grounding.
Then we were off to Figure 2 ranch to scout interview locations. What can be said about Jeff's theater/gym complex? It's impeccable. The climbing wall can set up 10,000 different world-class routes. And then I thought of my own home theater (a soundbar), and the treadmill in my basement (broken speed sensor) and it's like the difference between throwing a bullet and shooting a gun. Great location. Good for sound.
100 degrees later we were inside a Rivian truck and figuring out where the GoPro cameras should go. I wanted to put Toto on Spotify but was voted down. The rear door would not open from the inside. I liked the interior wood trim but it reminded Sean of "Grandma's station wagon." Well, for $80K a truck, Grandma can have whatever she wants.
And then we were done. We agreed that the day seemed epic and that the capsule recovery rehearsal happened a week ago. I suspect that the desert sun will do that to you - it makes the eyelids feel like a furnace door. It makes the day its own. But, then again, maybe it was the mushy peas.
All Hail West Texas!
Also Of Interest
Santa Claus is dead.
Han Solo made out of bread.
If you’re still wondering about crypto, this is for you.
Oblique Strategy Of The Day
“Don’t be afraid of cliches.”
All good thoughts,
Avi