Our Visit to Edwards Air Force Base: Part 2

After Don’s talk in the museum, we got back into the tour bus and traveled further onto the base.  He asked the driver to stop at times to point out specific buildings, show us "The Right Stuff" movie locations, and give us a better view of Rogers Dry Lake Bed.  It’s such a large, flat, and clear area, that astronauts can see it when they’re in orbit over Guam, six thousands miles away (or ¼ across the Earth). 

Of course, aircraft outnumber spacecraft by a significant margin, and everywhere we went, we saw planes parked in lots or set out on display.  After awhile, the bus driver stopped outside the main runway, got out to check the tires for any rocks or other debris they might have picked up, then drove the bus forward a few feet, and performed a second inspection.  Don explained that this precaution was due to the speed at which the planes took off and landed.  Imagine the damage to the aircraft, or bystanders, that a pebble could cause, if a speeding plane rolled over it, or the air disturbed by its passage picked it up, and flung it across the runway.  As if to reinforce this point, a street-sweeping vehicle, capable of sucking loose debris into its vacuum, rolled past.

As we rode along in the bus, we saw planes parked on the tarmac, or in the hangers.  Many were fighter jets, like the new F-35 Lightning II, and older, more time-tested models like the F-16 Fighting Falcon.  We also saw larger planes, such as the C-17 Globemaster III military transport.  We stopped by a hanger where retired volunteers were rebuilding older airplanes, such as the F-80 Shooting Star, and a mockup of the X-15 rocket plane.  One of the volunteers told us how they go about rebuilding the airplanes they’ve managed to reclaim.  As amazing as it seems, they sometimes find these magnificent planes rusting away in backyards.  Depending on a given plane's size and condition, they may have to close roads, and tow it along, usually at night, until they got it back to the base.  

Along the runway again, Don showed us one building he called the "Bad Comb-over" building.  Apparently, it was used for Tony Stark’s headquarters in the movie “Iron Man.”  He pointed out red painted lines on the runway, and said that anyone who crossed them, either in a vehicle or on foot, would be punished severely, if not shot.  (But they’re only painted lines, Don!)  As he was a big, well-rounded man, he showed us a building he used to work in, and said that he had spent many happy moments at its snack bar/refreshment area.  Yes, good times, Don.  Good times.

At one point, Don's voice rose, and he urged us to look out front.  We watched as a fighter jet landed ahead of us, and slowed as it neared.  Designated a F-22 Raptor, it’s a newer fighter jet the Air Force is still working the bugs out of.  As the plane rolled past, everyone on the bus waved, and a chill rippled down my spine.  I wondered what the pilot was testing on his fighter jet.  Some new components to make the plane more reliable, or systems designed for some other purpose?  This was what Edwards Air Force Base was all about.  It wasn’t like Top Gun, where they taught pilots how to dogfight.  This was Flight Test, where they tested out planes, parts, and systems that might later be used by pilots in combat situations.

More Tomorrow.

Dragon Dave

Honoring the Mercury Seven

Everyone remembers Neil Armstrong.  Everyone remembers what he said on the moon: “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”  But how many remember Alan Shepherd, Gus Grissom, or the rest of the Mercury Seven who made Apollo 11 possible?

According to Tom Wolfe in The Right Stuff, America’s first astronauts were larger than life men, test pilots like Tom Cruise’s character Pete “Maverick” Mitchell in the movie Top Gun.  Yet once they joined Project Mercury, they were grounded, and when they rebelled, and insisted that they be allowed to fly, the older, less capable planes they occasionally piloted couldn’t deliver the same thrills as the latest fighter jets.  Thus, they sated their “Need for speed” on the highway, in the fastest sports cars they could get their hands on.

All of them had fine careers to look forward to in their respective branches of the military.  Yet they gave those up, and for what?  To sit in a capsule and be shot into space?  Their fellow test pilots couldn’t understand their reasoning.  The engineers behind Project Mercury hadn’t believed pilots were necessary.  They had envisioned engineers sitting in those capsules, monitoring computerized systems, and providing medical information from all the sensors attached to their bodies.  Of the twenty-six Mercury flights, only six carried astronauts.  The rest were either computer controlled, or guided by the chimpanzees Ham and Enos, who had been conditioned to press all the right controls at the right times, and did so.  Imagine the ribbing the astronauts received from their former comrades.  “Yeah, congratulations on that mission of yours.  Did you enjoy it as much as the monkeys?”

None of these men ever resumed the aviation careers they had previously enjoyed.  For Alan Shepherd and Gus Grissom, their fifteen minutes of fame were literally fifteen minutes locked inside a capsule, as their Redstone rockets lacked the power to launch them into orbit.  John Glenn and Scott Carpenter reached orbit on the newer Atlas rockets, and got five-hour flights, while Wally Schirra followed them with nine hours in space.  Of all the Mercury flights, only Gordon Cooper got the most in return for all the potential flight-time he could have gotten had he stayed in the Air Force, as he logged thirty-four hours before his capsule returned to Earth. 

Poor Deke Slayton didn’t even get to fly in a Mercury mission.  Instead, NASA grounded him for medical reasons.

On the day we visited Space View Park in Titusville, Florida, what struck me was all that these seven men gave up to become America’s first seven astronauts.  Certainly, the Mercury missions made no sense to their peers.  After NASA’s initial presentations, virtually all the candidates agreed that the missions represented a divergence from the military careers each had built up to that point.  As Gus Grissom shares in We Seven, after NASA selected him, he asked himself, “Now what in hell do you want to get up on that thing for?”  A few sentences later, he answers himself.  “If my country decided that I was one of the better qualified people for this new mission, then I was proud and happy to help out.”

As my wife and I stood before the Project Mercury memorial, only one other person joined us: an older gentleman, with a cellphone pressed to his ear, leaned against one of the bronze plaques and discussed shipment schedules for his business.  After pausing before each of the other plaques, we left to visit the Gemini and Apollo memorials.  Later, as we headed back to the car, I decided to return, once last time, to the gleaming, silver Mercury 7 symbol.  Two young people now stood before it, and a third stood behind a camera set upon a tripod.  I listened as the young man and woman spoke, introduced the statue, and spoke about the men who had risked their lives, and their careers, to pilot those cramped, experimental capsules. 

Alan Shepherd.  Gus Grissom.  John Glenn.  Scott Carpenter.  Wally Schirra.  Gordon Cooper.  Deke Slayton.  You helped guide NASA's early efforts.  You proved man could survive the launch and reentry processes, and that he could survive beyond Earth's atmosphere.  You inspired a president and a nation, which made Apollo 11 possible.  Without your insistence on making space capsules completely controllable by the pilot, Apollo 13 might have turned out differently. Because of you, America eventually invested in a space shuttle program, and convinced the world to build an International Space Station.  If man ever sets foot on Mars, part of the credit will be yours.  

I will never forget the sacrifices you made for all of us.

Dragon Dave  

Understanding Kimi Raikkonen: Part 6

"What happens in Monaco,
doesn't necessarily stay in Monaco."

In The Right Stuff, author Tom Wolfe calls Chuck Yeager a “natural-born stick ‘n’ rudder man.”  After serving as a combat pilot in World War II, Yeager was trained as a test pilot, and eventually selected for the X-1 project.  This project represented one of aviation’s far-flung goals: the chance to break the sound barrier.  Many pilots and aeronautical experts worried that the increased buffeting and turbulence that rocked planes as they neared Mach 1 would prove insurmountable.  Yeager wanted to prove them wrong.

The X-1 trials were conducted at Muroc, which would later become Edwards Air Force Base.   But then it was just a runway in the desert, along with a few shacks and tents.  The only nearby amenity was Pancho’s Fly Inn, where the airmen indulged in part of the “Flying & Drinking and Drinking & Driving” mentality of military test pilots.  Two nights before his big flight, after knocking back a few drinks, he and his wife saddled up two of Pancho’s horses and went for a moonlight ride.  With a test pilot’s intent of demonstrating that “the right stuff” applied to all aspects of one’s life, he rode at full gallop through the Joshua trees. 

Then his horse hit a gate.

The next day, he slunk off base to a civilian doctor, who taped up his two broken ribs.  The day of the X-1 test, the pain was no less intense.  After determining that he could do everything but close his canopy unassisted, Yeager confided in his flight engineer, who fashioned a makeshift lever from a broom handle.  He rode up in the B-29 until the launch plane reached the proper altitude.  Then he climbed out through the bomb bay, down a ladder into the X-1, hooked up his oxygen, radio, and earphones, and strapped on his helmet.  With his new wooden tool, he closed the cockpit.  After he told the crew he was ready, the B-29 released the X-1, and Yeager lit up the rocket engines.  He made it through the buffeting, and pushed through the sound barrier to reach Mach 1.05.

Similarly, the seven Mercury astronauts believed in blowing off steam after a hard day’s work.  Through their friendship with Jim Rothman, a Florida car dealer who had won the 1960 Indianapolis 500, most of them ended up with brand new Corvettes.  Wally Schirra got a Maserati, and Scott Carpenter a Shelby Cobra.  (John Glenn alone seemed immune to the allure of sports cars).  After knocking back a few drinks, the boys unleashed their cars along the dark highways.  They never worried whether their performances could measure up with those of professional racecar drivers.  They had “the right stuff,” after all!

Much has been made of Kimi Raikkonen’s tendency to let loose after a race, or to celebrate an especially sweet victory.  While I would never condone Drinking & Driving, or public displays of drunkenness, everything we do in life induces a certain amount of stress.  Whether it is a job of our choosing, or an obligation forced upon us, our bodies, minds, and spirits cannot handle unlimited stress.  We must find activities and ways to release that stress.  We should also acknowledge that those who face greater trials than us, and who strive for greater goals, also endure greater levels of stress.  To paraphrase Mark Shepherd, the character who runs the mining operation on Io in the Sci-Fi movie “Outland,” “these people work hard, and then they play hard.” 

But instead of ending this series on Kimi Raikkonen by attempting to justify one aspect of his psyche, I’d rather focus on what he is not known for.  He doesn’t have a reputation for excessive blocking, or knocking his fellow competitors off the track.  He doesn't go public with details of his salary negotiations.  He's never put sensitive team information online.  If his team has done something that the FIA (F1's governing body) might find questionable, he doesn’t threaten to inform on them unless the team meets his demands.  Nor does he have a history of demanding number one status within a team, or playing Machiavellian games with his teammates.  

Kimi Raikkonen may not interact with his engineers the way other drivers do.  As Peter Sauber once said, “He demands, to the point of arrogance, to get his own way.”  He also has a reputation for partying a little too hard.  Some could argue that he might be a multiple world champion had he conducted himself differently.  But statistic and records are not the sole determinate of one's greatness.  For some people, life isn't just about winning: it's also about what they won't do in order to win.

Dragon Dave

Related Internet Links

More about Kimi Raikkonen

X-1 Facts & Photos

Understanding Kimi Raikkonen: Part 4

Drive & Grow Rich by Kimi Raikkonen

Pete Conrad had proven his abilities as a military test pilot, but as Tom Wolfe describes in The Right Stuff, that did not ensure his selection as one of America’s first astronauts.  Test pilots back then objected to any medical tests, but Conrad viewed the testing at the Lovelace Clinic in Albuquerque, New Mexico as especially excessive.  Hooking him up to electrodes to make his muscles move of their own accord was bad enough.  After a slew of extensive tests on his bowels, Conrad marched into the general’s office.  He slammed the latest enema bag on the general’s desk, and declared, “If you want any more enemas from me, from now on you can get ‘em yourself!”

He found the psychological testing at Wright-Patterson Air Force base no more agreeable.  Surrounded by white-garbed officials who asked him bizarre questions, and scribbled down his every reaction, Conrad again went on the offensive.  Presented with a blank sheet of paper and asked to describe what he saw, Conrad studied it for a moment, then said warily, “But it’s upside down.”  Later, he purchased his own notepad, and followed one particularly annoying psychologist around, asking her questions and writing down her responses. 

Needless to say, Pete Conrad did not make the cut as one of America’s first seven astronauts.  That status was accorded to Alan Shepherd, Gus Grissom, Scott Carpenter, John Glenn, Wally Schirra, Deke Slayton, and Gordon Cooper.  Once introduced to the press, these men were accorded the status of King’s Champions.  The public suddenly wanted to know everything about them, not for what they had previously accomplished in their careers, but for how they would take on the almighty USSR in the ultimate battleground of space.  Awards were hurled at their feet, their presence was requested by virtually every company and group in the country, and the public hungered to know everything about the men who would climb into the Project Mercury capsules.  A lucrative deal with Life magazine followed shortly thereafter, a long with all manner of previously unimaginable opportunities to amass their personal wealth.

A similar comparison could be made with today’s Formula One drivers.  At the beginning of each season, every team shows off their new car and drivers.  Although races and championships are won through the efforts of hundreds (if not thousands) of people, it is the two drivers who are heralded as the team’s heroes.  If their previous experience is impressive, it will be trumpeted.  If not, the driver will be announced as The Next Great Driver.  As the season progresses, should the drivers fail to outperform the Goliaths of the higher echelon teams, well, that’s one thing.  But woe betide them if they are consistently outperformed by the Davids of lower ranked teams!

Formula One is a big money sport, but even the richest teams cannot afford to lavish extravagant amounts on drivers unless they believe the person can perform.  Yet so highly did Ron Dennis, then team boss of McLaren, believe in Kimi Raikkonen’s abilities, that by the end of 2001, Kimi’s first season in Formula One, he convinced two-time champion Mika Hakkinen to take a year’s sabbatical.  Instead of paying Mika his usual nine-to-eleven million dollar salary, he paid Mika three million to sit out a year.  Ron Dennis then negotiated with Peter Sauber and Kimi Raikkonen to secure the latter's services for the following season.  He eventually contracted to pay Sauber five million a year for four years to release Kimi from his employment contract with the team, and further agreed to pay Kimi an eight million dollar salary.  Effectively, that meant Ron Dennis paid out sixteen million for Kimi’s first year, as opposed to the nine-to-eleven million he had paid Mika.  This equates to over twenty million in 2012 dollars.  And all this, for a promising but unproven driver.  

Kimi Raikkonen went on to spend five years at McLaren.  Although he never won the championship for Ron Dennis, he finished runner-up twice during a period in which Michael Schumacher and Ferrari forged an unbeatable partnership.  When Michael Schumacher retired at the end of the 2006 season, Kimi took his seat at Ferrari, along with a salary of fifty-one million dollars, and won the championship in 2007, his first year with the team.  But his drives at McLaren and Ferrari, as well as the incredible sums he earned, would never have been his had he not performed well at Sauber, or had he responded like Pete Conrad did when Ron Dennis and McLaren evaluated him as a potential driver.  Sometimes patience, and submitting to others' tests, seems unnecessary.  But we can never rest on our laurels.  While doing our best every day can position us for future opportunities, humility and respect for others will help us win them.

Dragon Dave

Related Internet Links
Team Lotus sings Kimi's praises

Understanding Kimi Raikkonen: Part 3

Kimi Raikkonen, in his McLaren,
revisits his days at Sauber.

What started as a single post comparing the test pilots and astronauts described in Tom Wolfe’s book The Right Stuff, and Kimi Raikkonen’s instructions to his team during this year's Formula One Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, has developed into a series.  After sharing a little of what I’ve learned about America’s first astronauts, I now shift the spotlight to Kimi Raikkonen’s early Formula One career.  But first I must mention his Finnish countryman and fellow racecar driver, Mika Hakkinen.

Mika Hakkinen took the traditional route through go-carts, along the way racking up five championships.  When he graduated to cars, he won three Scandinavian championships, the 1988 Euroseries championship, and finally, the Formula 3 championship, a development series two steps below Formula One.  His performances convinced Formula One team manager Peter Collins to sign him for the 1991 season.  Mika spent two years at Lotus, and then moved to the McLaren team, where he immediately impressed everyone by out-qualifying the great Ayrton Senna in his first race.

By comparison, Kimi Raikkonen racked up fewer championships along the way to Formula One.  After his years in go-carts, Kimi Raikkonen only spent two seasons in racecars, both of those in the Formula Renault series.  There he won eleven times, and claimed two championships.  This drew Peter Sauber’s interest, and the midfield Formula One team owner signed Kimi to race for the 2001 season.  As he had not raced in Formula 3 (or, for that matter, Formula 3000, the development series directly below Formula One at that time), F1 team owners, personnel, and drivers wondered if someone so inexperienced with racecars could handle Formula One machinery.  Kimi would have to race for two hours versus thirty-or-so minutes.  He’d also have to control engines with six hundred more horsepower than the Formula Renault racecars, and endure up to five Gs under cornering and breaking.  The FIA, the supervising body for Formula One, shared their concern, and granted Kimi a provisional license, warning Peter Sauber that they would be watching the young Finn carefully.  Yet Kimi finished in sixth place in his first race, impressed drivers and teams throughout the 2001 season with his performances and his maturity, and finished that year’s championship ranked tenth in points out of twenty-six drivers.

In a profile written for The Official 2001 – 2002 Formula One Record Book, Kimi Raikkonen was described as a young man who enjoyed the quiet life, could care less about fame, and put most of his income into the bank.  Tim Gillard, who had watched Kimi race his go-carts, said Kimi made things seem as if they were happening in slow motion.  “All the champions have that,” he said.  Peter Collins at Lotus, who had watched both Mika and Kimi in their carting days, said in 2001, “Kimi is much more his own man than Mika is.  Mika was a more pliable character.  Kimi knows what he wants.  More importantly, he knows what he doesn’t want.”  Peter Sauber agreed, stating that for such a young driver, in his first year in Formula One, Kimi “would demand, to the point of arrogance, to get his own way.”  In describing his approach to racecar driving, Kimi said, “I just try to do it my way, and if somebody doesn’t like it, I don’t care.” 

I don’t know about you, but that already sounds like someone who, eleven years later, would do the unthinkable: tell his team to stop radioing him with instructions and reminders while leading the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.  “Leave me alone, I know what I’m doing,” Kimi told the newly reformed Team Lotus.  So they left him alone, and he rewarded their confidence in him with their first victory.

Imagine what each of us could accomplish, if we believed in our capabilities as much as Kimi Raikkonen.

Dragon Dave

Related Internet Link
Photo: Kimi celebrates with the team