I didn't intend to take a lot of quality photos during the 2024 solar eclipse, for one simple reason: Lots of people would get much better pictures, so why worry?

At the entrance to Summit Lake State Park, which is--I don't know--in Central Indiana somewhere, we saw a car that advertised an owner who was really serious about the Search for ExtraTerrestrial Intelligence. I'll bet that entire luggage rack held camera equipment.

 

We parked right beside a guy who told us he drove here from Colorado, after first planning to see the eclipse in Texas. His instincts were right on: He barely missed hurricane force winds in his home state, and avoided driving into rainstorms down south. Above is his telescope/camera, which took a time lapse of the eclipse and set him back about five thousand bucks.

The cost of my camera? Well, take off a zero, for starters.

Then there was the family that set up on the other side of us:

I don't know where they were from, but they were also very nice folk who, despite having kids, clearly didn't lack spending money.

I experimented, and managed to get this photo pre-totality, by putting eclipse glasses over the lens. This worked only when I forgot to turn off the flash, for which I have no explanation.

I told you all that to explain why I'm very proud of this last photo. No, it's nowhere good as the more experienced photographers with more expensive setups, but honestly, I didn't expect to get this at all:


It wasn't about getting photos, not for us. It was about experiencing it. After seeing the one in 2017, we knew that if we got lucky and the weather broke out way, we were in for an unforgettable experience. We were right. Totality worth it.





 

Remember: The sky above is full of all sorts of amazing things, and only a few of them can hurt you.



It was one of my earliest memories.

Six days earlier, I turned seven. It was one heck of a birthday present.

Human beings landing on the surface of another heavenly body. It's hard to remember, fifty years after, just how remarkable that was. In 1969 it had been only twelve years since anything made by humans was launched into orbit, let alone 300,000 miles further on to the Moon.Only eight years before (fourteen months before my birth), the first American was shot into space.

It was all new.

I remember it being taller.

Cars were being designed with rocketship-like fins on them. Star Trek and Lost in Space were on TV. (My very earliest memory is hiding behind my mother while she ironed clothes and watched a particularly scary scene from Star Trek.) My Christmas gifts? Action figures from the Matt Mason astronaut collection, and a complete Apollo rocket that, with a click, shot the Apollo capsule into the air.

We were space nuts because space was, perhaps literally, the future.

Or so we thought.

"I'm Matt Mason, and I"m bendy!"
 I remember one aunt claiming that the Moon landings never really happened. Yes, that was a thing even back then. The rest of us sat transfixed in front of our television sets, which themselves were the size of an Apollo capsule, and similarly colorless. We watched the launches, the landings, the splashdowns, even the retrieval as helicopters set the capsules down on the deck of a handy aircraft carrier.

One day our teacher brought a portable TV into the classroom--by portable, I mean it could be picked up by one person, assuming that one person had been working out. She adjusted the rabbit ears until a kinda-sorta picture came on, and we sat silently, watching one of the Apollo capsules splash down in the Pacific.

Thanks to Dee Williams, who gave me these as a reminder of the kitchen's piece of Apollo.


It was an early experiment in bringing technology into the classroom, and it sure worked for us ... although I wouldn't see a TV in class again until high school.

Oddly enough, I have no memory of the Apollo 13 crisis, and I wonder now if my parents didn't keep the news from me. Maybe they figured, correctly, that I had anxieties of my own without learning that my real life heroes were only human, after all. But otherwise, I was all about space.

Just to be clear, this is the real thing.
Can it really have been fifty years?

What the hell happened? We were supposed to be on Mars by now. Where's the Moonbase? Why isn't Southwest Airlines booking cheap flights to a space station? Where the heck are the ray guns, and the communicators?

Well, okay, never mind the communicator.

I was supposed to be up there, dammit. During winter I'd tie the hood of my coat tight around my face, and pretend I was in a spacesuit. Granted that space is warmer than Indiana winters of my youth, but still.

I'm what people call a fiscal conservative. I don't think any government should spend beyond their means, and I'm very much against throwing money around just because you can print more. Heaven knows manned space exploration is almost as expensive as a presidential election campaign.

But this is one area in which we should be spending more.

"That's one small step for half a billion ..."
The advantages of space exploration are enormous. Big enough to justify the expense, with all the other problems in the world? I would argue yes, but not just the missions themselves. It requires an investment in science, and that requires an investment in people: education, interest, employment. Discoveries that will lead to another wave of innovation and invention. Imagine the materials, knowledge, and technology that came out of the Apollo era, and imagine that continuing on, with a new generation.

A new generation. I think one of the problems with the world today is that we've lost our love of discovery just for the sake of discovery. Yes, exploration can bring us that new technology, those new jobs, maybe solutions to today's problems. But more important than that, it's time to make kids wonder again.

We need to be able to sit our kids in front of the TV again, and let them see real wonders, going on right before their eyes. Well, maybe not TV; maybe online, or on their phones, or visors, or their cyber-optic implants. Mankind has always thrilled in that exploration, that discovery. Reestablishing manned space exploration--preferably as a species, rather than as a country--might be just what it takes to get us moving forward as a people again.

Okay, so maybe it's too late for me to go up there. But I have grandchildren, now. And maybe, fifty years from now, people will be telling the story of when they landed ... somewhere.
 

Book Review

Rendezvous With Rama

by Arthur C. Clarke

 

Many years ago I had a bedtime ritual: Prop myself up on some pillows and read a chapter or two of a book, while eating a Nutty Bar. Don't judge me, Nutty Bars are yummy. One particular evening I started a ten year old novel by Arthur C. Clarke, for a little reading time before sleep.

Only I didn't sleep much that night. I finished the book in the wee hours of the next morning.

Still, sometimes things aren't as good as you remembered, so thirty years later I once again picked up Rendezvous With Rama, this time with some trepidation. Would it hold up to my memories?

It did. Although this time it took me a few days to read, what with adult responsibilities and all.

Rendezvous With Rama begins when astronomers discover an asteroid that turns out to be from outside the solar system; it's roughly cylindrical, spinning, and moving at a pretty good clip as it prepares to pass closer to our Sun than the orbit of Mercury. You'd be forgiving for having a sense of deja vus at this point, since in 2017 astronomers, for the first time, discovered an asteroid coming in from outside our solar system ... roughly cylindrical, spinning erratically, and passing closer to our Sun than the orbit of Mercury:

https://www.theverge.com/2017/12/18/16788354/oumuamua-interstellar-asteroid-outer-layer-ice-interior-comet

Arthur C. Clarke was always a bit ahead of the game.

This is the edition I have now--a book club version with a nifty pullout illustration.

 

Unlike the real version, the book's asteroid turns out to be anything but: It's an artificial construction thirty miles long, moving so quickly that only one spaceship is in a position to intercept it. Having been on the move for possibly hundreds of thousands of years, the massive ship is dead and silent, but there still might be secrets to uncover inside.

When the crew of the survey vessel Endeavour manages to get inside the newly named Rama, they find a dark, cold, and dead world. But they also find a breathable atmosphere, a frozen sea, and incredible architecture held to the inside surface by the spinning craft's centrifugal force.

Then the lights come on ... and it turns out Rama isn't quite as dead as anyone imagined.

Did I mention the nifty pullout illustration?

 Here's the thing about Rendezvous With Rama: If a new writer submitted that novel to a publisher today, it would probably be rejected. It has little conflict between the characters, who tend to be rather two dimensional. It flows more like a series of wonders than a plot, in a way that reminds me of Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. There aren't really any bad guys here, except in one case in which a certain group of peoples' motives were, to me, a little shaky. Several scenes are set in a meeting where the members spend most of their time just speculating on what's going on.

So why is it still a page turner? Nobody could put the science in science fiction like Clarke. He manages to describe complicated landscapes and concepts in a way that's interesting, but still keeps the story cooking along at a good pace. He's one of those writers who can make exposition fascinating.

That's not to say there's not plenty of action too, as the human crew makes its way into the unknown, and encounters things that may, or may not, be out to get rid of intruders. The explorers encounter challenges and surprises galore, and Clarke does his usual great job of making an incredible thing both credible and scientifically accurate. It's as much a page turner today as it was the first time I read it, and holds up perfectly. It would make a great movie in the right hands (and a really stinky one in the wrong hands).

Also, it has one of the great twist closing lines in all of literature.

 

 

When I was supposed to be sleeping the other day I woke up with a stomach ache (long story), and went downstairs for some soda crackers and 7 Up. (They're called soda crackers, so you have to drink soda with them. That's the law.) Naturally I flipped on the TV, only to discover we were thirty second from launching a car into space.

By "we" I mean Elon Musk, the rather eccentric rich guy head of SpaceX, who I now love more than ever in a not creepy sort of way.

So I got to see it live, and it was so much fun I could almost forget the part about how I spent the rest of that afternoon in the bathroom, doing a little launching of my own. (Long story. Never mind, I'll write about it later.)

Musk was testing the Falcon Heavy rocket, the biggest space vehicle since the shuttle. He intends to use it to send people to interesting places like the Moon, Mars, and Uranus, which I understand is infested with asteroids. Since this was a test--Musk actually said pre-launch that the chance of failure was high--he decided not to put any important cargo on board. But he needed something to test its payload capacity, some weight ... and, looking around, he spotted the vast warehouse that contained his collection of over ten thousand cars.

I'm making that part up. All I can say is that if I had several billion dollars, I'd be launching stuff into space, and I'd also have a collection of antique fire trucks in a vast warehouse. Clearly he and I are virtual twins.

Anyway, he did happen to have a Tesla roadster sitting around, and also a mannequin dressed in a spacesuit. I'm trying hard not to judge, here. Besides, I'd have a spacesuit, too.

So he set the spaceman in the Tesla, a detail I didn't know about when I turned on the TV and found a giant spaceship on the pad. After launch the two booster rockets, in a display worthy of an Olympic event, landed simultaneously, ready to be reused. The main booster ... not so much, but two out of three ain't bad. Then the spaceship went into orbit around the Earth, and its roof retracted, and ... wow.

The last official Instagram from "Starman".

 

When Emily came in I got the footage online and played the whole thing over, still grinning ear to ear. It was just so cool. Elon Musk, in addition to understanding that the future of mankind lies in space, also has a great sense of showmanship and humor. When I grow up I want to be just like him, especially the rich part.

Musk sent the Tesla into deep space, having said there was a slim chance it might actually hit Mars, although apparently it wasn't aimed directly at the Red Planet. Instead the rocket overshot its mark, and is now on a long loop that will take it into the Asteroid Belt. I wouldn't be surprised if Musk did that on purpose, just to show off the capabilities of his rocket. I mean, the thing can haul 64 tons, so what's a sports car and an astronaut? Talk about an off-road race.

I applaud Elon Musk, and not just because I want him to send me seed money to launch my writing career. Space is still hard and dangerous, but it's also full of possibilities in resources, knowledge, innovation, and just plain being neat. One of the problems with the world today is that so many of us no longer have a sense of wonder, or understand the value of exploration for the sake of discovery. We need to get that back. And with our politicians busy infighting and backstabbing, it may be innovators like Musk who will take us into the next phase of the human adventure.

Or at least send me some cash.

The headline stopped me cold: "Seven Objects Found Circling Dwarf".

My first thought, as you might imagine, was: "Wait--I thought 'dwarf' was now an insulting, politically incorrect term, like 'midget', or 'calm political discussion'. Sure, you have dwarfs in online gaming, but that's a whole other thing. Have you ever tried to get an Orc to clean up his language?

"Excuse me, Mr. Orc, but the proper term is 'little people'. Wait--what are you doing with that double bladed ax? Help!"

Anyway, my second thought was, "Someone needs to help protect that poor dwarf from those seven--seven? I mean, not me--I have an appointment. My sciatica is acting up. Danger makes my ears bleed."

Turns out it was a red dwarf, which seemed even more insulting until I discovered that's a type of sun. This particular sun should be very familiar to Han Solo, who could reach it in twelve parsecs (that's how far away it is), but for the rest of us a parsec is a unit of distance: It would take several million years, even if we took an empty jug along instead of stopping for bathroom breaks. At 39 light years it's close, but that's in astronomical terms: It's like saying a government project is "only" a few million dollars.

For those of you who are Star Wars fans, I should add that this is a red sun we're talking about, named by the movie series' Admiral Ackbar: "It's a Trappist-1!" It's only a little star, slightly bigger than Jupiter and twelve times smaller than our own Sun. The truth is, red dwarfs are the most common types of stars in the galaxy, so in all ways it's unremarkable except one: We've discovered planets circling it.

Lots of planets.

Not only that, but most of the planets are around the size of our Earth. Not only that, but three of those planets are in the star's Goldilocks zone. And so, in the most stunning astronomical discovery ever, we can definitively announce that we've discovered planets inhabited by bears and little blonde girls. The worlds are thriving, and covered by porridge, making them just right.

Or maybe that's just a term astronomers use for a planet that's the perfect distance from its sun for life to exist: Not too hot, not too cold. Liquid water could exist there, which means you could, indeed, make porridge, although I prefer oatmeal. It's sweeter. At least, it is when I'm done with it.

Since Trappist-1 is so small it's very dim, like a 15 watt bulb, or a politician. (I never get tired of that ... even when everyone else does.) So to be in the Goldilocks zone, three of the planets whirl around very close to the sun, and to each other. The years are very short, the sun dim and red, and you could stand on one planet and see the others as plainly as we see our Moon. As a result there are probably a lot of tidal forces there, so you'd have no problem keeping your clothes clean. Really, it's like a paradise, except for the violent earthquakes and volcanoes that would come from the tidal forces, and I just realized they aren't talking about laundry detergent.

We don't know a lot about these planets, yet. What kind of atmosphere do they have? Is it like Montana, or Beijing? Is there water there? Considering how much water we've discovered across our own solar system, it's likely. And the best part is there are no gas giants, leading us to believe the entire system is devoid of both lawyers and Congressmen. (What? It's still funny.)

But regardless of that, this is still the largest number of planets we've yet seen around an exoplanet, which is to say a planet not circling our own Sun. It's like they're an outtie and we're an innie. And all of them close enough to Earth-size to make us sit up and consider the possibilities.

So, is there life? Bacteria? An ape civilization? Starbucks? Most important of all, do they have chocolate?

Or ... dare I say it ... something better than chocolate? Granted, seems unlikely.

Maybe we could send Han Solo to check.

I’m not all that into birthdays anymore, except for the cake and ice cream part. The truth is, I wish people would celebrate my birthday by buying one (or more) of my books, giving them the gift and me the sales.

 

But this year, NASA is giving me the biggest birthday present ever: New Horizons is going to be the first (human) probe ever to reach Pluto, and its closest approach to the planet (yeah, I said it) will be on my birthday … although we won’t see the pictures until hours later.

 

http://www.space.com/topics/new-horizons/

 

As a guy whose earliest memory is watching the Apollo Moon landings, this does my space-loving heart good.

.

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