As I headed back for the very relative warmth of the main tent I was drawn to the life size replica of SpaceShipOne, the vehicle I watched blasting into space above Mojave in the first half of this decade. It now seemed so small, so primitive, a Mercury to SpaceShipTwo’s Apollo. I could not but help imagine what private space will be flying six years from now. Creative destruction has broken free of its chains. The game has changed.
SpaceShipOne: so tiny, so quaint, so… turn of the century.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
The first familiar face I spotted upon my return to the main tent was the hard to miss Gary Barnhard of the National Space Society. He and others were chatting in the middle of the floor. Despite being half frozen, I gladly accepted chilled white wine from a lovely lass who was wandering about with a tray of them. I must admit I would have preferred some of the hot ‘Glue Wine’ concoction I used to imbibe when skiing Seven Springs in Pennsylvania, but… it was antifreeze, it was free… so who was I to complain?
It was not surprising to find Gary in close proximity to wine.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
With wine in hand I started my first photographic round of the party. When I crossed from the main tent to the front balloon tent and glanced out the gap I was taken again by the surreal reality: there is a friggin real space ship out there!
I just saw a spaceship… someone pinch me!
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
As an old hand in the performance arts one of the things which impressed me was the use of light. I have seen no one else mention it so let me be the first to give kudos to the lighting designer!
Red and blue lights painted the interiors and gave the facilities a very unearthly feel.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
It had sparkle, glitter and plenty of blue. (That is an inside joke for anyone else who has ties into the CMU Drama Department of a few decades ago.)
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
It did however give one that ‘I’m inside an icecube’ feel.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
This is the infamous coat room.
I thankfully did not check my coat or laptop as others did. Does that make me a more experienced pioneer?
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
There was spacey music all night long.
A disk jockey was a very good idea. I cringed at the idea of putting fingers on guitar strings at this temperature. The very thought causes a male physiological reaction.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
There was plentiful hot food and the cold Absolut and wine flowed freely. Forget virgins: this was Paradise for my friends of the journalistic persuasion.
We had an Arctic feast complete with dancing aurorae over head.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
Some even chose to sit.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
While almost everyone else was trying to keep warm, I slipped outside again and watched them hook up the tractor and tow the ship back into the darkness. The wind was picking up and I presume they got it out of there just in time.
It may be large but it does not take much to move it.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
It was somewhat sad to see it go.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
To those who think this was all a big party… for some it may have been, but for many it was a long hard day of work.
I do not think I ever saw Alan Boyle when he was not interviewing or typing.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
While I was circulating I was also trying to find Rand Simberg since I had no idea when he wanted to head back and had not seen him in several hours. As he was here with his journalist hat on (as opposed to his really quite serious aerospace engineer hat), he was running back and forth between interviews and the unmarked door to the Press room.
Rand Simberg chatting with Gary Barnhard and Mark Hopkins of the National Space Society.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
Once I had arrangements worked out with Rand, I went off on further photo rounds. The main bar was in the rear of the big tent. It was quite a striking place… it was also wide open to the frigid outside although slightly sheltered by the runway jetwash deflector.
There was a sort of arctic beer garden in the back… or perhaps vodka garden would be more accurate.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
The now fully carved and colorfully lit spaceman was in Absolut-ely no danger of melting.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
I have played in venues that had less seating and a shorter bar than this.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
There were many nooks (dare I call them nanooks?) to sit in.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
The bar was long and well staffed. There was Absolut-ely no worry of passing over the threshold to sobriety.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
“It’s Earth Jim, but not as we know it.”
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
The crowd was dwindling but the press and space crowds were still hard at work when I returned to the front of the main tent.
The NSS leadership were plotting the rise of the Space Ambassadors program.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
Cameras and talking heads were still working on the main stage.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
Journalists filed stories from wherever they could find a cranny to work.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
I threw this one in just because I liked the composition.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
And then the we were told to tune to our local Conelrad station… well not really, but we were told to get out. NOW! Gale force winds were due within minutes and we were to drop everything and go to the buses. NOW! So naturally the journalists ran to their computers to file the story!
Rand, and therefor myself, were among the last ones out. Someone has to file the story, right?
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
Barb Sprungman and her significant other, Len David were also among the last ones out of Saigon… er I mean the main tent.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
We then searched for a bus to the hotel. It was hard to see and hear as the winds were now vicious. It was like walking into a sandblaster. Someone spotted us, came out and yelled which direction to head. Another person pointed us to the correct bus.
Line of buses getting a paint strip job.
Photo: copyright Dale Amon, All Rights Reserved
In the next episode our heroes retire to the local bar after barely escaping disaster in the desert.
This is the sixth part of a photo series. The previous one may be found here
Dale, was there no heating inside the tents?
There was an attempt. Those poles you see here and there about the place with reddish lights on them were heaters. They were practically useless at temperatures below freezing.
.
I didn’t notice them, but that’s what I had in mind. Brr…
It’s gluhwein not glue wine, tisk tisk and the u should have an umlaut over it!
In England it is usually called “gluewine” or “glue wine” and we never use umlauts on anything except Motörhead.
Mr Amon, dunno if others have said this explicitly (I’ve read all your Mojave articles in my RSS feed, which exludes comments), but *thanks a bunch for photographing and posting all this stuff*.
It’s really fascinating, and great to see how the former rules of space exploration and exploitation are being rewritten.