CCXXII - 1440 orbits

It's hard to imagine that something, something hard, solid, real, could be hurled into the air with force enough to resist the eternal, unmovable, ubiquitous attraction of the entire earth's gravitational pull, go all the way around the world, horizon to horizon, span the bowels of space, and keep going, round and round.

(Imagine for a moment you're on a small planet with a diameter roughly the width of Singapore, about one-fiftieth the size of the moon*. There's Roberto Clemente, the consensus greatest outfield arm in baseball, next to you. By one account, he could "field the ball in New York, and throw out a guy in Pennsylvania". Clemente picks up a rock the size of two knuckles, and flat out sends it on an elevated axis into the heavens. With his arm, the little pebble shoots off, and just about makes it, comes around. That's it, that little rock is up there for all time, making the rounds. As befitting a man who can put things into orbit by force of will, Clemente stands proudly admiring his work.)

Well, sixty years ago, they did it. It was technical, theoretical, scientific, industrial, militaristic, nationalistic, ideological, poetic, and absurd, all at once. Thirteen years after the atomic and hydrogen bombs were built and detonated over Japan, here was a new vehicle capable of carrying such weapons over great continents, over vast, vast distances, in minutes, loud, but virtually unstoppable. Enter the cold war, and its legacy, the pervasive threat of massive, irretrievable destruction.

"After refueling, the rocket weighed 267 tons. And the mass of the rocket before the launch was amazingly beautiful. She all sparkled, covered with frost.

On October 4, 1957, at 22 hours 28 minutes Moscow time, the brightest burst of light lit the night steppe, and the rocket went up with a roar. Her torch gradually weakened and soon became indistinguishable against the background of the heavenly bodies.

The first cosmic speed, calculated by Newton, now, three centuries later, was first achieved by the creation of the mind and hands of men.

After separation of the satellite from the last stage of the rocket, the transmitters began to work and the famous signals "Bip ... beep ... beep" flew on the air. Observations on the first orbits showed that the satellite went into orbit with an inclination of 65 ° 6 ', a height of 228 km at perigee and a maximum distance of 947 km from the Earth's surface. For each orbit around the earth, he spent 96 minutes and 10.2 seconds. At 1 h 46 min on October 5, 1957, the satellite passed over Moscow."

(translated from the Russian)
http://www.lidorenko.ru/ns1.htm

* To throw a rock into lunar orbit from the surface of the actual moon, which is surprisingly not actually a small object, you'd need to launch it with an escape velocity of a staggering 8,500 kph (that's vertical, but assume it's got a vector sufficiently angled to go around). It's not small. Given that escape velocity varies proportionally with the radius of an object, assuming constant density, and assuming Roberto f'n Clemente can hurl it at 100 mph (160 kph), of course he wouldn't be able to do it - he'd only be able to put an object into orbit on a much, much smaller moon (about one/fifty-third of the moon). The moon is really big.

CCXXI - a vegemite sandwich

I guess part of the course, the exventure, if you will, of growing older, is that time seems to run a little more imperceptibly. It glides along, just fades away. Well, if there really was one defining hallmark of my time away in Australia, it is that the two weeks have passed in but several long and lovely afternoons, each full and satisfying, but when put together, seem to run and blur into a whole melded series, encompassed in so many long happy sighs and exhalations, shuttings and re-openings of tired eyes, rubbings of cold fingers and stretched yawns, steaming cups of coffee and slow teas of roasted lamb. Yes, it's all passed so shortly. The entirety of the pleasure, convenience, comfort and companionship, is not taken for granted. A great and gentle joy, Adelaide.

There's a certain relaxed attitude here which I like. I really don't think I'll ever be all that crazy about legal work, and to be honest, I'm much happier that way. I suppose being less careful about it means sometimes the work gets roundly picked on, but you know, that's what it is. I don't need to get stressed up and neurotic about the whole thing. It's better for me.

Of my happiest memories, I should think chiefly of these: A hearty "they won't hurt you!" cried from a runner chasing after her over-eager dogs; the twinkle in the eye of an old couple of mining days, talking about cherished times; flinging little rounded stones into a whispering, flowing river from a small clearing near its bank; kick-starting a forty-five year old refurbished chook-chaser and roaring up and down the countryside; listening to U2 on the road, with a quiet cheer in my heart for an old friend; drawing with thick, coloured chalk on a road where we went camping near Lake Bonney, a little, delightful darling of a neighbour tracing after my alphabets, answering with emphatic yes-es! and no-s!, the little, adorable darling; and visiting the old West house, with garden and shed, all fantastic, drinking beer, playing guitar and having tea with old John West and my mum. Now that was a good holiday.