writers ⦠because whenever I see something like that, I know it was written by someone whoâs never been to the Moon.
Hmm ⦠( pause ) Well, let me take that back. Launch and orbital insertion is pretty exciting, Iâll admit that. I still get a kick out of riding a shuttle into space. Soâs looking out the window to see Earth from three hundred nautical miles. But letâs be honest about it. First time up, youâre liable to puke, and thatâs it for wonder and majesty.â¦
Star Whoops ⦠thatâs space motion sickness, if you want to use NASA-speak ⦠happens to about two thirds of the people who go up for the first time. Even some of the old hands get it. Nobody has figured out a sure-fire cure for it, though I know another pilot who drinks a pint of lemon juice and Tabasco sauce just before he goes out to the pad ⦠( chuckles ) I swear to God, I donât know how it works, but it does, for him at least. For most people, though, the first time is the roughest, because ⦠( snaps his fingers ) it happens suddenly, just like that. No incipient nausea, no cold sweats or fever. Youâre feeling just fine, and then you look out the window and see Africa hanging upside down, or you think youâre upside down, and then someone floats up next to you at a ninety-degree angle, and you lose your cookies. Then youâre the most godawful kind of sick youâve ever been since you were a kid, and it doesnât go away for a long, long time.
The flight crew tries to do their best to make you comfortable until the rendezvous is made with Phoenix Station, and theyâre good old boys, but the truth is that theyâre secretly disgusted with you and canât wait to get your puke-face butt off their ship. Three or four hours after launch, your shuttle docks with the space station, and some nice person manages to tow you out of the shuttle and through the station to the OTV docks. It gets more embarrassing then, because youâre clutching your stomach with one hand and your vomit bag with the other, and if thereâs anyone in the access tunnels, theyâre quickly backing out of your way in case you explode again.â¦
Anyway, the OTV disengages from Phoenix Station and you ride out, with several more sick people, to the LTV hangars in orbit about fifteen miles away. Thereâs three of âem there ⦠two regular moonships, the Collins and the Fred Haise , plus the special 1st Space Infantry troop transport, the Valley Forge , which you canât see most of the time because theyâve got the hangar doors closed ⦠and finally your OTV docks with one of the civilian ships. Then you get shoved through the collar into the LTV, where youâre handed over to the tender mercies of the crew.
Now, I gotta be honest. If youâre on the Collins , weâre even less tolerant of you than the shuttle or space station crews, because youâre baggage, and green-faced baggage at that. So you get pushed into a tiny cabin in the mid-deck, about the size of a phone booth, where youâre zipped into a sleep restraint up to your armpits and handed a fresh vomit bag and threatened with bodily harm if you powerchuck on our nice clean bulkheads. A while later you feel the LTV undock from the hangar, and about an hour after that you feel the AOMVâs main engine fire, and thatâs when you know youâre on your way to the Moon.
The Star Whoops usually goes away in a day or two, as long as you donât eat anything or move your head too much. Youâve begun to feel better, but now youâre faced with two days of excruciating boredom. Unless youâve made friends with the crew ⦠( laughs ) fat chance, because we donât want to know you ⦠the flight deck is off-limits, so youâre confined to mid-deck, which is about the size of a small den.
Up on the flight deck, weâre keeping pretty busy much of the time, and
Hmm ⦠( pause ) Well, let me take that back. Launch and orbital insertion is pretty exciting, Iâll admit that. I still get a kick out of riding a shuttle into space. Soâs looking out the window to see Earth from three hundred nautical miles. But letâs be honest about it. First time up, youâre liable to puke, and thatâs it for wonder and majesty.â¦
Star Whoops ⦠thatâs space motion sickness, if you want to use NASA-speak ⦠happens to about two thirds of the people who go up for the first time. Even some of the old hands get it. Nobody has figured out a sure-fire cure for it, though I know another pilot who drinks a pint of lemon juice and Tabasco sauce just before he goes out to the pad ⦠( chuckles ) I swear to God, I donât know how it works, but it does, for him at least. For most people, though, the first time is the roughest, because ⦠( snaps his fingers ) it happens suddenly, just like that. No incipient nausea, no cold sweats or fever. Youâre feeling just fine, and then you look out the window and see Africa hanging upside down, or you think youâre upside down, and then someone floats up next to you at a ninety-degree angle, and you lose your cookies. Then youâre the most godawful kind of sick youâve ever been since you were a kid, and it doesnât go away for a long, long time.
The flight crew tries to do their best to make you comfortable until the rendezvous is made with Phoenix Station, and theyâre good old boys, but the truth is that theyâre secretly disgusted with you and canât wait to get your puke-face butt off their ship. Three or four hours after launch, your shuttle docks with the space station, and some nice person manages to tow you out of the shuttle and through the station to the OTV docks. It gets more embarrassing then, because youâre clutching your stomach with one hand and your vomit bag with the other, and if thereâs anyone in the access tunnels, theyâre quickly backing out of your way in case you explode again.â¦
Anyway, the OTV disengages from Phoenix Station and you ride out, with several more sick people, to the LTV hangars in orbit about fifteen miles away. Thereâs three of âem there ⦠two regular moonships, the Collins and the Fred Haise , plus the special 1st Space Infantry troop transport, the Valley Forge , which you canât see most of the time because theyâve got the hangar doors closed ⦠and finally your OTV docks with one of the civilian ships. Then you get shoved through the collar into the LTV, where youâre handed over to the tender mercies of the crew.
Now, I gotta be honest. If youâre on the Collins , weâre even less tolerant of you than the shuttle or space station crews, because youâre baggage, and green-faced baggage at that. So you get pushed into a tiny cabin in the mid-deck, about the size of a phone booth, where youâre zipped into a sleep restraint up to your armpits and handed a fresh vomit bag and threatened with bodily harm if you powerchuck on our nice clean bulkheads. A while later you feel the LTV undock from the hangar, and about an hour after that you feel the AOMVâs main engine fire, and thatâs when you know youâre on your way to the Moon.
The Star Whoops usually goes away in a day or two, as long as you donât eat anything or move your head too much. Youâve begun to feel better, but now youâre faced with two days of excruciating boredom. Unless youâve made friends with the crew ⦠( laughs ) fat chance, because we donât want to know you ⦠the flight deck is off-limits, so youâre confined to mid-deck, which is about the size of a small den.
Up on the flight deck, weâre keeping pretty busy much of the time, and
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