Fantasia and Fugue on Mars settlement transport technology

To my usual readers, this is a highly technical blog post. You have been warned.

Over the last few years I've had the opportunity to visit the SpaceX factory a few times, and each visit has been highly thought provoking. To those that don't know, here is a short history of SpaceX.

Formed 2002. Founder Elon Musk wants to develop technology and put people on Mars. Lots of people. Key to doing this is to develop reusable rocket technology so that, like a commercial airliner, the passenger only pays for fuel instead of the rocket, which is typically a thousand times more expensive. Indeed, airliners and rockets are usually similar in price, of order $100m.

SpaceX has won a contract to deliver cargo to the ISS, and has done so now 3 times. They have a rocket called the Falcon 9 (after the Millenium Falcon, of course), which is currently going through a series of upgrades to become partially re-usable. By 2015 it will transport astronauts to the ISS.

Meanwhile, hints have been dropped from time to time regarding the development of the technology necessary to take humans to Mars. For numbery reasons I'll get onto soon, doing this requires a lot more rocket than going to low earth orbit. However, the flow of hints is very slow. More to the point, engineers I've asked at the factory are downright cagey about what it going on.

In mathematics there is a technique called sparse sampling that allows a reasonably good guess to be made, by simply assuming that most of the signal is nothing. I have loosely applied this methodology to pull together all the hints I can find. I have combined this with various elements of common knowledge, best practise, a bunch of generic published data, and a basic knowledge of rocket science to try and deduce what the mission would look like. The remainder of this blog is elaboration of the architecture I have arrived at.

First, the demands of early exploration missions and later colonization missions are different. That said, they will require a lot of common technology, so an approach that serves both stands to benefit. The approach I outline is the mature, airliner level of the technology. Earlier versions or approaches will be described as I go along.

The Mars rocket is composed of two parts. The first is a large booster rocket, colloquially known as the 'BFR', or (I assume) Big Falcon Rocket. Ideally, it is reusable, though earlier launches will probably be expendable, possibly unintentionally. The second is the MCT, or Mars Colonial Transporter. The BFR will launch it at Mars. It will land, and after a while, take off again to fly back to Earth, where it will re-enter and land. It too will be reusable, though probably the sink would need a wipe-down after three years in space.

Three years! I hear you cry. Indeed. Due to the relative orbits of Earth and Mars, launch windows open for a few months roughly every two years. The usual mission profile would entail a flight from Earth to Mars taking 180 days, 540 days on the surface being awesome and waiting for the next launch window, then a 190 day flight back (with or without passengers).

A quick note about ∆v. Since being in space entails moving really quickly, distances are somewhat meaningless. A more useful measure of how far away something is is ∆v. ∆v is the change in velocity necessary to get from one orbit to another, such as from an orbit around the Earth to an orbit around the Sun that goes to Mars, and then back again. It turns out that the total ∆v needed for a Mars mission is about 22km/s. If that sounds like a lot, it is! The ∆v needed to get to the ISS (International Space Station) is about 9.3km/s. Okay, we have rockets that can do that, 22 isn't that much bigger than 9.3. Unfortunately the Tsiolkovsky rocket equation demands a mass fraction that increases exponentially with ∆v. For a reasonably good rocket, a ∆v of 22km/s implies a mass fraction of 382. Even an egg has a worse mass fraction that this. Even a hot air balloon. It is basically impossible to build any structure that can carry 382 times its own weight in fuel. There are two ways to get around this. One is to use mythical rockets that have much higher exhaust velocities, like some sort of nuclear rocket. Unfortunately, no-one (except engineers) likes nuclear rockets. The other way is staging. You get to throw away the mass of the spent stage, and so you can get by with 3 stages each with a mass fraction of say 10 instead. Even then, there is no way to get enough fuel to the surface of Mars to fly you home again, but there is a workaround.

First, however, I'm going to describe the BFR. My methodology here was simple. Extrapolate the existing SpaceX rockets, then double check the numbers in more detail. In particular, the speculative design named Falcon X seems to compete with the Falcon Heavy launch market, and thus seems unlikely to me. Each new core tends to be about an order of magnitude better, before allowing for advances in rocket technology. The order of magnitude is split by the 3-cored Falcon Heavy. The following table summarizes my findings.

SpaceX rockets progression

Property	Falcon 1e	Falcon 9v1.1R	Falcon Heavy	BFR
Height (m)	26.83	69.2	69.2	100*
Core diam. (m)	1.7	3.6	3.6	10.6*
Init. thrust (kN)	454	5880	17,000	76,000
Init. mass (T)	38.56	480	1400	5970
LEO (kg)	1010	13,150	53,000	170,000
GTO (kg)	lol	4850	21,200	~57,000
Price ($m)	12	54	128	243

* As a rocket engine can only develop a certain amount of thrust per area, it turns out there is a practical ceiling to the height of a cylindrical rocket, of about 100m. This disrupts the trend.

The BFR can launch 170T to low earth orbit. Three launches would be necessary to more than equal the mass of the ISS. It outclasses the SLS system (70T-130T) being developed as a replacement for the shuttle.

In more detail, the BFR first stage would comprise about 80% of the mass of the rocket, or 4600T, of which perhaps 220T would be structural (tanks, engines, pipes, legs, etc). There is some freedom in how the propulsion is developed, but my best guess is that it uses an octoweb structure like the F9R. This structure allows throttling of the central engine to partially counteract overexpansion in the high atmosphere and increase efficiency. Each engine develops a peak thrust of 7.6MN, which is somewhat more than the 6.77MN F-1 behemoths that flew the Saturn-V to the moon. I anticipate they will be similar in size, though will employ methane oxygen fuel and hopefully staged combustion for an Isp of around 340s at sea level. This could be the shadowy raptor engine under development, though the earlier mooted gas-generator Merlin 2 could do equally well. The second stage will employ a single engine equivalent to the first stage engines, except with a larger expansion nozzle of around 250:1 to function more efficiently in a vacuum, with an Isp of around 380s. Each BFR would use 10 units of the same motor, which is a good tradeoff between commonality of parts, mass production, and the complexity of having too many engines. The second stage would be fitted with a heat shield to enable re-entry, and a subsidiary set of motors based on the super draco engine (67kN of thrust) to land at the launch pad after a few orbits.

Edit: Oct 24 2013. It seems Raptor's targeted thrust is 705T (840T vac), or 6.9MN (8.2MN vac), with a vacuum Isp of 380s. This makes a three-core structure, each with octoweb, much more likely for the BFR. This configuration is easier to re-use, but the single-core version overlaps with Falcon Heavy's capabilities in an already slim market.

Both the first and second stage will ultimately be re-usable on a timescale of hours. In the discussed mission profile to follow, both stages would be sub-orbital, though allowing the second stage to complete a single orbit (depending on launch site/inclination) might be the easiest way to get it back. Given that each launch window is open for a few months, many more MCTs than BFRs will be required. Each BFR could launch hundreds of MCTs every two years, followed by an off-season for maintenance, low-earth orbit work, and bombarding other hapless planets with a few brave humans.

Highly technical sketch of the BFR:

Second stage with retractable interstage, landing legs and rockets:

This rocket is capable of hurling its empty second stage plus 44T to Mars. However, ideally we'd like to get the second stage back, and not creating a crater on impact would also be super cool. This is where the MCT comes in.

What is the MCT? It's a self contained spaceship. It has a single stage, so all of it comes back. It is capable of carrying cargo (including people with one way tickets). It is capable of bringing people and itself back. In order to avoid carrying all the fuel to fly back with it, it is capable of making new fuel on Mars out of the Martian atmosphere (CO2). Eventually, a Mars base will be capable of refuelling an MCT and allowing an immediate unmanned return via Venus conjunction, permitting reuse for every launch window. Initially, however, it will have to bring its own feedstocks and power, and spend a considerable portion of time on the surface making new fuel. Flying back after the usual mission duration will permit a period of time for refitting on Earth before sending it back again, 4 years after the original launch. Alternatively, it could aerocapture into LEO, and be refitted and refuelled with humans there.

Happily, there are plenty of constraints on what the various component masses could be. Without going into all the detail, the masses can be broken into three broad groups; mC for cargo that stays on Mars, mS for structural components that make the round trip, and mF for fuel that has to be made on Mars. In order to fly mS back to Earth, mF = 7ms. This is not impossible, especially if you use the life support system to help hold the roof on. Also, you can fuel the MCT on Earth, and use mF to help fly to Mars, arriving with only enough fuel to land. Then the BFR and the onboard fuel combined must be enough to fire mS + mC to Mars. Obviously there's a tradeoff here. It turns out that the most cargo possible is mC = 2.8mS. This is absurdly high, even for a truck or a train, let alone a plane. Taking into account the reduced gravity on Mars, an even ratio is more likely. Also, the tradeoff is pretty flat near the top. With mC = mS, you can bring 80% the cargo and 300% the structure, which is probably a good thing. My calculation presumes this ratio, though small variations around this ideal are possible, and will probably be employed in the construction of different types of MCTs tailored to different needs.

Given the BFR's characteristics above, the resulting MCT has mS = 21T, mC = 21T, and mF = 147T. Combined they have a mass of 189T, which is more than the BFR's 170T to LEO, which is why the second stage is (barely) sub-orbital. The MCT depends on its own rockets to even enter LEO, let alone go to Mars. Since the MCT's own rockets are not powerful enough to enable its escape from Earth when fully loaded, astronauts would either fly in a man-rated Dragon on this or a separate flight, where they would meet in orbit. Additionally, the BFR is not a precondition to MCT flight. An almost unfueled MCT could be launched by a Falcon Heavy, then gradually increased by an electric ion drive to an escape orbit. A second Falcon Heavy launch provides a load of fuel, and at the last moment (after several months of climbing out of Earth's gravity well) astronauts would be delivered by a final launch for the shot to Mars.

The MCT is powered by 12 super draco engines, grouped in 4 pods of 3. They will also run on (probably catalytically ignited) methane-oxygen fuel, unlike the current super draco, which uses a dinitrogen tetroxide and monomethyl hydrazine hypergolic mixture. They will be partially steerable, independently operable, throttleable, and have engine-out tolerance for all stages of the mission. For landing on Earth, they will employ expansion bell bypasses or some other method to compensate for atmospheric pressure. It is not capable of launch abort, so if desired astronauts can be ferried to orbit in a dragon. Indeed, in campaign settlement, sequences of MCTs could be launched into LEO continuously, then each manned only during the appropriate launch window.

The MCT has landing legs, a heat shield, and is a truncated cone with similar proportions to Dragon. In this discussion it is 10m wide and 7m high, though other geometries could work just as well. The structure is divided into thirds. The lowest third consists of engines, fuel tanks, landing legs, various plumbing components, and the fuel generator, including the power source. The middle third is a storage area, containing rovers, equipment, and other cargo. The top third is living quarters, with space for initially four or five astronauts, though later missions could add more living space on the middle level.

Edit: Constraints on the ballistic coefficient (mass to heat shield ratio) render a wider, longer, thinner lifting body much more viable. A central living space flanked by two partitioned tanks with a heat shield area of ~200m^2 for the same mass has both a higher L/D ratio and a ballistic coefficient comparable to MSL. Landing configuration on rockets would place the heat shield on top to avoid holes for legs or rocks, and a close-to-the-ground, single level hab design. Launching from Mars in this configuration is okay, as the Martian atmosphere is thin enough that drag isn't a huge concern. Effectively it enters the atmosphere on its back. An identical airframe structure could serve as a TMI injection stage and tether counter balance, returning to Earth after a flyby. Both could be launched by individual Falcon Heavy launches. The lifting body design could land on the moon or Mars or Earth, and can launch from Mars or the moon. It would nominally lack control surfaces, using RCS for control instead. The same design can be leveraged as a Mars orbital shuttle for movement of larger amounts of cargo and humans in conjunction with a large cycler or orbital-only spaceship, at the cost of on-board ISRU or substantial LSS capability.

Fuel generation on Mars is carried out using the Sabatier reaction combined with the Reverse Water Gas Shift reaction.

3CO2 + 6H2 → CH4 + 4H2O + 2CO (with a ruthenium catalyst)

The water is electrolysed to create oxygen for propellant and hydrogen, which is run through the reactor again. The CO is kept for all sorts of nefarious purposes, including carbonyl metallurgy and ethene/ethanol synthesis. Ethanol is liquid at (low) Mars temperatures and pressures as well as human conditions and therefore is a easily handled fuel to use to power rovers and spacesuits, via either fuel cells or internal combustion.

Highly technical sketch of possible MCT geometry.

To generate 147T of fuel to fly to Earth, 8.5T of hydrogen has to be brought from Earth as feedstock. This consumes rather a lot of the cargo capacity; a base would be able to generate hydrogen or even all the necessary fuel, thus enabling more cargo to be brought.

Power is generated by a space-optimized fission reactor, such as the Safe Affordable Fission Engine (SAFE). This reactor produces 100kW and weighs 500kg. Additionally, a number of Stirling cycle RTGs could be used for auxiliary purposes. The reactor would be deployed on landing and left behind on the surface. Depending on the efficiency of the unit, around 100kW is needed to run the fuel production. On the flight out, the reactor shielding forms part of the solar radiation shield for the people on board. Being modular in nature, a base can use discarded RTGs to power all sorts of interesting site specific stuff, like drill rigs, observatories, remote landing areas, outposts, etc.

Landing on Mars and Earth is performed via aerocapture. On Earth, the nearly empty spacecraft has a terminal velocity of about 60m/s, and lands propulsively under rockets. On Mars, the thin atmosphere is not compensated adequately by gravity, and terminal velocity is about 740m/s, nearly 3 times the local speed of sound. Here, the rockets are used in earnest to slow and land the craft on the ground, expending 16T of fuel brought from Earth. As the rockets are mounted in pods on the side of the vehicle and heat shield, they are ideally placed to minimize disruptions to the supersonic shock. It is hoped this approach is relatively stable.

The mass budget of the MCT is as follows*.

Item	Cargo mass (T)	Structural mass (T)
Structure		5.5
Life support system		3
Consumables	1.9/person/2 years	0.4/person/half a year
Solar array (cruise)		1
Reaction control system		0.5
Avionics/comms		0.2
Science (telescopes, greenhouse, etc)	1	0.2
EVA suit		0.1/person
Furniture/interior		1
Open rover	0.8 (two rovers)
Pressurized rover	1.4
Hydrogen feedstock	8.5
SAFE-400 (120kW)	0.5	0.1
Engines (12 super draco)		0.6
Propellant tanks		3
Propellant chemical reactor		0.5
Heat shield (PICA-X)		1.4
Crew		0.1/person
Spares/margin (16%)	1.2	2
Total	20.9	21.4

* With heavy credit to The Case For Mars, Table 4.5

Detailed ∆v budget

Section	∆v (km/s)
Earth surface to LEO	9.3
LEO to escape	3.3
LEO to TMI (180 days with free return)	4.3
Mars aerocapture to surface	0.74
Margin/course corrections	0.3
Total Earth to Mars	14.64
Mars surface to LMO	4.1
LMO to TEI (190 days)	2.9
Earth aerocapture to surface	0.06
Margin/course corrections	0.3
Total Mars to Earth	7.36

A note on breathing gas. Earth at sea level has atmospheric pressure of 1 bar, 101.3kPa, 760mmHg, or 14.7psi, depending on preference. I'm going to stick with bar for now. The partial pressure of oxygen is about 210mbar, but anyone who's lived in Lhasa can tell you that that's more than you need. I think an atmosphere of 140mbar oxygen, 200mbar nitrogen is a good compromise. As an added bonus, oxygen paucity makes your face less likely to catch fire. For pressurised rover and spacesuit operations, leave out the nitrogen to avoid the bends. There is no shortage of oxygen generated by the propellant generator, so it's possible to sacrifice a lot of oxygen for the sake of simplicity and reliability of design. Alternatively, ambient temperature on Mars makes thermal cycling CO2 scrubbing relatively straightforward.

A note on radiation. Space is filled with radiation. Astronauts do not have the benefit of atmosphere, dirt, and a large magnetic field to shield them. That said, it's not as scary as it might seem. About half the ambient radiation is cosmic rays, GeV energy particles from outside the galaxy. You can't block them without being surrounded on all sides by many metres of stuff. The corollary of that is that most cosmic rays go right through people without causing serious harm. Indeed, thin dense shielding causes showers of secondary particles which are far more harmful. In space you get cosmic rays, but on Mars, most are blocked either by the ground or the atmosphere.

The other half is radiation from the sun, which is mostly harmless most of the time. Every now and then a solar flare pumps out an earth mass or so of particles in the MeV range. Unshielded sentient goo in space will receive up to 5 grays in a few hours, which is universally fatal. Fortunately, MeV scale radiation is easily blocked by some lead and/or a 10cm column of water between the people and the local direction of solar magnetic fields, along which energetic charged particles flow. There is plenty of water on board in food, water, and their products, plus hydrogen feedstock, plus reactor shielding. The few places on board not shielded can be avoided for a few hours. The MCT will utilise these elements in combination to minimise unnecessary exposure.

A two year mission will deliver roughly half a gray, in a very gradual fashion. Statistically, this corresponds to about a 1% increase in lifetime cancer risk. Smoking is a 20% lifetime cancer risk. Living in a polluted city is somewhere in between. Most of the radiation dose is incurred in space. If you send people one way, you halve the risk.

Artificial gravity. Some proposals call for spinning a hab around on a tether or giant space wheels to provide gravity and prevent wasting due to a lack of load bearing exercise. The MCT is a single spacecraft. While it could be spun about its axis at some speed, the gravity thus obtained would be outwards, perpendicular to the sense on Mars, complicating interior design. The advantage of microgravity in transit is greater surface utilization. Alternatively, 2 or more MCTs could be spun from each other, providing apparent gravity in the design direction.

Glossary for TLAs.

TLA: Three letter acronym

CO2: Carbon dioxide

LMO: Low Mars orbit

LEO: Low Earth orbit

TMI: Trans-Mars injection. In this case, we choose an orbit with a period of 2 years, so that the landing can be aborted and the spaceship eventually return to Earth, instead of drifting in space forever.

TEI: Trans-Earth injection

EVA: Extra-vehicular activity. SPACEWALKING! Or Mars-walking as the case may be.

ISS: International Space Station
BFR: Big 'Falcon' Rocket

MCT: Mars Colonial Transporter

∆v: 'delta-v', or the change in velocity needed to get from one orbit to another.

MeV: mega electron Volt. The energy gained by accelerating one electron across 10^6 volts. Typical of nuclear energies, radioactive gamma rays, etc.

GeV: giga electron Volt. The energy gained by accelerating one electron across 10^9 volts. Typical of cosmic rays. For perspective, the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) operates at 14 TeV, or tera-electron volts (1.4x10^13 eV).

Little sis' comes to California!

Well my little sister is not so little anymore. In fact, she's almost fully grown up, able to vote, fight, drink, smoke, and most importantly, speak at the dinner table.

The cat is out of the bag now, so I can talk about it. A rather furtively came to visit me in California, on her way to spend a week with unsuspecting boyfriend H in New York. I have it on good authority that she managed to locate him in that seething metropolis, so I suppose it's not a surprise anymore.

Of course, I first got wind of this devious plan a few weeks ago and immediately began to hatch my own devious plans! Of course it is worth bearing in mind that I am formally obliged to supply A with an all expenses paid holiday since she did so damn well in school, but we as yet have been unable to agree on a season or destination. All my suggestions of tropical, malaria-infested paradises went mostly unacknowledged, much less accepted.

And just like that, fate played into my hands an opportunity to discharge at least part of my filial obligations, and also to inspire/inflict some of the wonders for which California is justifiably famous the world over. Regular readers of this blog, if there are any, would know that by now I have visited many of the attractions in Southern California, with a special emphasis on rocks, deserts, desert rocks, and rocky deserts. Which is lucky, because I like both rocks and deserts.

Last Thursday, I used my only functioning appendage (my left pinky) to gradually lever myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 8:30am. Stumbling down the hill to my car parked in distant LA (just around the corner, where you can park overnight), I planted my trusty $2 polaroids firmly in place and set off for the usual morning horrors of the 110 expressway.

Before long (only 6 traffic jams) I was bounding towards the Tom Bradley terminal, determined to video A walking up the perilous ramp. While waiting, I decided to walk around a bit, and a few minutes later, bumped into A, who had clearly jumped the queue at immigration. It sometimes takes me 2 hours to get through!

We loaded up my trusty black Hertz Corolla (a perfect colour for the desert) and began to brave the wilds of LA. Our first order of business was finding provisions, and for this we found a Whole Foods nearby, where I began the righteous slaughter of my credit card. A mysteriously appeared in different clothing, while I rejoiced in her gluten-free state to buy even more corn chips than usual.

The next part of the trip concerns 5 hours of driving north on the 405, 5, and 99 to Oakhurst, nestled in the foot of the Sierras. I described the geological history of the Hess and Shatsky conjugates, the delaminated paleo-subduction hinge, and the various central-Californian canals, accompanied by the steady continuo hum of A's jetlagged snoring. We also took the opportunity to drool all over a shiny Tesla at the supercharger at Tejon Ranch.

With minimal drama we located our hotel for the evening - the Sierra Sky Ranch Resort, and collected our key in case of late return from evening adventures. Via a little-known route we climbed up into the mountains and thence located the mysterious Nelder Grove, a grove of Giant Sequoias high up in the hills. We climbed through the forest listening for bears and squirrels with glossalia, eventually locating Millikan, the biggest damn tree in the forest. I found their size perfect for describing the dimensions of the SpaceX family of rockets. Funnily enough they have a similar density, though the rockets are more adapted to supersonic speeds and the vacuum of space.

The fading light gloriously illuminated clouds of dust thrown up by my so-called driving as we headed back to the hotel. There, we found a restaurant filled with European tourists, a surf-and-turf special, and a surprisingly in-tune piano on which to compare the extent to which we'd both neglected our practise of late. Fortunately we had an indulgent audience, and before long it was time to head to bed for an early start the following day.

Friday arrived with an inaudible boom as the sun crested the horizon. My alarm, perfectly synchronised with the dawn, split the air and my eardrums with yet another encore of M's Little Shop opening number. We unpacked our bags in reverse, loaded the car, remembered to check out in the nick of time and, with one last baleful look from the resident squirrel hunting poly-dactyl cat, we were off!

The road zoomed between great grey granite boulders, past steaming pools and over gushing torrents of icy water as we headed down towards the one, the only, the unique Yosemite valley. The valley entrance begins with a long tunnel. We popped out into the blinding morning sun and I pulled off the road so we could take it in. A's eyes streamed with emotion and, and soon realised, solar radiation, so I lent her my sunglasses and pointed out the silhouettes in the distance. 

We drove down along the valley floor to Curry Village, where we parked and set out. The previous two times I'd been to Yosemite, my ambitious hiking partners and I had set about hiking to the rim and back, a whole-day affair. A and I had but three hours, so we contented ourselves with a walk to the (mostly dry) Mirror Lake, where we shivered in the shadow of Half Dome and ate our respective loaves of bread for breakfast. At some point the sun peeked over the sub-dome and our view of the face (oddly bereft of climbers) went dark. We completed the loop, amid our hemi-annual catch-up chat, and returned to the car. Sadly the waterfalls were dry, so with one last stop to look at El Cap through my trusty binoculars, we left the valley of wonders and headed for Lee Vining. A took the opportunity to have a quick nap, which I disrupted as, reaching the peak of the range, we passed the transition from white granite hills and glacial lakes to red volcanic peaks including Mt Dana.

Next we were walking between the otherworldy columns of tufa on the shores of Mono Lake, which appears to have shrunk still more since I last saw it. We found gulls swimming but barely able to paddle highly amusing. Mostly tourists with tightly clutched Lonely Planet guides squinting through the bright, high altitude sunlight. We drove south.

The next stop on our highly contrived itinerary was a trip up Mammoth Mountain in the gondola, where we had a fine view of dozens of mountain bike riders axing themselves with the aid of gravity. I pointed out the fumarole and readied my finger pulse oximeter. At 11,000 feet, Mammoth often leaves me breathless while skiing. Getting out of the gondola, I was surprised to see about 20 stairs leading to the ground. In winter the snow is seriously deep! We walked around, looking through the gap, to Mono Lake, down to the Long Valley Caldera, and so on. The view was incredible, the oxygen thin, and the day getting on.

Next up we visited Hot Creek, a canyon cut through the Long Valley Caldera's resurgent dome by the Mammoth River. Intersecting with several faults, there is at this time a number of boiling hot pools. Indeed, the water flowing down the river was too hot to touch, and several geysers have been known to erupt beneath the stream without warning. Rocks around the canyon walls were white with minerals deposited by previous hot pools that come and go as the ground shifts and groans beneath us.

The main road continues down from the mountains into the Owen's valley, which is one of the most incredible valleys I have ever seen. One whole side is a perfect row of jagged peaks. We cruised into Bishop, located the Ramada Hotel, found a local restaurant, and quickly settled down for the night.

Come Saturday, we once again rose with the sun, ate our breakfast of cornflakes and water, and headed out of town. This time our destination was the White Mountains, and the road wound up and down through peaks, eroded wash valleys, and among the remains of an ancient sea. Corner after corner on the road passed, with occasional humps to test our cornflakes' cohesiveness. Before long we popped out of the shadows and the road wound higher and higher. Yet again we passed the altitude of Australia's highest peak, my ears squeaking in protest, and dodging a set of kamikaze birds, our view down over the valley, Bishop, and the Sierras eventually went away as we entered a wooded hill. Parking by an impressive though abandoned ranger station, we located the path to the Methuselah grove, a stand of trees that are more than 4000 years old. 

The sign at the trail warned "Four miles, three hours, bring food and water". Well, we had just eaten breakfast and it was too late to stop now. Despite the altitude (well over 10,000 feet) and fresh morning air, we walked the trail, stopping to read knowledge from the supplied guides, and admiring the forms and shapes of the trees. Bristlecone Pines are the oldest living organisms (by most counts), and despite their age retain some youthful vigour. We met one springy sapling, only waist high, and probably 100 years old. After nearly two hours of searching, we finally managed to locate a particularly gnarled specimen with a striking resemblance to dad. 

Back at the car, we watered and fed our hungry bodies, and set out once again for the valley floor. Kamikaze birds continued to try and race my windshield, but at last we arrived unscathed in Lone Pine, site of earthquakes and environmental devastation. We found the Whitney Cafe, and I pointed out the summit in the distance. But first we had to conquer lunch. I had the Whitney burger, and accompanied by tales from a group of recently returned climbers on the next table, proceeded to demolish a salad, fries, two burger patties, another salad, bacon, mushrooms, and some buns. Thus fortified, we staggered back to the car and drove through the Alabama hills (set of every Western ever made) and up the precipitous valley wall to Whitney portal. 

I opted to carry my water supply internally, and after chocking the wheels at our unlikely parking spot, we headed for the trail. A survived my ceaseless bombardment of war tales, mostly beginning with 'When this is covered in snow', and 'Up on the top, the view is incredible', only to slacken the pace as we climbed towards Lone Pine lake. After resting for a while, she suggested that most likely the path ahead looked much like the path already traveled, and could we descend back into the atmosphere. I pointed out that that was lucky, because we could then plan an extra thorough visit to the blackbird aircraft museum in Palmdale. It goes without saying that A's enthusiasm for engines in general, and aircraft engines in particular, was at a record low ebb, (despite her not having to, you know, swim to Santa Monica pier to visit me), but without further ado we returned to the car park, checked out a much more accessible waterfall, and then drove back to Lone Pine.

From here it was only 200 miles back to LA. In order to prevent me falling asleep and dying in a fiery car crash, I had planned a few more stops. The next one was fossil falls, about which I have previously written voluminously. A and I climbed down to the various sinkholes and had a grand time admiring the unearthly shapes and textures. Next we stopped briefly to admire the rocks at Red Rock Canyon and discuss the detailed history of the Garlock fault. But the best was yet to come. 

Heading south on the aptly-named Neuralia street, we soon came to the perplexing micropolis of California City. We took a turn through one of the abandoned neighbourhoods, verifying utility connections and thorough testing the roads. Google maps is the best way to check, but maybe 9/10 of the surveyed city was never sold or developed. 

We headed back for the expressway and, admiring the wind turbines and parked planes of Mojave, screamed south. Much to A's dismay, the setting sun precluded a detour to our last planned stop, and we had to ditch the aircraft museum. I detoured onto the 2 and we curved through the San Gabriel Mountains, down, down, down, until, with perfect timing, we saw the lights of the LA basin below as the sun set on smog and clouds above. One heart-stopping drive on the 210 and we were home.

I immediately got the ball rolling on procuring some fresh linen, and we watched some Jim Jeffries, explored my house, and unpacked a few things. In mid sentence, A abruptly passed out and fell into a deep sleep splayed across the couch. I played some gothic organ music, clicked my fingers, but nothing, she was out! Soon after the sheets were out of the laundry, I made the bed, brushed my teeth, set my sleeping bag out in the lounge room, and then tried to figure out how I would carry her through the house. It was a lot easier when she was five! Fortunately she woke before I seriously injured myself (not that she's, you know, chunky or anything), and before long we were both ready to sleep and rest!

Sunday was our last day. We woke, packed a bit, then set out for Caltech. I returned most of my gizmos to their rightful place in my office (whereby they are convenient for the 90% of my conscious life I spend there), and we walked around the campus. Turtle counting, squirrel tickling, and laborious anecdote recounting gave way to hunger and a desire for lunch. 

Sadly Yoshida was closed, so we headed for the Huntington, currently undergoing reasonably drastic renovations. In the meantime, I continued to build excitement and mystery surrounding my extra silly and devious plans for the afternoon. Little at this point was known, except that they involved meeting my girlfriend P at a pre-arranged place and time. P too, was in the dark. Sometimes I even wondered if I knew what was going to happen.

But to the present! We entered the Huntington, and despite my stomach's growls of protestation, we headed for the main house and gallery. Some rearrangement of paintings initially confused me, but our incredibly thorough algorithm ensured that no painting went unregarded, no caption unmemorized. At some point I began to consider hurrying A up. I have been there many times, but how often does my sister get to see this wonderful art? So I backed off, and furtively gnawed on my fist to dull the pangs of hunger. Some time later, A asked if there was much more to the gallery. I replied only a room or two, and A was visibly excited! At last, she said, I'll be able to eat something. She was worried I might think her boorish for favouring food over nourishment of the soul and spirit in the house of the muses. Me!? There was pasta nearby!

We hurricaned through the cafeteria and then commenced a post-postprandial stroll through the Japanese garden, which contained many awesome bonsai trees. Before long, my phone was vibrating with plans afoot and we headed for the exits. 

I deliberately drove by a long and obfuscating path (no I was not lost) on our way to the mysterious destination. A look of horror crossed A's face as we turned into the regional airport. It certainly looked very museumy. A insisted it was a joke and a not very funny one at that, but then I failed to chuckle and drive away. We got out of the car, and with leaden steps A approached the front door. Mutters and snatches of what I could only assume were various legal incantations were heard on the wind.

These unseemly execrations were cut short by the arrival of P, almost unrecognisable in her new Aeon Flux haircut! We chatted for a few minutes before I got a call. We approached the gate to the tarmac. I pointed out the wide variety of different civilian single-engined aircraft in great excitement. A's enthusiasm was like geological processes on Mars. Only when a friend of mine started waving from across the concrete did the design of my devious plans finally become obvious. We're going flying!

We had a good chat with the pilot, R, and admired his fine Moony aircraft. I found it difficult to believe that it was going to fit four whole people, but by hook and by crook we managed to squeeze inside. With our headsets in place, we taxied towards the runway and, with one check of the blind spot, shot down the runway in a huge burst of noise!

I've flown in the odd Cessna 172 before, but this plane was about twice as fast. Low winged, aggressively angled wings, it shot up and over the rapidly shrinking LA landscape. We headed toward downtown, and after a quick bank to avoid restricted airspace over Dodger stadium, we flew past the Hollywood sign, and down over Santa Monica. We headed further west towards Malibu, passing various Getty installations and Pepperdine university. I pointed some of the visible layers of the Santa Monica mountains anticline, and we flew around Point Dume, where Iron Man's house should be. With clouds over the channel islands, we turned back and, flying away from the sun, got an even better look as kite surfers zoomed back and forth in the breeze. R demonstrated what flying under radar over the ocean feels like. I could have high-fived a shark at 300km/h. After a few moments of that, we pulled a few gs and went up a thousand feet. 

I asked when was A going to fly us. A was somewhat apprehensive, but never under-estimate the power of peer pressure. Within about five seconds, A had got the hang of it, and we flew back over the Hollywood sign, and then past JPL and Echo Mountain. A quick bank to the right to avoid a mountain, and then it was time to land. R put the plane onto the glide slope, and talked about whether or not the glide-slope indicators were useful or accurate. In principle, "red beside white, you're right - red beside red, you're dead".

We landed with a bump and taxied to the parking space. We trooped back to my place, and after a quick break headed out to dinner at a place in Pasadena. A rather nice vegan place, I indulged in the rare treats of lasagna and chocolate cake. Then P suggested that we go and see a movie, so after dinner we trooped to the Arclight and watched Elysium, which was an interesting film, if not quite the equal to District 9.

The next morning we crawled out of bed at 5:30, collected some laundry, and made for the airport. A got a nice taste of what LA is all about - traffic jams. We had time for one more quick chat, and then A was through security and off to the next big adventure, and I was back to work.

Photos: https://picasaweb.google.com/105494084231616659850/AVisit2013

The Amazing Meeting 2013

Last weekend P and I went to TAM, otherwise known as The Amazing Meeting. Held every year at Southpoint Casino in Las Vegas, TAM is one of the largest conferences on science and skepticism. Organised by the James Randi Educational Foundation, it boasted a packed four day schedule of talks and panels by the leading lights in the skepticism movement.

I'll write a separate blog at some point covering the conference matter; this is a quick update otherwise unnecessary to inform and delight my diligent readership of some additional, unforeseen adventures!

We left Las Vegas on Sunday afternoon after our final farewells and headed for the coast. Unsurprisingly, there were several traffic snarls along the way, and the sun was setting as we pulled in at Barstow for a quick break. Setting out again, the engine was making a peculiar noise. I reckoned it was a faulty bearing somewhere on the serpentine belt, but as the belt looked fine and was still running, we set out once more at a slightly conservative pace. The engine tone was normal, the oil temperature normal, and no warning lights were visible. The only other thing wrong was that the AC had stopped working. Driving through Hesperia, just before the Cajon pass, the belt abruptly snapped, followed shortly thereafter by a bang as the coolant overflow tank cap made a break for it. We pulled in at the next off ramp, and as coolant dripped, tried to figure out what to do. 

It was about 9pm on Sunday night, and the number of mechanic shops open was zero. Oddly enough, that simplified the problem. None of the other TAMites were anywhere near, and we were not prepared to abandon the car in any case! I searched on my phone for a local hotel, picked the nicest looking one, and asked if they had any last-minute deals. Turns out they did, so we parked the car in a lot, took a taxi to the Courtyard Marriot (rather nice, incidentally), and after hitting a nearby Denny's for dinner, had an early night.

The next morning we were up bright and early. One shop opened at 7am, and by 8am we we'd been towed there by the shiniest tow-truck I'd ever seen. Once on the floor, the mechanics confirmed our fears - the AC compressor had seized. Not being able to be bypassed, it had to be replaced, which is a non-trivial operation. It looked like neither of us would make it to work that day. On the other hand, some TAM decompression would not go astray, so after making sure everything was under control and retrieving our supply of biscuits, we made for a nearby mall and rented a sleek black prius.

I've always wondered what was in the San Bernardino mountains. I've never been able to justify a lengthy detour going anywhere in the area, and although I once climbed San Gorgonio, the whole area of Big Bear Lake and so on seemed rather mysterious. We headed for the hills. 

After about an hour of windy roads and locals going insane speeds, we popped out into the valley. We drove around the lake looking for a nice patch of grassy shade in which to spend the day and catch up on some sleep. In the end, the north shore proved promising and I parked beneath a large pine. With the sail-like side of the prius catching the passing breeze we cranked the seats back and had a pleasant siesta. Around 2pm we drove around to the town of Fawnskin and looked for a cafe from which to obtain breakfast/lunch/dinner. As it happened, I'd parked just across the road from the North Shore Cafe, which according to google was the finest cafe within a hundred miles. If the meals we had there are representative, that claim is probably accurate. In a small area with a large number of knowing clientele, I put away an ahi burger as nice as any I'd had in Hawaii, and P demolished a peculiar sandwich burger hybrid I'd never heard of before.

All too soon it was time to head back to town. On the way back, we had a terrific view north from the transverse ranges across the desert toward Barstow. The plains are light in colour; the mountains are dark, dark rock, and the effect was really quite amazing. Again, despite pushing 70 in a 55 zone, locals in large utes whizzed by as if we were standing still, and we descended through a series of hills and rubble mines. 

Back at the shop, they were 20 minutes from finishing - needing only to recharge the freon lines. As we finished off the auxiliary biscuit supply, one of the funniest things I've ever seen occurred - two elderly women drove into the shop. The hood/bonnet of their car had flipped up over the windshield. It was not apparent how they were able to see, but I think they were sufficiently little old ladies that they could see through the half inch gap between the wipers and the edge of the metal.

Soon enough, we were on our way. Ominously, the AC still didn't work very well, but at least the part was new. By 6pm I was back in the office. Home, sweet home.

Hawaii 2013

I recently spent a fortnight in Hawaii. The purpose of the trip was mainly to catch up with my Australia-bound family, but I found time for a few adventures here and there. I will attempt to relate some of them without writing a short novel! If you're more of a visual person, check out the photos: https://picasaweb.google.com/105494084231616659850/Hawaii2013

The adventure begins with one of the most eventful airport shuttle rides I've ever had. The driver had difficulty stringing two words together and, at one point, hit another vehicle. But I digress. I made the flight with whole minutes to spare, and before long was strolling through Hilo airport. I found my parents and we set out in search for dinner.

The next day we took a trip to Kalapana, the town buried by lava in the early 1990s. We set out across the old field of lava toward the water entry, where lava drains into the ocean. The surface was a ropey texture formed by smoothly flowing lava, though with the texture and risk of broken glass, should one stumble or trip. At the entry site, lava poured from the rock into the sea, generating a great cloud of sulfurous acid and lots of red hot pumice. We stood much too close to the edge of the bench and watched, mesmerized, as the sun sank over the lava-covered subsidence cliff to the west. On the way back I had a good chat with one of the guides, about 21 years old. He filled me in on a variety of topics, including the Hawaiian independence movement, and we discussed various quirks of language. Hawaiian is quite an interesting one, as it has the fewest phonemes of any spoken language. Meanwhile one unlucky fellow had stumbled as we walked along with flashlights and had lost a lot of skin. The guides patched him up, but by the time we drove out, all the restaurants had closed. In the end we found a 7/11 from which to savour the local delights.

The highlight of the following day was a trip to South Point. I stranded my long-suffering parents on a beach and jogged a few miles to visit the fabled green sand beach. It was a lot further and hotter than I anticipated, but I made it back within the allotted hour and all was well. The beach sand is of olivine and sits in a drowned volcanic crater.

Next day we drove back to Hilo to pick up my brother M, who had flown in. Luckily we eventually worked out the time difference because of the international date line, otherwise we might have been a day late. That night we stayed in an old plantation house near the incredibly beautiful Waipi'o valley, but I was slammed by a headache (parent allergy?) and had the rare pleasure of watching both the moon and the sun rise as geckos and frogs scampered around the house. Next stop was the Hapuna Beach Prince Hotel, which was a rather grand edifice over looking the ocean. M and I managed to suss out the pool and checked out some of the coves to the north of the main beach, while he filled me in on the wonders of having a real job, including his recent purchase of an actual car with actual wheels that actually goes. Although I spend most of my working days researching insanely mind-blowing stuff, I was complete unprepared for this revelation and spent the remainder of the day in a stunned daze. Over the next few days we settled in and tried not to suffer too much between excellent meals. We spent a good portion of the day swimming with colourful fishes and checking out the fresh-water springs along the coast, where the aquifer flows into the sea. As in Greece, this produces a delightful shimmery effect in the water. One night I even spotted a few mudskippers (terrestrial fish) hopping along the beach.

All too soon it was time to leave and drive on, this time up the saddle road and further into the clouds, as high as it was possible to go. Clouds gave way to red rocks and cinders, and at the summit an amphitheatre of high-tech telescopes. I was thrilled. As a theorist it's always unusual and fun for me to actually see the machines of science and the products of some of the few billions not spent on weapons and war. We passed around a finger pulse oximeter to assess our blood saturation, but none of us got low enough to feel ill. I even jogged around a bit to remember what it felt like. Basically driving up saves a ton of effort!

The next place we stayed was a very interesting house with lots of bedrooms and quaint furniture, but a strangely absent proprietor. At one point she assured me that the buttermilk crumpets she 'made' from a mix bag were dairy free. I was rather hungry, but fortunately had no difficulty sleeping through the deafening sound of frogs, dogs barking, and the airport next door. M and I returned to the lava flows at Kalapana and checked out a lava-flooded van. I think the warranty might be void now. After a quick run past the lava lake at Kilauea we turned off-road to find the Kazamura lava tube cave tours. 

Apparently some time back in the 90s, this family found a cave entrance in their back yard (which, like most backyards on Hawaiian spaghetti blocks, is never explored). The guide, Harry, then spent a few thousand hours exploring his section. The system has more than 40 miles of passages, and is one of largest caves in the world. Fortunately we didn't see the whole thing! Highlights included Lavacicles, various growths on the cave walls, collapsed lava pools, lava waterfalls, skylights, multilayer tubes, and so on. That evening my family gave me the car keys before tucking into a series of pina coladas as we listened to a rather talented musician perform a very yodelly version of the usual Hawaiian chants.

The next day we dropped M at the airport and went into town to check out the tsunami museum. Hilo is less economically explosive than it once was. In fact, parts of it were downright sleepy. But it's worth remembering that at least half the town was washed away by two tsunamis (in 1946 and 1960), and in the late 1800s a decent chunk was wiped out by a lava flow. My parents were due to leave the following morning, so we relaxed about town, discussed the economics of leisure and labour surplus, and I found a gecko on an ornamental flower in our slightly run-down hotel.

The next morning my parents flew out and I was all alone. I sat in the hotel feeling downright glum. Eventually I summoned the courage to check out and wandered into town. Before long, I found a gay pride march and a farmers market. I bought some bread for lunch and sat in a park, and my spirits were raised. It's always a rather abrupt gear shift to switch from home/family to backpacking/couch surfing style travel! I checked out the Lyman museum (which was very interesting, including the original mission house from 1837) and then picked up my hire car. After a few u-turns I found my couchsurfer, who lived out in a subdivision in the middle of nowhere. He had retired to the jungle, built a cozy home, and was hosting international travelers almost incessantly! That evening we went back to the volcano to check out the glow of the smoke in the dark. Although the lava lake cannot be seen from the Jaggar museum, its glow is reflected in the clouds it produces and illuminates the entire crater.

The following day I was hell-bent on poking me some lava, so I had V drop me at the other end of the neighbourhood, where a sign that said "WARNING TRAIL CLOSED, DANGEROUS CONDITIONS" promised some excitement. Skirting another burned out car ('tis the place for them) I skittered through the trail for 2 hours, passing a few carnivorous worms and a confused looking chicken. Originally, the trail ended at the end of the lava field, with a view of the active Pu'u o'o vent about a mile away. Since then, however, the volcano (continuously active for nearly 30 years now) burped and the trail ran into fresh lava that had overrun the last few hundred meters of forest. I switched to more sensible shoes and went for a quick excursion. My hand-held thermometer gun maxed out on 300C (~600F), but my shoes didn't melt on the crunchy (and somewhat cooler) loose crust. For the most part I was able to walk on the singed trunks of felled trees. My point of retreat, however, was an unrecognisable path in a forest that could be cut off by a fresh flow at any moment, so I did not venture far out onto the flow. After an hour of cooking in the staggering heat waiting for something to happen and being buzzed by helicopter after helicopter, I walked back along the trail, arriving at the trail head half an hour before our rendezvous time. So I set off up the road. After a couple of blocks, two pitbulls popped out of a hedge and started running toward me, barking. Armed only with a tiny sandal and a floppy hat, I beat a hasty retreat to the edge of the road, picked up a handful of loose rocks, and stood my ground. Mongolia taught me that few dogs will not recognise a stone about to fly, and after an hour of poking hot lava, my concept of fear had been recalibrated slightly. Nevertheless, I wondered just how good my second throw might be. Fortunately, they stopped about 15 feet away, as they came into effective range. They backed off, then came back again. After what seemed a lot longer than a couple of minutes, V appeared in his trusty Toyota pickup and I jumped in with no need for further discussion. As we drove back he filled me in on some of the local colour. The majority of his neighbours seemed to be poor and drug problems (particularly crystal meth) were rampant. Burned-out cars were visible every few hundred meters. Apparently threats of physical violence against pretty much anyone were common, and rarely empty. V recounted a few instances of attacks, rapes, and murders with obvious suspects going uninvestigated, let alone punished, due to some combination of cronyism, connections, or intimidation. Needless to say burglary was incredibly common. That said, parts of the area were lovely and there were some good people in the neighbourhood as well.

That afternoon, my second-last clean shirt already thoroughly marinated by my trip to the lava field, I proposed we sweat some more. Grabbing a few rusty but highly effective machetes we went to the back of the yard and attempted to cut a path toward the back of the block. After an hour or so we had made a few paths to points of interest within about 50 feet of the wall of the jungle, leaving about 200m to go. People never get to the back of their blocks! Where the ground had not been bulldozed it was intensely rugged, with large lumps of lava poking through the thin layer of dirt, deep cracks, and plenty of invasive species against which the vengeful steel could be swung. That evening I got a lesson in the spectrum of cooking possible with differing quantities of Madras curry and garam masala. I started to pack my bags. After another dark but frog-filled night, I finished my supply of breakfast cereal and set out for the volcano national park. This time I walked across Kilauea Iki, a solidified lava lake that erupted in the 1950s. With a clearly visible vent, crushed forest, shrunken plains of lava, old boreholes, and so on, it was really quite spectacular. With a few hours to spare I also drove down the Chain of Craters road, looking at all the interesting stuff along the way, including some really cool petroglyphs and an arch at the sea-cliff, where the pounding Pacific is eating away at the island.

At last it was time to drive down the Mamaloa highway (adopted by the Hawaiian Raelian Coven, of course) for the last time. Saw no more burned out cars, but one police SUV was blowing a LOT of smoke. In due course I returned the rental car, checked in at the airport, charged my laptop, and boarded the flight. After a long and tiring holiday, it was time to return to the restful confines of my office.

Post script: On the plane, I swapped seats so a couple could sit together and ended up in the second last row. After editing hundreds of photos, I found sleep stymied by noisy passengers and flushing toilets, so hatched an alternative plan. On United, you have to pay to eat food and watch the in-flight TVs. I found, however, that far superior in-flight entertainment was to be found in the galley. Like a number of other red-eye flights I'd taken, the stewards don't have much to do, and this time three of them and I sat around exploring the various bulkheads, swapping stories, alleviating boredom, and investigating what to do with the food left over from the previous flight. At 5am I arrived at LAX, and before 6 I was back in my office, entirely sleep deprived and otherwise back to normal.